Reading the Diaries of Henry Trent: The Everyday Life of a Canadian Englishman, 1842-1898 9780228007494

Table of contents :
Cover
Reading the Diaries of Henry Trent
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Figures
Preface
Introduction
1 Boyhood and Youth
2 Emerging Manhood, Part 1
3 Emerging Manhood, Part 2
4 Manhood
5 Old Age
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

Reading the Diaries of Henry Trent

McGill-Queen’s RuRal, Wildland, and ResouRce studies seRies Series editors: Colin A.M. Duncan, James Murton, and R.W. Sandwell

The Rural, Wildland, and Resource Studies Series includes monographs, thematically unified edited collections, and rare out-of-print classics. It is inspired by Canadian Papers in Rural History, Donald H. Akenson’s influential occasional papers series, and seeks to catalyze reconsideration of communities and places lying beyond city limits, outside centres of urban political and cultural power, and located at past and present sites of resource procurement and environmental change. Scholarly and popular interest in the environment, climate change, food, and a seemingly deepening divide between city and country is drawing non-urban places back into the mainstream. The series seeks to present the best environmentally contextualized research on topics such as agriculture, cottage living, fishing, the gathering of wild foods, mining, power generation, and rural commerce, within and beyond Canada’s borders. 1 How Agriculture Made Canada Farming in the Nineteenth Century Peter A. Russell 2 The Once and Future Great Lakes Country An Ecological History John L. Riley 3 Consumers in the Bush Shopping in Rural Upper Canada Douglas McCalla 4 Subsistence under Capitalism Nature and Economy in Historical and Contemporary Perspectives Edited by James Murton, Dean Bavington, and Carly Dokis 5 Time and a Place An Environmental History of Prince Edward Island Edited by Edward MacDonald, Joshua MacFadyen, and Irené Novaczek 6 Powering Up Canada A History of Power, Fuel, and Energy from 1600 Edited by R.W. Sandwell 7 Permanent Weekend Nature, Leisure, and Rural Gentrification John Michels

8 Nature, Place, and Story Rethinking Historic Sites in Canada Claire Elizabeth Campbell 9 The Subjugation of Canadian Wildlife Failures of Principle and Policy Max Foran 10 Flax Americana A History of the Fibre and Oil That Covered a Continent Joshua MacFadyen 11 At the Wilderness Edge The Rise of the Antidevelopment Movement on Canada’s West Coast J.I. Little 12 The Greater Gulf Essays on the Environmental History of the Gulf of St Lawrence Edited by Claire E. Campbell, Edward MacDonald, and Brian Payne 13 The Miramichi Fire A History Alan MacEachern 14 Reading the Diaries of Henry Trent The Everyday Life of a Canadian Englishman, 1842–1898 J.I. Little

Reading the Diaries of Henry Trent The Everyday Life of a Canadian Englishman, 1842–1898

J.i. little

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston • London • Chicago

© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2021 isBn 978-0-2280-0570-4 (cloth) isBn 978-0-2280-0661-9 (paper) isBn 978-0-2280-0749-4 (ePdF ) isBn 978-0-2280-0750-0 (ePuB) Legal deposit second quarter 2021 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Awards to Scholarly Publications Program, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Title: Reading the diaries of Henry Trent : the everyday life of a Canadian Englishman, 1842–1898 / J.I. Little. Names: Little, J. I. (John Irvine), 1947- author. | Container of (work): Trent, Henry, 1826–1906. Diaries. Selections. Series: McGill-Queen’s rural, wildland, and resource studies series ; 14. Description: Series statement: McGill-Queen’s rural, wildland, and resource studies series ; 14 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20200398113 | Canadiana (ebook) 20200398326 | isBn 9780228005704 (cloth) | isBn 9780228006619 (paper) | isBn 9780228007494 (ePdF ) | isBn 9780228007500 (ePuB) Subjects: lcsH: Trent, Henry, 1826–1906 – Diaries. | lcsH: English – Québec (Province) – Biography. | lcsH: Immigrants – Québec (Province) – Biography. | lcsH: Farmers – Québec (Province) – Biography. | lcsH: Farm life – Québec (Province) – History – 19th century. | lcsH: Social classes – Québec (Province) – History – 19th century. | lcsH: Québec (Province) – Rural conditions. | lcGFt: Diaries. | lcGFt: Biographies. Classification: lcc Fc2921.1.t74 l58 2021 | ddc 971.4/02092 – dc23

This book was designed and typeset by Peggy & Co. Design in 11.5/14 Adobe Garamond Pro.

This one’s for grandson Elio, who is now embarking on his own life journey

Contents

Figures

ix

Preface

xi

Introduction

3

1 Boyhood and Youth

21

2 Emerging Manhood, Part 1

45

3 Emerging Manhood, Part 2

72

4 Manhood

98

5 Old Age

133

Conclusion

150

Notes

157

Bibliography Index

185 199

Figures

0.1 0.2 0.3 0.4 0.5 0.6 0.7 0.8 0.9 3.1 4.1 5.1 5.2

Henry Trent Diary, 4–7 October 1842. Source: McCord Museum, Trent Family Fonds, P022 7 Henry Trent Diary, 15 November 1842. Source: McCord Museum, Trent Family Fonds, P022 8 Henry Trent Diary, 11 August 1843. Source: McCord Museum, Trent Family Fonds, P022 9 Henry Trent Diary, 15 March 1843. Source: McCord Museum, Trent Family Fonds, P022 10 Henry Trent Diary, 1 January 1895. Source: Société d’histoire de Drummond, Fonds Famille Trent 11 George Norris Trent. Source: McCord Museum, Trent Family Fonds, P022_1.2 15 Map of Counties in the Eastern Townships, 1829–53 16 Rear View of le Domaine Trent. Photographer: Éric Beaupré, Vingt/55 18 Front View of le Domaine Trent. Photographer: Éric Beaupré, Vingt/55 18 Esquimalt Harbour. Source: Bc Museum and Archives, Item B-00822 83 Drummondville in 1875. Artist Mme J.V. Cooke. Source: Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec à Montréal 126 Henry Trent in old age. Source: Private collection 134 Eliza Trent, ca 1900. Source: Société d’histoire de Drummond, Collection régionale, ic-8.1B24 135

x

5.3 5.4

FiGuRes

Trent daughters mourning [1900?]. Source: Private collection 148 Frederick Trent, ca 1940. Source: Société d’histoire de Drummond, Fonds Famille Trent, P4–8. 1a6

149

Preface

tHe seed FoR tHis Book was planted some twenty-five years ago when I was researching petitions to the Province of Canada’s governor general in what was then known as the National Archives of Canada. The most curious document I came across was written by George Norris Trent of Wendover township, Canada East, complaining of a conspiracy against him by a supernatural being disguised as the local magistrate and member of the provincial parliament.1 Trent’s name stuck in my mind so that, years later, when I was researching a different project in the McCord Museum, I was intrigued to discover that there was an extensive Trent family collection, including a considerable number of diary volumes written by his son, Henry. After another long delay working on other projects, those volumes became the heart of this book. Diaries tend to be either deeply confessional or simply brief records of daily events, but Henry Trent’s journals fall somewhere in the middle. Since he was a poorly educated and uncomplicated man, his diary is only occasionally introspective, but he did write detailed accounts of his experiences on both sides of the Atlantic as well as on the Pacific coast of North America. Even though Trent was not a shaper of history, then, he is a fitting biographical subject because his written accounts add to our understanding of what life was like for someone caught up in the historical forces of the time, including British colonialism and the expansion of the market-based economy. What emerges is a picture of class identity, gender roles, and cross-cultural contacts that traverse the standard nineteenth-century borderlines. Much the same can be said of Trent’s life journey, as he passed from boyhood and youth through manhood to old age, for those transitions were protracted and complex.

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PReFace

Had this account of Trent’s life been written in French, it might have been titled “Histoire d’un inconnu,” not only because he has been historically unknown but also because the word can be translated to mean “outsider,” which is what Henry Trent was in many respects. Because of his English birth and privileged background, he was an insider as far as British colonialism was concerned, but he had a lonely childhood in the large stone house built by his psychologically unbalanced father. He then experienced a peripatetic early manhood before returning to the Canadian farm he had inherited. His subsequent marriage into the local French-Canadian community was a harmonious one, but as an English-born Protestant, he remained to a considerable extent on the community’s social outskirts. That outsider status was doubtless a factor in Trent’s compulsion to keep a diary throughout much of his long life, recording not only daily events and emotions but also describing the world as he saw it. In order to provide a strong sense of his thoughts and feelings, I quote liberally from that diary as well as from family correspondence. In doing so, I will indicate only those orthographic errors that might be construed as my typographical slip-ups, occasionally adding punctuation and words in square brackets for the sake of clarity. Standardized quotations would have been easier to read, but at the expense of disguising Trent’s distinctive voice. Research for this project was partially funded by an earlier grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. I’m grateful for being allowed to stretch it more broadly than originally intended. I also wish to express my deep gratitude to Denis Lambert of Drummondville, archivists Michaël Bergeron and Martin Bergevin of the Société d’histoire de Drummmond, and archivist Heather McNabb at the McCord Museum for their kind assistance with the primary sources. Many thanks as well to Peter Gossage, Laura Ishiguro, and Richard Mackie for their responses to my queries. Particularly helpful were the critical comments of the press’s anonymous readers, and I’m grateful once again to Ruth Sandwell for encouraging me to submit the manuscript to the Rural, Wildland, and Resource Studies Series. At McGill-Queen’s, Kyla Madden was the ideal editor with her strong support, excellent advice, and prompt replies to my inquiries. I wish to thank other editorial staff members as well, including Elli Stylianou, Kathleen Fraser, Natalie Blachere, and copy editor Susan Glickman who

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xiii

skilfully smoothed the rough edges. Much shorter versions of chapters 2 and 3 were presented to the Bc Studies Conference and the annual meeting of the Canadian Historical Association in May 2019. I wish to extend my appreciation to the organizers as well as to members of the audiences for their questions. My greatest thanks, as always, goes to my wife Andrea for her many years of love and support. Salt Spring Island, 1 July 2020

Reading the Diaries of Henry Trent

Introduction

HenRy tRent Was uPRooted from his home in England at the age of nine or ten, after his father decided to begin a new life in British North America. Lieutenant George Norris Trent was unlike other British half-pay-officer emigrants such as Dunbar Moodie and Thomas Traill (whose wives wrote influential accounts of their experiences),1 insofar as he was not motivated largely by economic considerations and he had the means to purchase an operating farm rather than “roughing it in the bush.” Also, unlike the Moodies and Traills, he was drawn to Lower Canada’s Eastern Townships, which had been promoted by the London-based British American Land Company as an ideal place for gentleman emigrants because its hilly topography made it more healthful and more picturesque than Upper Canada, as well as better suited to pastoral farming.2 But the fact that Trent was subject to paranoid fantasies ensured that, rather than gaining the prestige and influence befitting a local squire he became a recluse, finally returning to England with his son, Henry, in 1855. He died there two years later, leaving Henry an estate that was not substantial enough to support a family by upper-middle-class standards, and without the education or aptitude to become either a liberal professional or a successful businessman. After failing to make his fortune on the west coast of North America at the time of the Cariboo gold rush in the early 1860s, Henry spent most of the remainder of his long life as a struggling farmer on the Quebec property he had inherited from his father. In short, he was out of step with the times because he was born and raised within a family that aspired to a class identity that was being eclipsed by the rising bourgeoisie, and he failed to adapt successfully to the structural changes that were taking place in the Victorian era.3

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What, then, can we learn from a study of Henry Trent’s life? To begin with, a reasonably complete picture of the past requires that we not ignore those who failed to contribute to history’s forward momentum. Furthermore, Trent left a detailed record of his daily life, and, as Canadian historian Terry Crowley has noted, our understanding of rural history has been most fully influenced by quantitative studies that have accorded little place to individual experience or to human agency.4 Nowhere is this more true than in Quebec, where Canada’s most sophisticated quantitative history has been written. To gain a fuller understanding of rural life in general, and the economic transition in particular, we must turn to first-hand qualitative sources such as personal correspondence, memoirs, and diaries. For Henry Trent there are examples of all three types of source preserved in Montreal’s McCord Museum. The ten diary volumes (several of which are unbound) are the heart of the collection, and there are two other volumes in the archives of the Société d’histoire de Drummond, as well as one still in private hands.5 (I will use the word “diary” rather than “journal” throughout, not because there is a commonly accepted distinction between the two terms, but simply for the sake of consistency.)6 Those volumes were produced during only eighteen of Trent’s eighty years, but they extend over the fifty-six-year period from 1842 to 1898. Such a lengthy span of time is quite rare, judging from the fact that of the more than 500 English-Canadian women’s diaries listed in Kathryn Carter’s annotated bibliography, only thirty cover forty years or more.7 Furthermore, Trent’s correspondence with family and friends fills in some of the gaps in the diary, as does his brief Vancouver Island memoir. Diaries are uniquely valuable historical sources not only because they are records of daily events, but because – to varying degrees – they reflect the unmediated thoughts and feelings of their creators. Admittedly, the act of writing a diary is necessarily one of recall and reconstruction, the result being what historian Gail Campbell refers to as “at best an edited version of a life.”8 But diary scholar Harriet Blodgett reminds us that a personal journal is more reflective of reality than a memoir “in which life has been retrospectively shaped into a coherent, self-valorizing fiction.”9 There is, after all, a significant difference between recalling the day’s events chiefly for one’s own eyes (letter-diaries being an exception),10 and fashioning one’s life story for a readership, no matter how small.

