| Title: | From Mrs. Wm. Radcliff, to the Rev. Thomas |
|---|---|
| ID | 4545 |
| Collection | Authentic Letters from Upper Canada [Rev. Thomas Radcliff] |
| File | radcliff/3 |
| Year | 1832 |
| Sender | Radcliff, Rebecca |
| Sender Gender | female |
| Sender Occupation | unknown |
| Sender Religion | unknown |
| Origin | On board the Duncan Gibb |
| Destination | Dublin, Ireland |
| Recipient | Rev. Thomas Radcliff |
| Recipient Gender | male |
| Relationship | daughter-in-law - father-in-law |
| Source | |
| Archive | |
| Doc. No. | |
| Date | |
| Partial Date | |
| Doc. Type | |
| Log | unknown |
| Word Count | 3638 |
| Genre | account of passage, arrival in the colonys |
| Note | |
| Transcript | Radcliff, Dublin. Atlantic Ocean, on board the Duncan Gibb, June 14, 1832. My dearest Mr. R., Until this day I have been unable to hold a pen. It was unfortunate that the chief cabin of this ship had been previously engaged, and that we could find no other vessel sailing at the time that suited us. From the miserable accommodation to which we have been obliged to submit, our sufferings have been great; and mine, as I had reason to expect, beyond the rest. Vet, thanks be to God, I am now well enough to write to you, with a tolerably steady hand; holding down my paper on the binnacle, while a freshening breeze wafts us along. You will sympathize with us at what we have undergone, and will read with interest, if not with amusement, my desultory journal to which I pledged myself before we parted. In the cabin (if it can be so called,) to which we are doomed, are thirty-one souls, enduring, in general, the crowd, and heat, and various difficulties, with tolerable patience and good humour. Some of the passengers are respectable and well informed, whose society, under other circumstances, would have been very agreeable; but alas! iifter the first day of our sailing, all satisfaction was at an end. As we still traced the dim outline of the coast from which we were gradually receding how many associations crowded on my mind. The tender recollections of early youth, the ties and friendships of maturer years, rose on the memory with fonder and more vivid impressions as the distance increased that bore me from the scene of their enjoyment. Yet the prospect of happiness, and independence, in the country of our adoption, qualified every sentiment of regret, and reconciled me to the painful alternative we had chosen. The following day a strong gale sprung up, and from that to the present, nearly four weeks, we suffered (with short intervals of relief) the most torturing sickness, that squally weather and a rough sea ever inflicted. Wonderful to be told, my little Mary was ill but a few hours, when she fell into a profound sleep, and has never been a moment indisposed, from that hour to But here, my dear Mr. R., for the benefit of all future emigrants with sufficient means, whom you may have an opportunity of warning, I must particularly remark the error of those who bring out, as we did, their own provisions— we thought it prudent to do so—but are now convinced that we were wrong; by so doing you are excluded from the attention of the Captain or his steward, the only persons capable of affording any. Your own servants are a burden to you, your stores useless while you are sick; and before you are well, either spoiled or stolen —we have been nearly a month at sea; and during that time have been able to enjoy but one comfortable dinner, which was on the first day of our embarkation. This is to be remedied by a little sacrifice of economy to comfort, in paying to the Captain a bulk sum for accommodation, attendance and provisions—which furnished by him will perhaps not amount to so much as the useless quantity usually brought out.— We lost one of our boats a few evenings since—and as the name, Duncan Gibb, is on her stern, we are in a great panic lest she should be picked up by some vessel, that, supposing our ship to have been lost, might report it, and alarm the friends of the numerous passengers. When the weather is fine we remain on deck to a late hour - and for the last three nights have been gratified by the luminous appearance of the sea. Every wave and ripple, to an unlimited extent, presents the appearance of liquid fire, which, in flashes of momentary succession, gives to the entire surface, an exquisite brilliancy and beauty. On the 17th June we had indication of nearing the banks (as the sailors term it,) by a heavy mist. On the 21st, we suffered a degree of cold equal to that of a sharp November day in our own climate, apparently the forerunner of frost and snow. On the 22nd at dawn, a magnificent Iceberg appeared in the distance—to my eye, fully as large as the hill of Howth. At a later hour another appeared to be drifting towards us, and though very remote, resembled a cathedral with a spire of exquisite whiteness—two more of those floating masses, but of lesser dimensions, remained in view till three o'clock that day. I cannot omit to mention here, as it was at this time I suffered most from it, the disgusting water, to which we were obliged to resort, in our extreme thirst—there is no disguising its abominable taste by any mixture whatsoever, it baffles all the efforts of wine, spirits, raspberry, vinegar, tea, or coffee, to render it at all palatable. We should have brought with us a filtering machine, and this may be a useful hint to others. It is in this way only that we, who have had bitter experience of sufferings that might be remedied, can keep others out of the scrape by practical suggestions, and here through you, my dear Sir, I would encourage all emigrants who can possibly afford it, to be profuse in their store of bottled ale and porter, as the only wholesome and agreeable beverage to rely on—temperate advice you will say from a delicate lady!!