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Henry Trent’s diary invites comparison with those of female diarists, which have gained the lion’s share of attention from gender historians and literary scholars even though male diarists were actually much more numerous than their female counterparts during the nineteenth century.11 Furthermore, the Trent diary takes us beyond the urban middle class that has been the main focus of attention for historians of manhood in the United States as well as Great Britain.12 Henry Trent fails to fit our image of Victorian middle-class manliness in two major respects. Firstly, his diary is focussed not on the public or the political but on the personal and the familial, themes that have been associated largely with female diarists.13 Secondly, there is nothing to suggest that he experienced the masculinity “crisis” that historians associate with the Victorian era, even though his relationship with the woman he married was more equal than the studies influenced by the “separate spheres” paradigm would lead us to expect.14 Not only does Trent’s life story not conform to the standard public male / private female dichotomy, but his diary enables us to move beyond what historian Michael Roper refers to as the prevalent approach to masculinity, namely that it is a social or cultural construction to be conceived of only in terms of external codes and structures.15 Even though it transgressed not only age but linguistic, religious, and class barriers, the marriage between Henry Trent and Eliza Caya was long and harmonious. Eliza’s family belonged to Drummondville’s French-speaking and Catholic petite bourgeoisie, while Henry’s mother was raised in an affluent London family and his father was a landed proprietor in England as well as in Lower Canada. Henry’s own class status, however, was ambiguous. The Canada Census Report identified him as a “gentleman” in 1881, when he and his family were living in the town of Drummondville, but the church record of his daughter’s baptism that same year identifies him as a “bourgeois,” which was fitting given that Eliza was then operating a small general store. For the most part, however, Henry is listed in the census and the parish registry as a “farmer,” which was also fitting because the farm was where he and his family lived most of the time. The fact was that, despite his privileged family background, Henry Trent lacked both the education and the social status considered to be the basic marks of a gentleman. To refer to him as middle class would also be misleading, given the fact that a self-conscious middle-class identity was only then emerging within loosely affiliated groups of businessmen, professionals,

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and “white-collar” workers.16 In the words of historian John Tosh, the emerging middle-class identity stressed “a punishing work ethic, independence from patronage or favour, piety and high-mindedness, sobriety and chastity, and dedication to family pursuits.”17 In Henry Trent’s case, only the last of these characteristics apply. When Henry was still a youth, a letter to his older sister Maria from her former teacher in Montreal claimed that he had been rescued from that “low rusticity which a country life and estrangement from good society too often produce.”18 The fact remains, however, that throughout Henry’s life the mechanics of his writing were surprisingly flawed. Judging from the occasional spelling correction in another hand in the earlier entries of the diary, it was quite likely assigned by his father as an educational stratagem suitable for his social class.19 Published diaries by well-known figures such as Samuel Pepys had become increasingly popular,20 but Henry’s diary is far from being a literary document in the traditional sense. Historians have become increasingly aware of the value of such diaries, however, for – as Laurel Thatcher Ulrich has stated – much of their power comes from their exhaustive, repetitious dailiness.21 In addition to the weather and other mundane topics, Henry did write about his thoughts and emotions from time to time. His diary is therefore transitional in nature, as it shares characteristics not only with the livre de raison that emerged in the sixteenth century to record daily activities and community events but also with the more introspective journal intime that appeared in the early nineteenth century.22 Even though he was not introspective by nature, the world of Henry’s diary is intimate insofar as it regularly includes personal comments about friends and family members.23 Diary scholars now argue that there is much to be learned from the materiality as well as the structure of diaries.24 It is revealing, for example, that despite Henry’s evident carelessness with spelling, diction, and punctuation, his handwriting is quite neat and legible (see Figure 0.1). The fact that the letters became less slanted over time also suggests someone who was growing less rushed and more deliberate with maturity. The first volumes of the diary were written on handlined and hand-stitched sheets of paper without a cover, contrary to what one might expect for someone of young Henry’s social class. And unlike diaries recorded in books that were especially produced for the purpose, his do not begin on the first day of January and end on the last

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Figure 0.1 Henry Trent Diary, 4–7 October 1842.

day of December. Volume three, for example, ends on 27 September 1844, then – possibly because the diary was, in part, a self-training exercise – the fourth volume begins on 10 February 1844, repeating much of the same information between then and 27 September. The volume for 1862, which is the only one bound with a hard cover, does begin on 1 January when Henry was living in London, England, but neither it nor the following bound volumes were specifically produced by the manufacturer as diaries, thereby enabling Henry to exercise

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Figure 0.2 Henry Trent Diary, 15 November 1842.

textual autonomy by not restricting each day’s entry to a single page.25 Nor does Henry, with one exception, follow the standard practice of using the end of the year to summarize or comment on the events of the previous twelve months, or to speculate on the future.26 Volume three, for example, simply marks the end of the year 1843 with “A happy New Year to the Queen and prince Albert Royal family.” In short, much as he led his own life, Henry’s approach to his diaries was simply to take each day as it came.27

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Figure 0.3 Henry Trent Diary, 11 August 1843.

While less regulated than many Victorian diaries, the Trent diary was still an exercise in self-discipline made all the more impressive by the fact that Henry did not have a printed volume’s dated pages to encourage him to make regular entries. Illustrating his boyish sense of humour, as well as the fact that members of the social elite were expected to cultivate their artistic sensibility, there appears in each of the first three volumes a full page dedicated to crude, brightly coloured drawings. Those in volumes 1 and 3 feature, among other figures, a red-coated

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Figure 0.4 Henry Trent Diary, 15 March 1843.

officer (see Figures 0.2 and 0.3), and near the beginning of the second volume there is a composite drawing that includes clustered farm buildings surrounded by a garrison-like fence in the upper left-hand corner. Across a small stream there is a pagoda-style building adjacent to a kilted figure with a rifle, suggesting that Henry was attempting to portray a fur-trading post (see Figure 0.4). These drawings reveal how much he took for granted his family’s place in Britain’s colonial world. And they also suggest that the rather sheltered Henry was fantasizing about a more exciting life in the wilderness.28 He would experience the hardships of such a life during his sojourn on the west coast, but he continued to be drawn to the woods long after he returned to the farm. It is telling, for example, that the hand-drawn cover of his 1895–96 diary features canoes, rowboats, a rifle, a fishing rod, and small wild animals, though it also includes the tools of a carpenter. Notable for its absence is any image related to farming, unless one includes the maple sap-gathering bucket attached to a tree (see Figure 0.5). As for why Henry continued to keep a diary for much of his life, mere habit might be one explanation, but the activity obviously spoke

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Figure 0.5 Henry Trent Diary, 1 January 1895.

to a deeper need.29 There is nothing to suggest that, once the process had been well launched, he wrote for anyone’s eyes but his own; otherwise, he might have taken greater care with the mechanics of his writing. On the other hand, his circumspection about family members suggests that he did not consider the diary to be entirely confidential. After all, none of the volumes have locks and there is no hint that he hid them from the sight of others.30 Diary scholar Rebecca Steinitz suggests that what is written is less important to diarists than the fact that they have written it themselves,31 but that applies only to a degree in Henry’s case because the content of his entries reveals that he was aiming for psychological assurance that, despite his weaknesses and failures, he was a hard-working and responsible person. Ironically, it was just such a self-justifying role that led to criticism of diaries by some Victorian-era moralists, for one message of Mr Nightingale’s Diary – the popular Dickens and Lemon farce first staged in London in 1851 – was that keeping a journal “served as a corrosive psychological crutch, and sign of weakness of character.”32

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Whatever Henry’s motivation was, the fact that his diary covers most of his life enables us to follow his aging process in some detail. Henry’s life course can be divided rather neatly into two halves: the unsettled period before marriage, followed by the slightly longer period after he became a family man. His diaries reveal, however, that finer divisions are possible, albeit ones that were neither clear-cut nor standard in the nineteenth-century conception of the life course.33 The first stage, childhood, is largely missing from the diary, which begins in 1842 when Henry was sixteen years old. But he had not yet reached the stage of semi-autonomy (defined as no longer living at home) that historians associate with the following life stage – youth – so by that measure, he still would have been considered a boy.34 In fact, Henry did not leave home for the first time until he was twenty-three, and then only to attend a nearby college for a year or so. He was still living with his father at the age of thirty-one in 1857, when George died, and he did not assume the marital responsibilities associated with full manhood until he was thirty-eight years old.35 That is a rather advanced age to be considered a youth, so I refer to the period from Henry’s early twenties to his late thirties as one of emerging manhood.36 Henry’s transition into old age appears to have been rather protracted, much like his transition into manhood. Certainly, it was not the period of leisure that we have come to expect of old age today, for even though he became increasingly dependent upon the labour of his wife and young sons, he continued to work on the farm and in the woods past the age of seventy whenever he was not disabled by sickness. Although this book is divided into Henry’s life stages, then, it recognizes historian Steven Mintz’s point that age is to a certain extent a cultural construct by examining the transitions from one stage to another, as well as the overlaps between those stages.37 Distinguishing this book from a standard biography is the fact that while biographical subjects are generally notable individuals, Henry Trent left no distinctive mark on history. My approach is closer to that of microhistory, which has been defined as the history of “hitherto obscure people,” the aim being to shed light on the broader social and cultural landscape.38 Trent was a rather unremarkable individual in most respects, but I am interested in how the historical changes of the Victorian era marked him, at different stages of his life, as someone of a particular gender, class, and ethnicity. This is not to claim that

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Trent was somehow a representative figure (if such existed), for his life was exceptional in many respects, beginning with his upbringing by a psychologically disturbed father and continuing with his migratory years and finally his cross-cultural marriage. Trent was also unusual for a “respectable” man of his period in that he rarely went to church, though he was a nominal Anglican. That said, literary scholar Felicity Nussbaum has reminded us that all types of autobiographical texts issue “from the culture as much as the individual author,”39 and Henry Trent’s diary does provide an intimate view of nineteenth-century migration, colonialism, the family, the rural economy, labour, religion, subjectivity, emotion, and the natural environment. Finally, historians now regard age as a distinct category of historical analysis,40 and this book moves beyond a static approach to gender, class, and race to examine how, in Trent’s case, these social identifiers took on different meanings as he passed through life’s stages during the Victorian era. In chapter 1 we see how the young Henry spent much of his time hunting and trapping wild animals in the nearby woods rather than going to school or, because of his social class, engaging in farm labour. He did make sporadic attempts to educate himself, but he also became increasingly anxious, and with good cause, about his lack of preparation for earning a livelihood. Chapter 2 follows Henry to England where his diary describes a winter socializing and seeing the sights in London. Still without a career in his mid-thirties, he decided in 1862 to join the British Columbia gold rush. The challenges Henry faced and overcame on the difficult sea voyage marked the first stage of his rather belated entry into what was then considered to be manhood. He never did reach the Cariboo gold fields, but – as chapter 3 shows – he realized his boyhood fantasy of being a woodsman by spending a winter in a cabin on Vancouver Island’s settlement frontier. His failure as a hunter, however, and his sense of responsibility for the young associates he had left in Victoria, led Henry back to the colonial capital in the spring. There he survived by rowing passengers to and from ships in the harbour and, when that failed, by chopping wood and doing other odd jobs. Having proven his physical manhood and sense of responsibility, as well as run out of other options, Henry finally ended his protracted experience of emerging manhood when, as discussed in chapter 4, he decided to return to the Drummondville farm he had inherited from his father. He soon married the young Eliza Caya and, in the following

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years, he became father to a steadily growing bicultural family. Long dependent upon hired labour to help work the land because their first seven children were daughters, Henry and Eliza struggled financially. His diary suggests, nevertheless, that he had few regrets and that he did not feel that his manhood was undermined by the strong role played by his highly capable wife. Once he had reached his late sixties, as examined in chapter 5, Henry’s strength and health had deteriorated, and he chafed occasionally at his lack of independence, but he also took pride in the fact that his two older sons – though still attending school – were becoming willing workers on the farm. Furthermore, his daughters – who had received good convent educations – had married well, enabling them to contribute to the family’s welfare. In short, then, despite his privileged gender, class, and race, Henry Trent’s life was for the most part not an easy one, as reflected by his slow transitions through life’s stages. Although his story is one of downward mobility from a socio-economic perspective, however, he entered old age without bitterness and without any indication in his diary that he considered his life to have been a failure.

Background Henry Trent was born in the town of Ely, which lies in the heart of England’s low-lying fenlands. His birth date is recorded in the Trent family fonds as 26 June 1826,41 but he was clearly uncertain about the date because his birthday passed each year without mention in his diary and he claimed in one letter that it was 26 July 1827.42 Furthermore, the 1901 Canada census report records the birth date as 31 June 1825.43 Such uncertainty may reflect the lack of a maternal presence since Henry’s mother – who was the daughter of a wealthy London jeweller – died when he was only four years old (assuming he was born in 1826). His parents had moved to Ely shortly after marrying and establishing a wholesale cloth business in 1821, and his only sibling, Maria Dorothy, is recorded as being born in 1824.44 It was soon after his wife’s death in 1830 that George Trent began writing long public letters complaining that a mysterious ventriloquist was impersonating him and reading his mind. Trent never identified who he thought his tormentor was, but there is no suggestion that he

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Figure 0.6

15

George Norris Trent.

associated him with the devil,45 or that he – unlike female members of his family in Ely – was in any way religious. Convinced that the aim of the ventriloquist and various impersonators was to drive him from Ely, the senior Trent decided to leave England in 1836 when he was in his mid-forties. He wrote to an unknown correspondent in October of that year that he and his two children were the only cabin passengers on the voyage, the fare for which had been £36. Arriving at the port of Quebec in June, Trent quickly moved to Montreal, where Maria and Henry were enrolled in private schools. He noted that he had paid £40 a year for Maria to attend Miss Easton’s school for girls which, he claimed, was the least costly “of any that I can send her to at

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Figure 0.7 Map of Counties in the Eastern Townships, 1829–53.

Montreal.” As for Henry, he attended St Paul’s school operated by the Reverend Doctor Black, an Anglican, and a Mr Mackenzie, who was a Presbyterian.46 Both men – Henry later wrote – “treated me with great kindness and consideration while I was there.”47 His father claimed in one letter that Henry was enrolled in the school for three or four years, but in another that it was for a year and a half.48 Judging from the quality of the grammar and syntax in his diary, Henry’s education was rather rudimentary. Maria, on the other hand, had literary ambitions. In 1847, at the age of twenty-three, she produced a draft short story that was clearly based on personal observation for it described the unfitness of military men for life in the backwoods.49 In 1836, George Trent tried to buy from the London-based British American Land Company a 250-acre farm near the picturesque St Francis valley town of Richmond.50 Ultimately, however, he paid a private owner 200 louis (the equivalent of $800) for a 200-acre farm

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further downriver in the low-lying township of Wendover. Trent would later add to the farm a 200-acre lot adjoining its corner. As a former naval officer aspiring to be a colonial squire, he was undoubtedly attracted to the location because on the opposite bank of the river lay the village of Drummondville, founded in 1815 as a military settlement for veterans of several colonial regiments who had fought in the War of 1812. The most important of those regiments was the Voltigeurs, formed in Lower Canada and commanded by the young Lieutenant-Colonel Frederick George Heriot. The British-born Heriot, who became the Drummondville settlement’s supervising officer, chose the site because of its strategic location on a potential American invasion route, and because the nearby waterfalls could be harnessed to power mills. There were reportedly more than 500 settlers in the settlement in 1816, but it suffered serious setbacks during the following years of unseasonably cold weather.51 Furthermore, British immigration to the colony was slowing dramatically by the mid-1830s, largely due to the intensifying political crisis that would erupt into armed rebellion in 1837. The district warden reported in 1842 that Drummondville was “nearly altogether peopled by hardy, loyal British settlers, a very large body of whom volunteered for general service during the unfortunate rebellions of 37 & 38.”52 George Trent was not psychologically fit for military service, but in 1836–37 he did erect a large stone house that was evidently designed to keep out potential foes as well as to mark his status as a landed gentleman. Initially measuring forty-five feet by twenty-seven feet, the two-storey structure later came to be known as le Manoir Trent, and with its surrounding acreage it is now preserved as a historic site known as le Domaine Trent (see Figures 0.8 and 0.9). In his diary, Henry refers to the house less grandly as “Woolly Cap Hall,” obviously because it was so difficult to heat during the winter. His father claimed in 1843 that he had “expended in the Purchase money, new buildings, clearing, Stocking, etc. about Eight Thousand Dollars,”53 which was a substantial amount of money for the time. Although he styled himself a local squire, George Trent did not receive any of the patronage appointments that marked his counterparts in the Eastern Townships and elsewhere in British North America as members of the local elites.54 In terms of physical geography, Wendover township lies within the broader St Lawrence plain, but south and east of the former seigneurial

Figure 0.8 Rear Aerial View of le Domaine Trent, 2017. The reconstructed well is to the right of the house and the bake-oven is to the left. In the upper right-hand corner is the Trans-Canada Highway.

Figure 0.9 Front Aerial View of le Domaine Trent, 2017. This view shows the bridge crossing the St Francis River to Drummondville. According to the historic site interpretation board, the double barn was built by George Norris Trent in 1846, but it seems more likely that the second part was built by Henry Trent in the late 1850s. Unfortunately, the two barns are now slated for demolition.

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zone; it therefore shared the freehold tenure of the townships further up the St Francis valley. Its fertile valley-bottom land aside, Wendover’s location long posed economic challenges. Because Drummondville and the main road to the St Lawrence River lay on the opposite side of the St Francis River, access to markets was difficult, especially whenever the St Francis was either flooding its banks or sheeted with ice too thin to support much weight. Americans had begun settling the Eastern Townships in the 1790s, but as late as 1844 Wendover had only thirteen houses with seventy-seven inhabitants.55 Furthermore, George Trent was unprepared for the challenges of an economy in which the market was limited and labour expensive. Henry’s diary reveals that his father raised a few sheep, pigs, and cattle, as well as harvesting some wheat, oats, and potatoes, but he was still purchasing basic food supplies and renting oxen in 1843, six years after his arrival. Furthermore, sheep were vulnerable to predators, for Henry recorded on 21 June 1844 that “a Wolfe came last night and killed 8 of our lambs and two are wounded, it scattered them all about, we found 4 of the lambs, bleed clean, all sucked in the neck, the rest we could not find.”56 George Trent clearly had ample funds, however, for a year earlier, he had paid £225 for 900 acres of crown land in nearby Acton township, part of which had been granted to former officers of the Voltigeurs regiment in 1830.57 In 1845 he employed two men to report on the quality of the soil, which they claimed was good, being mostly in deciduous trees. There must have been a considerable amount of pine, however, for that same year Trent’s crews were cutting square timber for the English market.58 He also expanded his house by building a stone addition onto the north end in 1848. Measuring thirty-two feet by twenty-eight feet, it was initially inhabited by the servants, as had been the original wooden structure that it replaced.59 But such pursuits did not prevent Trent’s psychological illness from persisting, as it would throughout his life. In a petition to the Legislative Assembly in 1843, for example, he claimed that “Persons in the Colony are in the habit of going in the disguise of People in the neighbourhood, and suffering themselves to act under the direction of a voice, without knowing from whence it comes, by which various Thefts, frauds, Insults, and other annoyances are from time to time suffered by the peacable [sic] part of the community, and these malicious persons attempt to direct the Political opinions of the community.”60

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Trent’s paranoia was combined with delusions of grandeur, as reflected in his letter a couple of months later to “Your Royal Highness” in which he offered his services as Chancellor of the British Exchequer. This application was based on Trent’s scheme to pay off the national debt in twenty-eight years while cutting taxes in half at the end of fourteen years.61 The fact that Henry never mentioned his father’s mental illness reveals his sense of loyalty to him as his only parent, and the insecurity of someone whose early years in Drummondville were rather sheltered and lonely ones. Henry’s strong though not always harmonious attachment to his controlling father would have an unmistakeable impact throughout his life, as we shall see in the following chapters.

1

Boyhood and Youth

HistoRians oF cHildHood now stress the importance of moving beyond prescriptive literature to capture children’s own voices. As a recent study points out, children’s diaries and letters are particularly important sources for illuminating “the perspectives, emotions and experiences of young people in the past.”1 With his attention generally focussed outward, Henry Trent rarely expressed his innermost feelings, but three main themes emerge from his diary between 1842, when he was sixteen years old, and 1846, when the first gap in his diary begins.2 The first theme, his life outdoors, is stronger in his younger years when much of his time was spent hunting, trapping, and fishing. In contrast to these rather leisurely pursuits, the second main theme that emerges from Henry’s diary is his sporadic attempts at self-improvement. Concerned about his lack of schooling, Henry did his best during the coldest winter months to read scholarly works as well as newspapers. Each of those themes reflects his status as the son of a landed British gentleman, and the third theme is about his strongly dependent relationship with his aloof and authoritarian father. Any sense of autonomy Henry may have gained from his rather solitary youth would be offset by his social immaturity and lack of self-confidence, particularly as he entered his twenties, a period when he was still very much under his father’s wing.

The Natural Environment Henry’s geographic range was largely restricted to the distance he could walk or paddle in a day, for he never joined his father on his occasional business trips to Montreal. The young Trent’s social circle was also very

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limited, his only friends being John and William Robins, sons of the former military officer and current local registrar who lived on a neighbouring farm.3 Crossing the river to Drummondville was especially difficult during the early winter and early spring months, when the ice on the St Francis River was too thick for the skiff that served as a ferry but not thick enough to support much weight. To take one example, Henry described in detail how, on 5 January 1844, the horse and sled carrying Maria and himself sank into the river, though the passengers were able to jump to shore and the horse was finally rescued. He also described a couple of occasions in the early spring of the same year when the river was a remarkable 450 yards wide and the canoe he was paddling leaked so badly that he barely made it to the opposite shore. This was a dangerous situation, for he wrote on 19 June: “today took a bath in the river[;] attempted to learn to swim but could not as yet.”4 Not surprisingly, Henry paid close attention in his diary to the rise and fall of the river, as well as to the rainfall that governed its flow and the temperature that dictated when it would be safe or not safe to drive a sleigh on its frozen surface. He did not cross the river to attend school or church, however, and nearly all of his time was spent in the farm’s vicinity, fishing, hunting birds and squirrels, and – during the winter months – inspecting his trap lines. Clearly condoned by his father as sporting activities suitable for the son of an English gentleman, to Henry hunting, trapping, and fishing also provided a sense of purpose by contributing to the kitchen larder as well as supplementing the meagre allowance he received. Most entries in the early volumes ended with “this day has been a very fine day Indeed,” or words to that effect, thereby revealing that Henry was enjoying the outdoor activities associated with boy culture.5 Not surprisingly, then, it was in the woods where Henry would feel most competent and confident throughout his life. As a boy, Henry was eager to shoot any wild creature that he could, including non-game birds such as blue jays, woodpeckers, robins, and red-winged blackbirds. But even though members of the British gentry saw little contradiction between admiring wild animals and killing them, often in large numbers,6 Henry did express remorse on one occasion (29 February 1844) after he had shot a squirrel, writing: “this animal was running up and down the tree, the weather being warm, their were 3 other animals of the same kind. I was very sorry I shot it,