—but the more delicate the ladies, who may have occasion to avail themselves of it, the more applicable the recommendation. There is no degree of feverish thirst on shore to be compared to the parching thirst of sea sickness. In tea, almond milk is the best substitute for cream. It has, to be sure, a peculiar flavour resembling that of herbs; but in a month's residence on board, you get rid of many particularities. Our numerous bottles of prepared milk are now good for nothing though palatable at first. June 25—The cold weather continues, we have reached the much wished for banks of Newfoundland. The shallowest water we have had is 30 fathoms. The fishing is now going forward—some of the boats are within a few miles of us. This morning early, a whale made its appearance and spouted water, I am told, as high as our tallest mast. The Captain has just succeeded in catching an immense cod-fish—our people are putting out then- lines. 2 o'Clock—we have had the amusement of seeing nine large fish taken—four of them by your own sons and our servant, whose success was transcendant. The fish he hooked weighed 40 lbs. and measured in length four feet. The others were about 10 lbs. each. We dressed two of them which gave 18 people, great and small, a plentiful dinner. Whether it proceeded from the relish of returning appetite, or from the intrinsic excellence of the fish, I cannot determine, (perhaps from both) but I can safely say, that I never tasted any thing so delicious. On this bank I am told the fish are considered small, but of the best quality and flavour. We all wished we could send you a specimen of them. June 27—The weather continues bitterly cold, but we are singularly free from fog. When on the outer, or false bank, we had three or four days of heavy fog and wetting mist, and one day of incessant rain—here we are clear and rold, but arc still liable to returning darkness and humidity, till we get into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Our fishing goes on with great success, amongst the captures of this day is an immense Hollybut, 70 lbs. weight; we are to have it for dinner. I was much amused by learning that it brought with it, (most considerately,) its own sauce. In preparing to dress it, the cook found large crabs pouched in the interior, of a light scarlet, the body smaller than that of our crab, shaped more like a frog, or toad, and with very long legs. We paid our addresses to the fish, which was not bad, but declined the sauce. Nine more codfish taken by our party! We fished, (observe how I identify myself with the sport,) in fifty fathom water, which is considered the best; and William desires me to mention to you, for the information of those friends who mean to follow us, that the line should be sixty fathoms long, to allow for the drifting of the vessel; so tell this to all whom it may concern; for in Dublin, it was considered that a forty fathom line would be sufficient, and it is not. Each of your sons' lines was of that length, and they have been obliged to join them, by which means they have had better fishing than any others on board except the Captain. Fortunately, their lines and hooks were of a strength that was laughed at, leaving home, but it proved to be right; the true description of line is called log-line. They are very anxious you should know this, for the sake of any young fishermen coming out; and thus ends their communication. June 30th.—From the brightest weather, we have suddenly been enveloped in tremendous fog—horns blowing to warn any approaching vessel of our vicinity—so heavy has been this wetting mist, that the large drops from the cordage, fall like heavy rain upon the deck, and have sent me, much against my will, for an entire day to bed. Previous to this we had good weather and smooth water, which tempted many to the usual exercise of a dance, the mate being a capital fiddler. I was, of course, a spectator; and it was not a little ludicrous to see so curious a mixture of religions prancing together upon deck —Church of England, Methodists, Walkerites, and Quakers!! July 2.—We are now clear of the banks, thank God; but the wind is unfavourable. The fog has also dispersed, having left traces of its unwholesomeness upon us and many other passengers, by a heavy and feverish illness, which has called forth the attention of our excellent doctors, public and private. We expect to see land to-day—but it is Newfoundland; which I don't care for. July 4th.