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they where so pretty in there live state, running and pursuing each other with such activity and smartness scarcely consceivible.” Nor did Henry, unlike many boys his age, resort to the torture of animals.7 As historian Anthony Rotundo notes, however, hunting and fishing “taught boys the habit of dominion over their natural environment.”8 Thus, in the spring of 1845 (5 May) – after being confined to crutches because of an axe wound to his leg – Henry exulted: “I walk out in my expidition with a belt round breast and a pistle stuck in, resting in my weascoat pocket and a 4 lb to 5 lb axe on my shoulder the handle 3 feet long. I walk in the utmost of pleasure, as happy as Roberson Crusoe, with a good dog I fance Im a mach for any animal in the woods.” Fortunately for the local wildlife, the young Trent was initially not a particularly skilful hunter, nor were the often-borrowed flint-lock long guns very dependable or accurate. At the end of the second diary volume, on 10 August 1843, Henry methodically recorded that so far, he had shot only four snipes, seven common birds, and eighteen “pigins” (presumably passenger pigeons). As the summer wore on, however, he reported shooting one or more pigeons most days. Those subsequently-extinct birds were still plentiful enough in the spring of 1845 to pose a problem for farmers, for Henry wrote on 13 May of that year: “pigeons came about us, and on our fields of Wheat. I fired fired [sic] at them but without effect.”9 He also snared and shot many partridges and rabbits during the fall and early winter,10 but 19 May 1845 brought a rare concession to game conservation when he wrote: “I brought in 5 snaires that I had set[,] it being the breeding time.” During the spring Henry’s attention turned to shooting and trapping muskrats (the most prolific of the region’s fur-bearing animals),11 as well as fishing with rod, net, spear, and – more productively – a night line to which multiple hooks were attached. He made no mention of salmon,12 catching only bass, pickerel, mullet, chub, pike, eels, and a species he referred to as “scargo.” On 27 April 1844 he recorded that Major Menzies, who lived across the river, “read me a part of the law (lately proscribed) consirning fishing and trapping such of the finney tribe of the saint francis river,” but there is no indication that he paid attention to any regulations.13 By the time he reached the age of eighteen, Henry was becoming a more skilled outdoorsman, graduating to the pursuit of larger game, though he never reported seeing a bear, and deer and moose proved

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to be elusive. Setting out on 23 January 1845, he and two young men, at least one of whom worked on the Trent farm, snowshoed over a daunting 121 miles in four days. On the third day, after walking eleven miles, they discovered a moose yard and set off in pursuit for another twenty-nine miles before camping for the night. Unable to build a proper fire because the steel head of their axe had shattered, they spent a cold and sleepless night before following the moose tracks for another fifteen miles in the morning. Finally, because the snow on the high ground was not deep enough to tire the elusive animal, they gave up the chase. The sun was nearly down when Henry finally arrived home, his feet “scalled with the strings of the snow shoes,” and the skin peeling off his two blistered toes. He nevertheless concluded on a characteristically sanguine note: “we got no game but we where glad, we got home safe.”14 In the meantime, Henry also became very interested in a nearby First Nations encampment. The Abenaki village of St Francis, or Odanak, lay approximately forty kilometres to the north, near the mouth of the St Francis, and Henry had mentioned a brief contact on 9 November 1843 when he wrote: “today an indian paid us a visit for some potatoes as he was going to hunt.” Two days later, he reported: “an indian came with another person who crossed the river. They had come from their traps.”15 But Henry’s first extended contact with any of the Abenakis was in the following spring, on 23 March 1844, when he wrote: “Took a hunt with a little Indian boy for a little while this afternoon.” He visited their camp a few days later, writing on 2 April that he and some of the boys amused themselves by throwing a tomahawk at a target. The following day he recorded that “a little Indian boy gave me a bow and arrow; Joseph Gêle [Gill] they gave me some syrup today that they had been prepareing to make Sugar with.”16 Clearly fascinated, the young Trent continued to visit the camp, taking his sister there on 6 April “to see them boil off Sugar.” He added: “they were verry kind to us indeed[;] theire cabin was kept clean and free from rubish and they were also verry resectable looking inhabitants of the Woods.” Henry did not mention the location of the encampment, but it may have been on the land the Abenakis owned in Durham township, a few kilometres upriver from Drummondville. Originally granted to seventeen Abenaki male family heads in 1805, most of the 8,900 acres had subsequently been alienated to white settlers.17 Henry’s journal mentions the Abenakis again on 30 May 1844, when he wrote that he

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had seen an Indian making a canoe of spruce bark, adding that “it would scarcely take a day to make it, being so simply made.” On 7 June he met the same man and his young son who were camped on an island, and he was allowed to try out their canoe, reporting that “I did not find it so ticklish as I suposed nor so hard to stear, as I was told by others. It was made of spruce bark and the holes stopped up with clay.” Sadly, Henry learned on 11 December that the boy, whom he now identified as Joseph Gill, had drowned. Henry was deeply moved by the boy’s death, for he mentioned the tragedy several times in his diary. He also visited the Abenakis again the following spring when they returned to make maple sugar. He wrote on 28 March 1845 that the boy’s aunt “fired two shots with my pistle at the mark, she appeared a steady and inteligent woman.” Henry was clearly deeply impressed by the Abenakis’ traditional skills and knowledge of the natural environment, though his rather imperious father did not share the same sentiments. He had refused to pay for the pair of snowshoes brought to the house while Henry was away, instructing that they instead be taken to the local store where “he would give him the price he wanted if they where good, papa himself not being a juge of snowshoes.” Henry did pay the three-dollar asking price, and his journal entry for 13 January 1845 adds: “it was the same indian by the discription that Papa gave me, A tall well made indian as streight as an arrow!! and verry active, walks as fast as Moose Deer, has two good dogs with him.” Henry’s diary entries for the summer and fall of 1846 reveal that he continued to be more engaged with the natural environment than with the farm.18 He wrote on 14 August that “Our grain is getting ripe fast and we are cutting barley as well as hay, the latter we have not finished yet, and haveing one of our barns filled with it already, far more than last year.” There is no hint, however, that Henry played any role in the harvest. Instead he was cutting, drying, and splitting pine roots for fishing, and the following day he mentioned spearing fish on the St Francis River by the light of a torch, a technique used by First Nations. He added that “it is a famous place for salmon, but not so good now, on account of haveing blasted the rocks, with intention of makeing the channel better at high watter but they did not do any good what so ever, as people cannot go down on rafts and great quantityes of timber stick their.”

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Henry was becoming restless by 19 August when he wrote: “I would like to take a walk to Lake St Peter [the wide, shallow section of the St Lawrence River at the mouth of the St Francis] and shoot a few ducks while there; it would afford me great pleasure and would help to pass to much of my dreary hours away, for I have not seen a Ship these 5 years. My imagination carry’s me away often … I have already walked as far as St Frances the indian villige, and should like to see the country farther, I have been told that I could hire a bark cano and a boy, for a trifle, the boy for a shilling and the cano for a quarter of a dollar, this is the right time for ducks and snipe, plovers, etc.”19 There is no indication that Henry undertook that expedition, but his thirst for adventure was stimulated the following year by the tales recounted by one of his father’s hired men, an “old Canadian” named Antoine Simoneau. Simoneau claimed that he had “served in the Militia during the last War with the Americans, also worked as a voyger for the North West Company, before it was joined to the Hudson Bay … He was at the battle of Shatigaer also where Gen Brock died.” Brock was killed at Queenston Heights in Upper Canada, not Chateauguay in Lower Canada, but Simoneau was clearly a good storyteller, and Henry continued: “He tells me numbers of adventures about hunting[,] fishing and other things. I shall write some of them down, as it will do me no harm but practice my writeing as well as grammer, and afford something for future” (20 August 1846). This idea apparently went nowhere, however, and Henry wrote the following month: “Simonoe and myself had a long chat at the poarch door this Evening on Military disipline, he related to me several anicdotes relating to the last war; But I am not a suficeiently good writer to coppy them down, suficeiently correct to make them pleasing” (7 September). The stories and his own experiences in the rather tame woodlands of the Drummondville area nevertheless had a lasting impact, for years later, when he finally had the freedom to do so, Henry would embark on his own frontier adventure to the west coast of British North America.

Self Improvement Henry’s frustration with his inability to do justice to the old fur trader’s stories reflects the fact that his schooling had been interrupted long

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before he began his diary. From time to time, he did his best in his writing to conform to the culture of sensibility.20 A love of Nature was one such signifier, and Henry wrote on 30 September 1844 that “the leaves begin to fall of the trees … the partriges come out on the roads in order to pick up what they can … the lumber man is buisey seeking for timber, and the traper arranging his traps, the woods appear to be thiner and the trees farther apart, everything appears lonsesome and naked; no noise save the falling of leaves and chirping of squirels are to be heard.” Perhaps thinking of his father, Henry added: “this is like the man that is growing old and the fall of his pipe like the falling of leaves, he preceives his strength fadeing like the saps of the trees that desend to the roots in the winter, so floweth his blood till he had not werewithall to suport his body, so with us all.” Henry was clearly no literary genius, but he did attract the attention of the village patriarch, for prior to the unmarried Colonel Heriot’s death in 1843 Henry had dined with him several times, though he never mentioned what they discussed.21 Perhaps inspired by such talks, Henry wrote on 6 January 1844 that he had donated a mink skin and lent a small geography book to the local institution known as the Mutual Improving School. Two days later, he rather precociously drafted a set of rules for the school’s “use and improvement,” and on 9 January, he “gathered a class for reading, writeing, arithmetick, and for learning the stops, which as yet they see not the meaning. All these belonging to the same class, voluntary Scholars. All willing to learn, and to be taught.” Judging from his own rudimentary writing skills, however, Henry was more willing than able to teach, and that is the last mention of his involvement with the school.22 During the coldest months of the year, the focus of Henry’s diary shifted from hunting and trapping to self improvement (a common feature of Victorian diaries),23 by drawing, reading, and studying navigation. On 2 January 1845, he wrote that he had “Finished a sum in Navigation out of Hamilton More in Mecators Sailing.”24 Fifteen days later, he wrote that he had “Studied at my Navigation as usual,” adding that he had built “a scale model “about 4 feet long as an experiment to try if it is able to stand the crushing of ice when joined up on each side, the same as Capten Perry’s ships” (a reference to Rear-Admiral William Parry, the early nineteenth-century Arctic explorer). Henry also made a camera lucida to assist with his drawing.25 As for reading,

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he was now graduating from adventure stories and travel narratives to political and military history, natural history, and historical novels such as those by Sir Walter Scott. These books, as well as newspapers and magazines, were nearly all borrowed from members of the local British notables. Thus on 14 December 1844, Henry noted that Major Menzies had lent him “some Newspapers about the riots in Montreal.”26 Rare as such contemporary references were, Henry did keep abreast of British affairs from time to time, as on 3 May 1845 when he wrote that he had read in a borrowed newspaper that a rupture with the United States was likely. He commented, “I hope their will be no war, for it is alway’s creating enimies not wanted.” As a proud British subject, however, he added that he hoped Great Britain would “keep her Rights.” Finally, on 17 May he reported that his family had received their first newspaper, adding that it was “one of the cheap kind. We pay only 15d a year. Wilson and Co. it is a Younited States paper.” On 25 February 1845, Henry had written that he intended to “make a reform in my jurnal, that is to say, change the mode, so that it may be useful to me hereafter, in looking back on my past life and opinions, what ever they have been, or will be, in time, to come, this is for my own benifit. If it will be of any use to any one after I am gone (dead), verry well!!!” On a more practical note, he added: “it will also be a writtin chart, to hinder me from running on the sholes which I have struck before. My phraseology is bad as well as my spelling, and this is the way to improve both.” This was the only time that Henry would articulate his reasons for keeping a diary, and part of the following entry did mark a shift towards a more inward focus. Henry confessed that “I find my mind verry cangeable, and at surtain periods I canot bear any thing to disturb my meditations in the shape of noise. I found it so today … I not only loose the train of my ideas, but get so confounded that, I loose al command of my temper.” For the most part, however, Henry’s journal continued to be a record of his daily activities, which now included not only studying navigation, but also astronomy and French (he claimed in a letter to his godmother that he could speak patois but not the proper French),27 as well as ongoing work on his ship models. Although he never mentioned it, Henry was clearly inspired by his father’s naval career. He wrote on 11 March that the rigging was “for the most part, out of my own emmagination, not haveing seen a ship of any kind [thereby forgetting his

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passage from England], but what I have made myself or seen in plaits, not haveing any books on ship building. I make them from my own idies.” Later (on 13 June) Henry would complain about not having any of the necessary instruments or tables. He did, however, begin copying passages of advice such as the following on 19 March from Good’s Book of Nature: “Five things are necessary; viz. a proper distribution and management of his time; a right method of reading to advantage; the order and regulation of his studies; the proper way of collecting and preserving useful sentiments from books and conversaion; and the improvement of his thorts when alone.”28 On 26 April 1845, Henry finally expressed his frustration with having so little to do that was productive. He wrote: “if I could do some thing that would bring me profit or something in the buisness line I would have something to ociquipy my mind as well as time, but here I studying a little, with out the powr of trying experiments on what I learn, or means to do so.” Several days later, on 4 May, he wrote: “Papa was thinking that if he where able to get a company for me It would be a good thing.” In the meantime, Henry had been attempting to make himself useful by doing some woodwork, invariably with borrowed tools, as well as labouring occasionally on the construction of a small sailboat, a canoe from a pine log, a mill dam, and what he referred to as a house. He also began to tend a garden in which he had planted corn. But Henry was in a self-critical mood again on 12 June, when he wrote: “I have a great many things to do, but not dividing my time poroperly, and being to eager for them all, I get none done. I spell very improperly as I see by looking back to past journal, some times the writing is very bad on account of my disposition at that time of daie, my mind being roughed by various vexations, [illegible] which we are liable to alow to get the head of us more or less.” It is doubtful, however, that Henry was experiencing anything more serious than youthful frustrations, for he continued on a more positive note: “I intend also to write what I have a wish to doo in the morrow, before break fast arrainge and prepare fishing tackle and give an account of what I have to my journal so that I may know how affayers are standing. [A]fter breakfast study and work sums for 3 hours, then if not tire do more, but if I am[,] get bate for a fishing after noon, and sufficient for my night line besides. Study and write my journal after tea as usual, Such is my wish but we will see in the morning, if tomora comes; we do not now what the morrow will bring forth.”

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Taking stock again two days later, Henry wrote: “Where it in my pour I would do as Peter the Great did, I am able to make moccasons[,] mittens[,] shot bags[,] axe handles[,] and many other more useful things, it is all for my amusement.”29 He also turned his hand again to drawing, writing on 1 July 1845 that “haveing never been under either a drawing or a painting Master, I cannot keep pace with my taste or rather imagination, for want of rather the manner and the means, I hope in time to get through all these difficultyes.” And, in a similar same vein on 19 July, he vowed “to begin to study with more Zeal, and on more useful subjects.” He was certainly in earnest, for two days later he mentioned that he had begun to study Euclid and to read Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations. At the age of nineteen, Henry clearly still lacked not only the skill and education but also the emotional maturity to become independent, but he continued his attempts at self improvement the following year, in 1846. At the bottom of each diary page he began to include practical information on such topics as making ink and glue, removing paint stains from shirts, and curing certain diseases. Reflecting the influence of his politically conservative father, the entry for 30 August – titled “How to cultivate the mind” – was more philosophical: What stubbing, ploughing, digging, and harrowing is to Land, thinking, reflecting and examineing is to the mind. Each has its proper culture, and as the land that is suffered to lie waste and wild for a long time will be over spread with brush wood, brambles, thorns, and such vegetable which have neither use nor beauty, so there will not fail to sprout up in a neglected uncultivated mind a great number prejudices and absurd opinions, which owe their origin partly to the soil itself, the passions and imperfections of the mind of man, and partly to those seeds which which [sic] chance to be scattered in it by every wind of doctrine which the [.?.]ing of states men, the singularity of pedants and the superstition of fools shall arise. By late fall Henry was growing increasingly frustrated with his situation, and his diary now adopted an increasingly introspective tone. He wrote on 7 November: “I tryed to persuade John R [Robins] to take tea with me but he would not this Evening. In fact, I get lonesome

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alone by myself when I have no one to chat to. I still continued to read Smiths Wealth of Nations and Elegant Extracts from some of the finest Authors; Also I have just finished a novel called the Royal Favourite.30 It amused one for the time but it only amused for the time, like all Novels. It is not right to be disinterested, but one canot help it some times. The society of ones own age, is more or less prefered to that of any other, when left to our selfes.” In the meantime, Henry was finally doing some farm work, for that same fall he wrote to his godmother in Ely that he considered his labour on a portion of his father’s land to be a sort of apprenticeship, adding that “by going through the whole process of cultivation followed in this country I am acquiring the experience necessary to be one day a good farmer.” As a justification for doing manual labour, Henry explained that “Gentlemen from the old Country are too often ruined by the ignorance with which they set about clearing land and managing a small estate.” He also noted proudly that “I am building my self a small house in my clearing and have already raised a couple of crops of fine potatoes and have begun planting an Orchard which one day will I hope repay me for all the labour I have spent on it.”31 Henry’s pious godmother offered little encouragement for his worldly ambitions, however, replying in early October that the final wish of his dying aunt was that “you must attentively read your Bible – and study it well for your own guidance – as a regulator of your future conduct if you wish for the blessing of God – upon your honest endeavours.” She then added: “I am very much affraid [sic] my dear Henry – that you have very wrong notions of what real happiness consists – remember you have a soul to save and when you die that soul will go into everlasting happiness or be plunged into misery which has no end or termination.” And in a postscript to Maria, Henry’s godmother wrote that she was concerned about the state of his soul, for he was “young and thoughtless and has a dangerous world to encounter with, and unless he will accept and follow a little rational advice his ruin is certain.”32 Far from being rebellious, however, Henry wrote rather touchingly in his diary that “I feel happy to feel that my friends and relations have not forgotten me, and much more so, when my dieing Aunt takes so much interest in my well far. For those wishes must be pure that come from those who have no interest in this world” (12 November).

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Life with Father Henry’s father may have spared him from the religious zeal of his relatives in England, but he did little to prepare him for life in the colony. Although, as noted above, Henry worked on a patch of land reserved for his own use as a learning experience, farm labour was otherwise largely left to the three or more men his father employed on a full-time basis. Having servants was then a necessary mark of “respectability,”33 and George Trent clearly considered it beneath the family’s social status for his son to participate in the daily chores. Thus, Henry noted on 19 June 1845, as if it were an unusual task: “I supplyed the girl with Wood for fuel while washing at the river, the men being all busy.” And he wrote on 24 September that he had “milked a cow for the first time this many a day; Haveing tryed It for my amusement, once or twice befor; 2 or 3 years ago.” Nor, evidently, had he worked in the fields, for he wrote on 31 October that “I plowed for a little time this after noon, and found that I might be able to plow well in a very short time.” Perhaps not surprisingly, then, the servants viewed Henry with barely disguised contempt. And, for a time, it was his father’s failure to support him when conflicts arose that appears to have been Henry’s only grievance against him. Despite his cantankerous nature, George Trent gave his servants a considerable amount of leeway. Thus, when the young brother of one of the female servants was caught taking away “a basket she had filled with candles, sugar, tea, cheese, a bottle of molasses and some pieces of bread,” George simply warned her that if it happened again “he whould place them before the Authorities.” In this case, the reason for leniency was not so much the scarcity of household servants as the fact that the young woman’s father was a neighbouring farmer, and – Henry wrote – it was “a bad thing but it requires us to be carefull, in case of worse things being done” (14 March 1845). As we shall see, his father was not always was so cautious about the neighbours’ sensibilities. The female servants were bold enough to cause the resignation on 30 August 1845 of Robert Brack, who Henry clearly looked up to as one of the men who had taken him on the moose-hunting expedition. He complained that it was the “maid Servants” who “aught to be sent away, but they were not the ones who gave Henry the most trouble, for on 1 July one of the hired men had refused to row a female servant

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across the river, and Henry’s order that he do so was not reinforced by his father. The humiliated but submissive Henry wrote: “I was for leaveing the place for ever … but a kind word turneth away wrath, more so when spoken from a father one likes loves and trusts in secreet … yet I am not frightened to face the world alone[;] although I disdain the help of another without hopes of returning the same, I must make my Papas hapiness my own as much as possible, and put my trust in God.” (It was not unusual for Henry to refer to God or Providence, but always in a passive or fatalistic way rather than a genuinely spiritual one.) Again, on 18 August, one of the workers expressed his contempt for Henry by spitting at him and trying to shove him off the cart they were standing on. When Henry “began to lay about the plane on him as hard as possible,” the man attempted to retaliate with a pitchfork. He then ran away but was stopped on the road and ordered by Henry’s father to return to his work after he had apologized. The effect of treating this violent encounter so lightly was clearly to keep Henry in a subordinate position. Henry had finally taken a concrete though unsuccessful step towards employment and independence on 30 July when he wrote: “I am now 19 years of age and am trying to get a place in the Hudson’s bay or N.W. Company for it is time to get some busyness.” His father wrote to Maria’s former teacher, Miss Easton, that he had wished “to make him an honest lawyer and doubtless he would then be considered the most remarkable man of his time, but he shakes his head, the law having no charms for him.”34 On 11 August, Henry drafted a letter to Sir George Simpson, governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company, applying for a position as clerk, including as well a letter that his father had written in support. The elder Trent’s letter stated that since being in school Henry had “amused himself … in Hunting, Fishing, Shooting, and Woodland adventures.” As a result, he was “a cool shot and as he has long legs he can walk about 4 ½ miles per hour[;] he enjoys good health and is docile.” George’s letter continued rather unhelpfully, however, with the observation that Henry “drank water with his meals to within Twelve months, when finding that he made wry faces at Rum and water, I have indulged him with a little Wine which he appears to relish, but should he enter your Establishment I have no doubt after five or six years of travelling collecting Furs that he will not be

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so fastidious.” As a former naval officer, Trent presumably associated rum with manliness, but more detrimental to his son’s application was his closing comment that he hoped to succeed Lord Metcalfe as the next governor-general of Canada “for I think a man of my Political Merit deserves it as I am one of the few Men of Character left who can properly appreciate the benefit of our Constitution of 1688 which does not permit either Judge, Magistrate or Jury man to be personated as the law equitably administered according to that constitution is the perfection of civil liberty.”35 Henry assured Simpson, in turn, that “I have been exposed to cold, when so severe that few People would have exposed themselves to it from choise.” Referring to his father’s letter without mentioning his paranoid delusions, Henry was naïve enough to add: “My Father forgot that last week he offered me a glass of Rum and watter to which he disired me to add a small quantity of lime juice & Sugar which was so palatable, that I drank it with out wincing and therefore I hope that I shall not be considered unqualified on that account.”36 Not surprisingly, Simpson replied that there was no opening, nor was there likely to be.37 Henry was torn about leaving the household in any case, for he had written in his diary: “although I wish to do some thing for myself and am verry eager to loose no time, yet the thought thought [sic] of leaving those behind whom I have received the utter most affection and kindness from; makes me feel very sorry and brings up all thoughtness[?] to my throat as if to choke me.” Although he had deprived his son of a good education, George Trent continued to have inflated ideas about his prospects, writing to the colonial militia office in 1846 that, as the son of a former naval lieutenant, Henry should receive an officer’s commission. Such commissions were almost indispensable in order to attain local status,38 but Trent again sabotaged Henry’s very slim chances by complaining that he had been driven from England by a hired tormentor.39 Indeed, when Henry received a letter of rejection from Lieutenant-Colonel Cox, commanding officer of the local militia unit, his father wrote to the provincial head of militia that he was unable to understand the reason, “unless it is meant for an Insult.” He added that he had travelled with Cox to Sherbrooke in 1837, “but I did not converse with him as his thoughts appeared to me by his gestures to be engaged in conversation with a voice, without my knowing from whom it came, and I suspect by the Tenor of his letter to my Son that he is a Tormentor.”40

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George began to think of returning to England two years later, in 1848, writing to a friend that the Canadian climate agreed with him and his son and daughter, “but notwithstanding the beauty and sometimes the sublimity of the Scenery I wish to return to Ely for my Children having been bred in the Woods partake of all the innocence of the Arcadian Shepherds, and should I die suddenly they would for want of Knowledge of the World be grievously imposed upon.” There was a degree of truth to this statement, at least as far as Henry was concerned, but Trent was clearly also disappointed that he had not escaped his demons. By 1849 he was complaining to the governor general that there was a conspiracy to rob him of money as a consequence of his cattle having broken out of their pasture. He also wrote that following Colonel Heriot’s death he had declined visits from the local magistrate, Robert Nugent Watts, who was Heriot’s nephew and heir, and who had levied the fine for his cattle’s trespass. Trent explained that “in consequence of so many Mr. Watts calling upon me … it was impossible for me to say which was Mr. Watts and which was not.” He added: “I was then too polite to say so to him, but I said with great truth that when I was visited my Head ached in consequence of my not being able to keep my thoughts under controul [sic] when in Society as they were known to some Scoundrel who annoyed me continually and who I apprehend is employed by some Powerful Person to insult me.” In what was one of a number of endlessly hallucinatory letters, Trent alluded to a “Warrant of Bastardy” issued against him while he was living in England, also suggesting that the various individuals posing as Watts were the same ones whose insults had driven him from Ely “under the direction of some one who is too Strong for the laws of his [sic] Country.”41 After claiming that the MPP and magistrate who had fined him for allowing his cattle to break from the pasture into his own woods were two different men, Trent suggested that the wife of his neighbour, Joseph Boisvert, had deliberately lured his cows onto their farm in order to milk them, and that the legal complaint about his fence was the commencement of a campaign to drive him back to Ely. Trent then requested that the governor general dismiss Watts as a commissioner of the peace, adding that “if there should be any difficulty in finding a sensible upright yeoman or Farmer to accept it, I then offer my Services as an unpaid Magistrate.”42 Given that such an appointment was yet another touch-stone of membership in the ruling class,43 Trent clearly had his own social status in mind.