—We have had dreadful weather—a day of tossing, and a night of heavy wind and rain—the lurching of the vessel such, as to baffle all calculation with me as to my being at the lee, or weather side of the ship. (You see I am picking up the terms.) In one of her tremendous plunges, all articles not lashed down, appearing to assert their freedom, commenced a ludicrous and motley dance on the cabin floor, in imitation, as it were, of the incongruous mixture of dancers upon deck some days before. I could not help laughing at the comic scene. A mind easily amused, and abstracted from gloomy thoughts, is a great enjoyment, and lightens many inflictions, by the counterpoise of gratitude for blessings which are always sure to preponderate. The sudden alternations of a sea voyage bear me out in this. Within a few hours, this most unpleasant motion of the vessel ceased—the heavy fog cleared—a brisk and favourable breeze sprung up, and brought us forward rapidly for the entire day. We were in the highest spirits—at night the wind fell—the ship had little motion—and we enjoyed the most delicious and uninterrupted repose. Fortunate! It continued so long, to recruit us for the coming change. Who would not join in the pious aspiration of the Hermit of the Engaddi, from the pen of the great and lamented author of all that was pure, and interesting, and instructive in romance. At retiring to rest— "Blessed be His name who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the weary limbs, and to compose the troubled spirit." And again at morning— "Blessed be His name, who having granted us a tranquil night of refreshing sleep, has given us another day to implore his pardon for our sins, through the merits of a Merciful Redeemer." Refreshed by the only perfect night's rest I had had during the voyage, I dressed, as soon as I awoke, to go upon deck, when I was suddenly surprised at the increased rocking of the ship; and, within a short half-hour, we had experienced a transition, from calm repose, and an unruffled sea, to what even the sailors admitted to be a furious storm; the sea dreadful, beyond any thing I had ever seen, or could have imagined—the wind roaring with a violence that prevented any voice from being heard, when suddenly, a tremendous crash, as if the main-mast had come down, with the accompanying sound of ropes breaking, and sails flapping, burst upon our ears. In sad alarm, we sat in a state not to be conceived, for a considerable time, when we were at length assured that we were safe, and everything nearly put to rights. I was truly thankful to the Almighty for my escape. There is one curious fact which I cannot pass over. I was told that nothing could equal the joy of the children during the storm; and my little Mary, after I came down, continued to laugh immoderately. The gale lasted 12 hours, and then began gradually to subside before night. The sun set gloriously, the moon rose high and clear, the night was serene; an Aurora Borealis diffused its brilliancy, and the sea became like glass;—no wind whatever;—and, as Pat Mee observed, "that same against us." How appropriate are those magnificent words of Webb's, you used to admire so much. You recollect the vivid representation of the storm, when "the .foaming surges roar and lash the mast;" and who that ever heard it, can forget what follows:— When, in an instant, He who rules the waves Earth, Air, and Fire—Jehovah, God of gode, In gracious accents speaks his sovereign will, And bids the waters and the winds be still. Hushed are the winds—the waters cease to roar, Safe are the seas, and silent, as the shore. Now, say what joy elates the sailor's breast, With prosperous gales, so unexpected, bless'd! What ease, what transport in each face is seen, The Heav'ns look bright, the air and sea serene; For every plaint, we hear a joyful strain To Him, whose power unbounded rules the main. I little thought, my dear Mr. R. that I should ever, in reality, have to take a part in the scene these lines so forcibly represent. But it has fallen to me, within a space of little more than four and twenty hours, to witness the raging storm, the sudden calm, and to bless for his mercy, and his goodness, that Power unbounded, who rules the waves and wind. We are now passing the numerous islands in the Gulf, before we enter the river; of course considerable anxiety prevails, as, with adverse winds, much danger would ensue. We, of course, keep a respectful distance. Our Captain's father lost a fine ship there, a few years back, when nearly the entire crew perished. His son is, of course, particularly cautious, and, thank God, (Sunday the 8th,) we have passed in safety. The northern lights are now frequently seen, and the air is milder, though still cold. The nights are lovely, and the sky quite beautiful. We are now within 360 miles of Quebec, with a fair wind;—God grant it may continue. July 11.