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A month later, not having received a reply, Trent again pointed to the danger of allowing Watts to remain a justice of the peace, given that “so many People go in his Disguise,” making it possible “for one of them to abduct the Earl of Elgin and Kincardine [the governor general] and carry him off to Scotland.” Also, one of them “might lay violent hands upon Mr. Hinks Strong Box and appropriate the proceeds of his Canadian Securities [Francis Hincks was the inspector general of the province] … for I am not quite certain now whether the Person who caused me to pay the outrageous fine is the true man, for this Person had Black Hair, but with one exception the others were Flaxen Haired or Brown Hair.” Trent added that he had gone to the backwoods of Canada to escape years of mysterious annoyance, and again asked to be appointed as unpaid magistrate, explaining that it would allow him to protect himself and his neighbours. The civil secretary’s response on behalf of the governor general was simply that this was not a case in which the government could interfere because Trent had recourse to a higher court for an appeal.44 Although he failed to mention his father’s delusions, Henry did express concern about his management of the family property. As early as 1846, he had written to his godmother that depredations were being made on their lumber in Acton township due to his father’s negligence. A railroad was being constructed nine miles from this land, and the river running through it offered a good site for a sawmill, “all which advantages I am anxious should be turned to account if Papa will only allow me the means of getting my self into business.”45 George’s neglect of the Acton property finally ended (though not for the better) in October 1849 when he wrote that his employee, Robert Brack (who had obviously returned to the fold), had discovered that between fifteen hundred and sixteen hundred logs cut from his land were now in the river. Furthermore, about as many more were ready to be sent to market, and Brack had counted approximately a thousand stumps. The letters Md marked on the timber, Trent had been informed, referred to a lumberman named Frank McDonald. He demanded five dollars for each log, if they were cut by mistake, and threatened to “proceed criminally” if they were not.46 McDonald denied cutting any of Trent’s trees, however, and informed him that the Md brand was used by Monk and Drummond, who operated a sawmill nearby.47

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As a result, Trent proceeded to accuse Solicitor-General Lewis Thomas Drummond of cutting 1,000 of his trees worth $5,000 and destined for Drummond’s sawmill at St Hyacinthe on the Yamaska river. Drummond, in turn, denied having had any trees harvested outside his own property, and claimed that the mill was built largely to produce lumber from the forest in his Upton seigneurie.48 In December 1850, Trent complained to the provincial secretary that the local magistrate, George Leonard Marler, had refused to act on the grounds “that the stealing of Timber differed from any other Theft, and that he was not empowered to inflict a Penalty for more than Sixty Shillings.” Trent insisted, however, that he had made up his mind “to send them to the Scaffold, as I considered it to be one of the most [.?.] and atrocious Robberies, both by its magnitude and for its contempt of the Laws; notices having been placed on the Trees after the first Theft, warning them of the consequences.” He then asked that Marler be instructed to issue a warrant against Drummond. Once again, the provincial secretary’s reply was that this was not a matter for the executive government.49 Underscoring his ambition to play the role of local squire, Trent claimed three months later that the revenue from the stolen timber would have “enabled me to purchase all the cleared lands in my immediate neighbourhood, with perhaps the exception of the County Members property.” One of his qualifications for the position of unpaid magistrate, he argued, was that “my thoughts have been known and replied to, night and day for Twenty years, without my consent, and that they would have been taken advantage of had I not been correct.” Once again, Trent’s application was promptly rejected,50 but he refused to let the Acton matter drop, eventually taking it to the British authorities, as we shall see. In the meantime, tensions were building within the Trent household, as well. Henry had finally left home a year earlier, at the age of twenty-three, in order to enrol in the French-language college located in the nearby town of Nicolet. He was becoming more independent psychologically, but the fact remains that he was not too old to avoid advice from his father, whose first letter to him was written in French. It instructed him to avoid debt by paying cash for everything, and not to forget his Latin.51 Henry apparently applied himself, at least at first, for in November 1850 he wrote to his father that he had suffered from an

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attack of inflammation of the brain, which was attributed to studying too hard. He had been bedridden and bled several times by a local doctor,52 but he appears to have experienced a full recovery, for the following March he reported: “I study and make myself as happy as I can.” He was now enjoying the company of his friends and playing his violin for a half hour after tea, but – demonstrating a growing sense of independence – he had decided not to continue with his French master because he felt he had enough to do with book-keeping, Euclid, and English.53 Nor was his father unwilling to allow him some pleasures, for George wrote the same month that he was happy to learn that “you partake of the Elegant dissipations of the good town of Nicolet, which will neither injure your health or your morals.”54 Though only two years older, sister Maria was called upon to play a semi-maternal role, thereby reflecting the fact that birth order, personality, and talent played a role in the dynamics between siblings, and that gendered roles could be quite flexible within the family.55 In a letter to Henry, Maria wrote that she was “really pleased” with his previous two letters, adding that “if you only improve in spelling they are all one could wish to see them, & the tone of them pleased me even better for to see that you are cheerful & contented is a great thing.” Maria then provided advice on how to take the rusty stains from his black silk cravats (dip them in a glass of gin), as well as mentioning that she was sewing shirts and making socks for him.56 On a more delicate level, Maria also acted as mediator between Henry and his father. Writing in April 1851 that George planned to take Henry on his trip to Trois-Rivières where the Acton lumber matter was evidently before the court, Maria advised Henry to “help him if you can, but if not, do not discuss the subject with any body, as you might unintentionally do mischief.” By “any body,” she was including their father, for she concluded her long letter with the words: “dont talk to him about it, but let him find out for himself the way to go to work, dont clash.”57 Three months later, in June 1851, Maria wrote that their father was talking about building a sawmill again, “which is always a good excuse for saying nay to certain monetary schemes of his son & daughter.” She added, sardonically, that Robert Brack “has persuaded him that he can build a saw mill in a week & a miller’s house in another week & then they are to begin sawing like magic, the timber walking into the machinery with a nod & a wink, verily the days of ferry land are not

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over, so long as a brilliant imagination is allotted to the brain of man.” Maria also wrote that she had heard that Henry was growing tired of college and warned him not to say a word about it for “you are better there than here & if you say anything about your discontent even that may be taken from you, when you come home for the holidays, look about you quietly for a situation but say nothing to papa, if you do not succeed in getting one, go back to Nicolet.” She counselled further that “The wise heads who tell you to make your father give you something, had better make gold out of iron, but you know very well it is not right to talk of making a father do this or that, it is for him to do as he pleases with his own, he is not answerable for the way in which he spends his money … quiet, prudence, & a certain reserve are the surest means with your father.”58 In short, George Trent still expected his son and daughter to approach him with the reverential affection that was characteristic of an earlier era, rather than with familiarity, but it is worth noting that they both referred to him as “Papa” rather than the more formal “Father.” Two months later, in August, Maria wrote that their father was “uneasy about his English affairs,” adding that “there is no need of your coming home for all that; when such a time comes you need look out for yourself to get some employment, which would be a good thing at any time, but do not on any account propose to come home & live as formerly. Such a life is to be avoided by all means.” Maria also wrote that their father needed more social interaction, and that “he keeps his children at too great a distance ever to be all the comfort we might be to him.” She closed with the wish that “you would write oftener & more confidentially. I want your letters to be like the old chats we used to have.”59 Whether Henry’s schooling in Nicolet lasted one year or two is not clear,60 but he was becoming increasingly restless by the fall of 1852 when, without asking his father’s permission, he took a trip to Charlestown, Massachusetts. There he visited Guy Robins, brother of his close friend, William, whose marriage to Maria that same year reflects how tight the younger Trents’ social circle was. If Henry was looking for employment in Massachusetts, his mission was a failure, for he asked his father for fifteen or twenty dollars to pay for his return home. In reply, George wrote that he was short of money because he had invested £130 in the new sawmill in Acton, but he nevertheless

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enclosed twenty dollars with his letter.61 Henry appears to have used the money to go to Boston instead, but in November he wrote to John Robins: “I am going to try to live a quiet life and weather this winter at home but the spring may see me on another expedition [,] perhaps a little more successful but may not be so pleasant.” Two friends had returned from working in the area of Montpelier, Vermont, where they had earned good wages. One of them was thinking of going to California, but Henry was of the opinion that money there was more plentiful than land.62 Henry was still living in the parental fold at the age of twenty-seven in 1853, when his diary reveals that his daily routine (and his writing ability) remained much the same as in the early to mid 1840s. Thus, on the new volume’s first page, written on 25 August, Henry wrote: “Spent a part of the forenoon fishing to get something for the men dinner as they [sic] friday, but two chubs and a rock bas was all that I got. I enjoyed the elle [eel] myself at dinner.” He had not given up on looking for employment, however, for he wrote two days later that a friend had promised to put in a good word for an opening in a local lumber company. But social class remained a concern, and Henry added that, as the son of a British officer, his friend “understands how it is, Many are reduced to live on verry small means, the Pride and [a] verry just one some times hinders them from getting on. How hard it is to be brought up above what we cannot suport … I often thankful that I can live in the woods if my health remains good … The little mecanical skill I have often is turned to use, and it makes me feel a little vain at times.” Henry did soon go to work at a local sawmill that he described as being as large as that of his father. The machines were not yet in complete working order but he succeeded in sawing some logs, writing: “I felt quite proud of being able to manage the mill and have no doubt that after little practice and the machinery put in better working order I shall be able to turn out considerable number of boards planks per day.” But the job lasted only two days, much to Henry’s disappointment. Then, on 9 September, he reported having fallen and cut his foot as a result of a dizzy spell. As a result, he swore off drinking alcohol, but added that “A troubled and restless spirit that has been working in me is I think partly the cause. That foolish mill missled me or I might have been better. Nothing but ordinations of kind Providence can help me out this idle unsatisfactory mode of liveing.”

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Henry was not entirely idle, however, for with the help of hired workers and neighbours, he began to harvest crops in his small section of the farm. These included potatoes (a disappointing thirty-two bushels), oats, hay, beans, buckwheat, turnips, and pumpkins. More talented in working with wood than as a farmer, Henry made a handle for a neighbour’s hay fork in return for butternuts from his trees, adding: “he is an obligeing sort of a Neabour and appeared very well satisfyed with his Hay fork handle.” Henry also reported exchanging labour with another neighbour on 17 September when he chopped wood in return for having potatoes delivered to the Trent house by cart. He closed the day’s diary entry on a resigned note by writing: “I feel often ancious for the future but what is the use; I must be thankfull if I can keep my health and try to do some thing in the mean time.” He conceded on 24 September, however, that his summer’s efforts had brought him only fourteen or fifteen dollars in crop value. His goal was to buy a onehundred-acre bush lot, and on 10 October he reported spending “a very pleasant night with my Canadian [i.e. French-Canadian] friends” who gave him “some insight into many things relating to commencing farming in the woods.” Henry added: “They are an axample of frugality and industry, which quite delighted me.” In the meantime there was the winter to face, and Henry had written on 24 September that “I must strugle and see what I can do; I think I shall be obliged to try the trappers life for the rest of this year.” But his enthusiasm for that life had diminished considerably since the mid-1840s, for the 3 October diary entry reads: “I almost dread the hard ships I may have to encounter in the way of bad roads, cold, want of patience, etc.” On a similar note, Henry wrote on 27 October: “Time slips through my fingers with out being able to do any thing to please me, Am obliged to shut my eyes to so much waist of time, But I must thank Providence for the good health I have, I would like to write much of past and present but I would grow sick at heart. Driven by tides and winds unknown, on we must go.” Again, on 10 November, the diary reads: “My hunting requires the full assistance[?] of my patience; If I make 5 or 6 dollars with as many weeks work I shall not be able to complain [illegible word]. But my patience is fast wearing away, It is hard to be situated as I am, But what will be will be.” With rumours of a railway connection to Drummondville, Henry was finally given approval by his father on 21 November to cut tamarack

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(used for railway ties) from the back of the farm. Nine days later, George signed a contract to pay Henry for 150 rails and 100 pickets at a farthing per foot. Henry’s optimism had now returned, for on 8 December he wrote: “I am in hopes of settling for my potatoes with Papa and then what with the rails and pickets, it will give me a good start.” The fact that Henry was also now cutting cedar shingles reveals that he was becoming more accustomed to manual labour. By 23 December, however, he was discouraged once again, writing that with his small debts coming due, “unless I get my potatoes sold I shall not have any left. This is a miserable way of amusing myself but is harmless; My hunting and farming with what little speculations I can continue are my only means of obtaining pocket money. It is with great difficult I keep up my courage for I have not new Books and not the means to get them; unsettled and without prospect[,] nothing left but to trust in Providence and make myself as happy as sircumstances will admit of.” When Henry’s father finally paid him £3 4s. for thirty-two bushels of potatoes at the end of the year, Henry wrote: “My selling my potatoes yesterday has given me quite courage to work at my rails.” By not treating Henry as a partner in the operation of the farm, his father was clearly keeping him dependent, but Henry began to demand payment for his labour as well as his produce, one example being the following comment on 7 January 1854: “Papa tells me he wants me to cut out the nicks requisite in each picket; If I get well payed for it I will do it.” Nine days later, on 16 January, Henry complained: “Find shingle making pays very slowly and if I do not get sale for my toize and a half [a toise is a French measure equal to 6 feet] I shall not try any more; My hard work makes me think considerable as an american would say, for the strugals to independence requires all our wisdom beside Providencial good luck; If I can happen to make ten or fifteen pounds cash by my little lumbering speck I shall be verry glad. I would like to write much about the difficultys I have to contend with but it will not do.” The latter comment suggests either that Henry felt that his diary would be read by others, perhaps in the distant future, or that it would simply be disrespectful to complain about his father, even privately. One of the difficulties he was referring to, as in years past, was his relationship with the servants. He wrote the following day that he would like to hire one of the men to help him cut rails, “but he has not

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appeared as I should like to me. [H]e is in hopes of obtaining favour with John (Papas favourite for the moment), and that cows him. It is hard to judge but Papa has never taken my part when his servants did wrong against me.” Having cut 150 rails and fifty-two pickets by 20 January, Henry wrote that the value was only £2 15s 11 1/2 p, barely enough to cover a logger’s board. When he presented his bill to his father, however, the response was that he could not pay it right away “as he says he has not more than will carry him through although he keeps more than necessary. I tell him short accounts make long friends, says in return that in that case he will pay me at once, but I remmember not getting payed for potatoes and the excuses following during the summer and fall of 52. We took two glasses of punch and played some games at back gammon, but he did not offer to pay me, and the hope defered after such hard work maketh the heart sick … May providence help me to get some where I can act the part of a man not as I am as it where a prisoner.” Matters came to a head the following morning, when Henry mustered the courage to tell his father that he had not acted honourably in the matter of the rails and pickets. The short-tempered George threatened in turn to beat his son with his walking stick, leading Henry to reply that he had “a great mind to go to a Magistrate as I did not like to be treated like that.” After retreating to his bed, Henry broke into “a flood of tears,” and resolved to leave home as soon as possible. He remained under the control of his father, however, and it is worth noting that although his diary records how this conflict unfolded, it does not resort to recriminations. In any case, George clearly felt somewhat contrite, for several days later he gave Henry permission to cut more tamaracks, as well as making his two men available for hire. The following journal entries consist largely of brief references to working in the woods, until they end abruptly on 9 February 1854. Life had not been all drudgery, however, for Henry recorded socializing occasionally with friends and neighbours, generally to the accompaniment of music, though there was no mention of courtship. His increasingly “restless spirit” did not suddenly end in 1854, but his life would soon take a significant turn as his father decided to return with him to England.

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Conclusion George Trent’s colonial initiative was a failure, not only because of his psychological problems but also because farming would never be profitable as long as it was dependant upon hired labour at a time and in a place where the market for agricultural produce was limited. Trent’s lumbering operation offered more promise, but he was not capable of managing a business, and he appears not to have allowed Henry to take part in it. Socially isolated, and treated with a degree of contempt by the farm servants, the young Henry was fascinated by the Abenakis whom he met, and who appeared not to resent him for his privileged status as a member of the colonializing elite. Henry admired the self-sufficiency and the survival skills of the Abenakis, not only because of his own attraction to life in the woods but probably also because of the contrast with his lack of direction and prospect of a career. He did not, however, participate in the rebellious boy culture that Rotundo associates with middle-class America in the Victorian era.63 It was only in his late twenties that Henry finally began to challenge his father’s authority over him, and he would fail to cross the line to independence until after his father died. In short, Henry’s delayed maturity was the result of his rather unusual upbringing as the son of a controlling and delusional father and, no doubt, his own somewhat passive personality, but it was also caused by a social class affiliation that prevented him from gravitating toward a manual occupation that he might have been well suited for.

2

Emerging Manhood, Part 1

even tHouGH HenRy tRent had reached the age of twenty-nine when he returned to England with his father in 1855,1 he was still a dependent with no prospect of a career that would enable him to marry and raise a family. The next nine years would be eventful ones, however, as George’s death in 1857 finally freed Henry to choose his own course in life. Not yet psychologically prepared to settle down, he lived for a time on the Canadian farm that he had inherited before returning to Ely in 1861. He then spent the following winter in London. From there, as with a considerable number of young men of his social class, he was lured to the west coast of British North America by the Cariboo gold rush. As we shall see in this chapter, the detailed diary entries Henry wrote while in London, as well as aboard the steamship that carried him away from England for the last time, take us inside the mind of someone who had not yet crossed into the life stage of full manhood. To identify those years as a distinct though transitional period of social development, I have adapted psychologist Jeffrey Arnett’s concept of “emerging adulthood,” which he applies to the age when one is no longer a dependent yet is still in the process of choosing a longterm career and marriage partner. Arnett assumes that this is a new developmental stage for Americans roughly between their late teens and mid-twenties, and he bases this assumption largely on the fact that marriage ages in the United States rose significantly between 1971 and 1996. In the late nineteenth century, however, the average Canadian male did not marry until twenty-eight or twenty-nine, which was a year or two older than the average American male in 1996.2 Furthermore, even if schooling now lasts much longer than it once did, the fact remains that during the Victorian era, young males were frequently on

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the move before marrying and settling into a life-long career or job.3 Those who were to inherit a farm might have been the exception, but most of them would have lived with their families and under the control of their fathers until they gained title to the property. Nineteenthcentury historians refer to this period of semi-dependency as “youth,” but Henry Trent went through a more protracted transitional stage than that word would suggest, which is why I refer to it as his period of “emerging manhood.”

A Young Buck in England, 1855–62 Henry may have kept a journal between 1854 and 1861, but none appears to have survived. Fortunately, his letter book and correspondence from family members make it possible to follow him during this crucial period. The letters also attest to the closeness of transatlantic ties for Victorian-era settlers of the middling classes.4 What appears to have precipitated George’s decision to return to England was his wish to pursue the Acton timber case at a higher level. Whether he had Henry accompany him because he felt the need of filial support at a time when his health was deteriorating, or because he felt that his son would be incapable of managing the farm, is not clear. In February 1855, George wrote a draft letter from Ely repeating the old charges against Lewis Thomas Drummond, who had moved from being solicitor general to attorney general and whose seigneurial agent had been appointed superintendent of crown timber for the townships south of the St Lawrence. Claiming that Drummond owed him £4,000, Trent added that he suspected “that the Guilty Parties are connected with the Readers of the Mind who from time to time have directed the uninformed and unwary to act under the direction of a voice without their knowing from whence it comes, not reflecting perhaps that they are amenable to the laws of their Country.”5 The following September, Trent wrote to Maria that he and Henry would not be returning to Drummondville before winter because he had not yet obtained a report from the governor general concerning the stolen Acton timber.6 Three months later a letter from the British secretary of state stated that he had received no communication from the governor general on the subject, and that the proper course in such

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cases was to “institute legal proceedings against those persons, whether holding office or not, whom you supposed to have defrauded you.”7 Trent closed his letter to Maria by writing: “The Invisible man has followed me home but the Climate may perhaps be to [sic] cold to follow me out again.”8 Maria ignored such utterances in her correspondence, advising Henry instead that he should settle down so that he could benefit from the “counsel & protection” of their father before he died.9 Maria also offered advice to her father, warning him that he was in danger of losing the Acton lands for unpaid municipal taxes. She explained that the “needy unlearned men” in charge of municipal affairs were unable to account for £600 of the money borrowed from the government to attract a railway to the town of Acton, and that the taxes on the interest for that amount would likely be laid on the absentee proprietors. In short, “They are trying their best to prevent men from holding wild lands or more land than can be managed by one man in a cultivated state, so that there may be no large landed proprietors.”10 The threat, she was implying, was not only to the family’s material wealth but to their social standing. Maria, herself, was experiencing a socio-economic decline after her marriage to William Robins, for they had settled on a small nearby farm where, according to Henry, they would have to “struggle hard and to all appearances for some time to come.” He then added in his typically optimistic fashion: “if God gives them health and courage they may in course of time succeed in getting clear of debt and perhaps acquire an independent living.”11 The Robinses moved to the Trent farm during George and Henry’s absence, and in February 1855 Maria wrote that she was “very much shocked to see the state in which papa’s girls left the house in, his bedding up stairs is scandalous[.] I have had the quilts washed but the beds I could do nothing for. I hope Papa will bring out plenty of sheeting with him or get it immediately on arriving.” Maria added that she hoped she would not have to give up her servant because “We have had a large family this winter – Robert and Fred both here besides the [illegible] – so we have more provisions to buy. Will considers we are terrible sugar & tea consumers, but it cant [sic] be helped.” Referring to the recent death of her infant, Maria ended her letter to Henry by claiming that she could not help “envying you the pleasures you have had. I feel terribly dull but I will try to go out as soon as possible & get new life as I cannot allow myself to mope

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about as I am doing now; it is mistrusting Providence too much to indulge long in any grief. God give me strength to bear my losses; they are almost more than I can bear.”12 Late the following fall, Maria wrote that the money their father had sent had been most welcome. With it, she had paid four dollars to “the woman” for her four months of work, and would give the same to a hired hand who had been paid in produce all summer, but who had been forced to quit because he needed cash for his family. Another ten dollars would be laid aside for “expected sickness,” and “ten more to keep us in stores till we can sell hay.” Maria’s health was an additional expense as well as concern, for she added that she had recently had a doctor bleed her, “and lucky I did or I know not in what state I should now have been.” In short, “I see plainly that except in the way of temporary help, a farm will not support hired labour, there is not only the wages to be paid, but a fuller maintenance than when alone required, as we cannot ask self denial of our servants. Even the short time you have been away you will find a change when you return; there is such a demand for high wages in both sexes & for less work; whole families are crying out ‘To the West To the West.’”13 Maria also made it clear in another letter that she and her husband were in debt to the local merchant, G.L. Marler (who, as we have seen, her father had encountered as a magistrate). Marler had been lenient because of his friendship with her mother-in-law but was himself in financial difficulty. Maria added that if she and William had been “on our little farm, we would have left it long ago, but it will not do to abandon this place, at least until you or some one else comes to take possession.”14 In short, without the pensions and patronage positions that the half-pay officers could rely upon to pay for labour, the second generation would have to accept a lower social status or find another occupation. As an only son, luckily, Henry would receive an inheritance, albeit one shared in part with his sister, and she assumed at this point that he would return to Drummondville. Maria closed her November letter by warning Henry that “the time is fast coming when hired women labour will be as impossible as in the States,” adding: “You will have to get a wife to do your house work & if one woman wont do why I suppose papa will have to be under the painful necessity as Robert would say of doing likewise.”15 In a more serious vein, Maria asked in yet another letter: “Have you been looking out for a smart wife,