—Well, my dear Mr. R. here we are at Goose Island, but 24 miles from Quebec, performing quarantine; and I am most thankful that our perilous and disagreeable voyage is over, which it may now be said to be. We are doomed by the board of health to but three days quarantine, as we are all well. We were inspected to-day by two physicians, and are to be so every day. This delay will give me an opportunity of finishing my long letter, and perhaps of dismissing it from Quebec. Coming upon deck in the evening, I was amazed at the exquisite beauty and luxuriance of the scene, like a gigantic and brilliant picture, The colouring so rich, the foliage so varied; and the pasture, (on which a flock of black and white sheep were feeding,) of a colour not to be rivalled, even by the Emerald Isle of my nativity. Clusters of small wooded islands, and groups of neat straw-coloured houses, formed the fore ground of the landscape. In the distance, improvements, and habitations on a greater scale: and churches resplendent with their spires of tin. The weather is now becoming close, and what is very strange, we find the water of the St. Lawrence quite warm. We drink it nevertheless, though warned against it, and enjoy it greatly after the odious water on the voyage. We have been told that it disagrees sadly with strangers, so we have taken the precaution to boil it, and it has not as yet had a bad effect upon any on board. Our quarantine will be over to-morrow evening; but we are not to go to Quebec till Sunday morning the 15th. The cholera is quite abated there; but is taking its course through the other great towns, and now prevails at Montreal and York. The agent, to whom our gentlemen had letters at Quebec, died of this dreadful epidemic, which, from the 4th of June to the 14th of July instant, carried off 3,500 persons, as I am informed, in that town. Some of the gentlemen have taken the boat to a small uninhabited island, and to row about the ships in the harbour. It is altogether a scene of uncommon gaiety. In the next ship, (from the Clyde,) a Scotch piper has the whole crew prancing in a Scotch reel. From the island, our party brought us a branch of cherry tree, laden with small fruit, some wild strawberries, currants and gooseberries. They also brought the smallest, but highest scented rose imaginable; and yet we heard that Canadian flowers were without perfume. Also, a miniature silver fir tree, not exceeding three feet in height. I wished it transplanted into your shrubbery at home. July 15.—We have at length got leave to proceed. The scenery along the banks is the most imposing that can be conceived. From Goose Island till we reached Quebec the eye was charmed with a continued succession of lovely villages and innumerable churches, with tin spires glittering in the sun. You can't think how odd and picturesque some of the cottages are, with very steep roofs to throw off the winter snow; many of them painted crimson, and exhibiting two rows of windows in their declivity. We observed a variety of vehicles at the church doors; some drawn by excellent horses, and some by bullocks; many of them like our old-fashioned gigs, and some very like our tax carts. We saw also abundance of sheep and cows in the fields, which were all divided by palings. The gentlemen, on board, agreed that the cattle were, many of them, of a good description, though not of any definite breed; but that the sheep were very small, and not very shapely. To me they appeared quite beautiful, as forming a striking feature in the landscape; and if it were not treason against the picturesque, I would tell you all I heard about their excellence as mutton. I am sure they ought to be very fat, if the most verdant pasture I ever beheld, could make them so—I could only judge of it by the colour, which was very agreeable and soothing to the eye that had so long rested on a waste of water. Altogether I never supposed I should have beheld a scene so attractive and interesting, terminating, too, in the magnificent falls of Montmorency, which we passed close by, whose white and foaming waters resembled an immense and continuous avalanche of snow tumbling over the lofty and projecting rocks. Below the falls appeared a very large and handsome mansion. God forbid I was to inhabit it;—I think the roaring of the waters would set me mad before the ear could get accustomed to the sound. It was nearly six o'clock in the afternoon when we arrived at Quebec, that is, in the river opposite the town. The officers of health came on board, and passed us without scruple, allowing those who wished it, to go on shore. They told us of a vessel to sail which would take our letters; this shall be closed forthwith—I am sure it is time it should. I fear I have gone too much into trifling detail; but you know, my dear Mr. R. you made it a point that I should be minute; and I am well aware of the interest you and my other dear friends, under your roof, will take in any thing that interests me, however dull and prolix I may have been in the recital. William, who is gone into Quebec, promises to write to you soon; and if he does not, I will. Adieu, my dear Mr. R., accept our most grateful regards; and let all my kind relatives and friends be told that I do not forget them. Your affectionate daughter, R. RADCLIFF. In the River, opposite Quebec, July 16, 1832. P. S.—I do not mean to go on shore, but to wait the steam packet for Montreal, which will come alongside to-morrow. |