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for future times, – you ought to see about it, so as to have one ready when wanted, – better to have a good English woman, than any thing Canadian bred.”16 Given Maria’s own rather strong will, the implication was presumably not that colonial-raised women were too independent but that they lacked the refinement of the Trents’ social class. Maria complained that she was in need of a new dress and other clothing,17 but her depressed state of mind was caused not only by the financial problems she described during that period of economic downturn, but also by her loss in January 1856 of her fourth newborn child. Although infant jaundice rarely requires medical treatment, Maria wrote that it had been the cause of death for her previous three babies.18 She now advised Henry to “Make yourself happy where you are,” adding that “were I in your place I would ask no better life; it is the perfection of life, in a small country town, where town & country are so happily blended as in Ely: how can you even think of these abominable backwoods, which if ever I can get out of I will not hurry into again; no conveniences or amusements, no prospects even of bettering ones fortunes.” The dispirited Maria also wrote that she hoped her husband William would do “something else than farm” because she felt she would not be able to work again and “a well managed farm requires so much to be done by the gude wife as well as gude man.” William, himself, felt that the senior Trent “ought to consider well before he comes out again, for things are now so high that if he goes to work as he formerly did he will want 3 times the money.” Once again, Maria claimed that “servants are the greatest expense, because they not only eat up but waste.”19 Finally, in another letter she advised Henry to see as many of the London sights as possible before his return, adding: “such happiness as you now have must amply pay you for past trouble,” which was clearly a reference to his relationship with their father.20 George Trent was still making plans to return to Canada in July 1856 when he wrote to Maria: “I have not got all that I wished done but Henry as well as myself are tired of having little or nothing to do, he being young is impatient to return when he will relate to you all that he has seen.” The letter continued: “When we return there will be much to talk about, much to explain and I think we shall be happyer when we get together again. [A] little care will do much and the clouds may pass and fine weather come at last. [B]e patient for even here it is not always sunshine. I do not think even William or yourself could

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live here without a small fortune.” As for himself, Trent wrote, “Your advice to me is good. [M]y prospects are not very great and perhaps this voyage will temper my expectations and make me more resolute when I return.”21 Imperious by nature as he may have been, Trent was evidently willing to listen to his daughter’s advice. Perhaps because of his health, however, he and Henry were still in England the following year, in May 1857, when a distraught Maria wrote that she had lost her fifth child, another daughter, at the age of two and a half months. She explained: “I have no knowledge of children & had no one to advise me; it was so hard to cross the river & Mrs. Cook was ill, so we too poor inexperienced parents let our child die before our eyes, without knowing it.” That feeling of helplessness during a family emergency illustrates how insular life in the Trent house could be when the St Francis River was experiencing its spring flood. Maria’s sad letter continued: “I can tell you it was a hard blow & now the house feels so solitary & dismal. I have altered the old dining room again & made a parlour of it; I could no longer bear to see the dreary remains of what had been a nursery.” (The interior of the Trent house would undergo a number of such alterations in the future.) After stating that the death of two young steers had meant that William was forced to borrow money, and “his harvest will never pay for it,” Maria advised Henry: “never live on this farm; it has been as expensive to us in our small way as it was to papa.” Finally, she noted that their father had not sent enough money for the Acton taxes, and that she and William had been obliged to borrow ten dollars to cover the account, for “these taxes have got to be paid & the farm will not pay them.” Maria also admonished Henry several times to write more often: “I wish I could pull your ears, I would heartily, I feel so provoked; if it was not waters that divided us, I would come & see papa through every trouble. I can think only of him, it is so cruel to keep me in this ignorance – God bless him.”22 George Trent never would return to Canada, for he died in England a few months later, in the late fall of 1857. In a letter of condolence, Henry’s cousin wrote: “I have not a shadow of doubt but that although you have been looking forward to it for some time that now that it has taken place you feel it very much.”23 There is no record of Henry’s feelings about his father’s death, but it is quite likely that mixed with

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sadness and uncertainty about the future was a certain sense of release. He had inherited the Ely house that they had been living in, along with its garden, orchard, outbuildings, two cottages, and a meadow, while Maria inherited thirty English acres, as well as a dwelling house, three cottages, and a bake house. They were each also to receive £100, but it was Henry who inherited the Canadian property, except for 500 acres of the Acton lands, which went to Maria. Reflecting how solitary his life had been, George Trent’s will concluded with the wish that his funeral “be of the most quiet and modest description, my son Henry Trent with the working labourers following me to the grave.” It also noted that he had no debts because he paid for everything in cash.24 As a landed proprietor no longer under the wing of his father, Henry was finally in a position to cross the threshold to full manhood. He decided that, before settling down, he would broaden his horizons by spending some time in London. Funded by the rental income of his English properties, he was still in London in the spring of 1858 when his godmother wrote that she was “much pleased that you are enjoying yourself and feel delighted with all you see,” one of those sights being the Crystal Palace.25 As for the struggling Maria, she complained to the family’s Ely solicitor in the fall of 1858 that she had not yet received any money from him, “as I had been led to hope.” And she added: “On looking over your estimate I find that the cottages are inclined to be a losing concern[.] I still hope you will try to dispose of them, as even at the low estimate of 150£, I can [sic] better interest for the money than the cottages now bring, with all of their drawback of rates, taxes & bad tenants.” In the meantime, she added, “I think it would be advisable to let them for a weekly rent instead of yearly, as such poor people find it hard either to save the rent for so many months or to produce at a moments notice a large sum.”26 Henry apparently returned to Drummondville later in 1858, for he wrote to the solicitor William Marshall from there in March of the following year that he had been waiting months for a sum of money to be deposited to his credit. He added that “should my sister or self not hear from you[,] as she informs me she has written to you[,] I fear it will be necessary to take another trip across the ocean which I should be sorry to do for some time to come.” Before leaving England, Henry had sown some wild oats, for he also informed Marshall that he had received a letter from another solicitor “and hope you have

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relieved the partys before this.”27 The issue in question became clearer several weeks later when Henry complained to Marshall that he had received a court summons “about the affair which I supposed was left by me in such a condition that I should not be troubled for some time at all events, How does it come that the poor girl is now destitute.” Henry never described his pre-marital sexual experiences in the diary volumes that have survived, but historian John Tosh claims that in English middle-class society they were considered a “rite de passage to manhood,” one that meant crossing class lines.28 Still, Henry had the judgement of his pious sister and Ely godmother, among others, to consider, and he insisted that Marshall attend to the affair “at your very earliest convenience, and let me know how the girl and child are, as I do not wish to be troubled about the matter again.”29 Though not willing to marry the young woman, Henry was at least mature enough to take some responsibility for the infant. Henry complained in the same letter that neither he nor Maria had received income from the rents that were due, leaving them unable to meet commitments that they had made. The following month, in June 1859, he again protested to Marshall that he had still not paid the legacy duty owed to the Inland Revenue department, adding that “you cannot form any idea of the anxiety I feel at your not writeing to me; but for the kindness of friends in trusting me for the necessitys I require I should have suffered much more.”30 Maria finally lost patience, and with a power of attorney from Henry to act on his behalf, she left her husband and infant son behind at summer’s end to settle the estate in England. Henry also asked her to inquire of Marshall what he had done for “that poor girle of Bury,” adding that “my promise I wish to fulfill honorably.”31 Maria’s subsequent letter from England mentions her property in Newham, consisting of three contiguous nine-acre fields that had been rented at £2 per acre. Maria was inclined to sell, for she had been told that the property would likely bring £1,000, plus £150 for the cottages and £100 in funds. As for Henry, and perhaps in reference to the paternity suit against him, the business-like Maria added: “I will see as soon as I get things agoing for myself, what is to be done for him, but he had better remain where he is, till I see what can be done.”32 Maria was informed by Marshall in late September that, due to the absence of one of the solicitors, “the business cannot be settled

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during your visit to England,” but the considerable sum of £1,575 had nevertheless been paid for her properties by July 1860.33 In the meantime, Marshall had made “arrangements” in October 1859 for what Henry again referred to as “the unfortunate Bury business,” as well as depositing £103 in a Montreal bank account.34 The cheque had arrived in the nick of time, Henry wrote, for “getting my farm in order, Repairs, Depts, Winter food, taxes, Road makeing, cattle, clothing takes away greator part of my present sum.” He was not living alone, for he had found a “farmer” whom he referred to as Pat, and who clearly did most of the work.35 Marshall continued to be negligent, however, for Henry wrote to him in late September 1860 that he had received a letter from Bury St Edmonds “stating that they had not received the promised 2/6d for the last 22 months.” Furthermore, Henry owed taxes “and other creditors are looking to me for their dues.” He had gone into debt by building a large barn (see Figure 0.9) and extensive fencing, and now proposed that two houses in Ely be sold. Henry felt confident in the economic future of the Drummondville area, for he wrote that a “splendid” new bridge had been built over the St Francis River a mile and a half from his house,36 that a small market was now held twice a week, and that a copper mine had been in operation during the previous summer.37 Henry was enumerated in the provincial census of 1861 when he was still sharing the stone house with Patrick Hogan, as well as with Hogan’s wife and seven offspring.38 He apparently became bored with this life, however, for he was back in Ely that same spring when he sent a £60 bill of exchange to Drummondville to cover small debts. He was now living with “an old friend of my youth” and engaged in an unspecified business with a cousin.39 He clearly felt some sense of attachment to his young child, for in August he wrote to his Drummondville friend, R.J. Millar (consistently spelled “Milliar” in Henry’s diary),40 that he had visited Bury and “the little girl is very pretty. I think looks like my sisters little boy[;] fair hair[,] blue eyes.” (The boy in question, Robin Robins, was the last child Maria would give birth to, and the only one to survive infancy.) Henry appears to have been spending most of his time visiting acquaintances, and he wrote that those he gave Indian trinkets to as gifts were much amused. “England is a beautiful country,” he added, “but verry expensive for Back woods men.”41

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Henry was clearly in no hurry to return to Drummondville, however, for he was still in Ely in January 1862 when Millar, who was acting as his farm’s overseer, wrote to him that his hay crop had been “splendid.” He added that “Your new barn is full as it can hold. You will have several tons more than you want.” Furthermore, “oxen and cattle all in good health and fat, cows are all to give milk next summer and have reared 4 calves last summer, last years crop land is all in grass. This year [sic] has ploughed ‘Alma Height’ and the piece between the House and the river which will be in crop next summer (also the Pea field in wheat).” In keeping with George Trent’s military background, in addition to Alma Height, the farm included a Gibraltar Hill which, Millar wrote, “is all seeded down.” Not only had Pat, the hired farmer, harvested 320 bushels of wheat and 256 bushels of oats (which was much more than Henry would ever manage to harvest in the future), but “You have one of the soundest potato crops that is known of in these parts, the crop being almost a general failure in many places were not worth the digging.” Finally, Millar echoed Maria’s earlier advice by asking: “can you not woo and win some bright eyed (blue eyed) English girl to enliven the Halls of your stately mansion and give with yourself a welcome to a friend.”42 Maria’s more recent suggestion had been that Henry remain in England, however, and she now claimed that people in Drummondville “are astonished that you should have the least wish to return; if you had as much to do as falls to the lot of most people here, you would appreciate better the life of ‘dolce far niente’ that you now enjoy.” Anticipating that he would not follow her counsel, however, she added: “We expect to find you quite a buck when you return, quite above stumps.”43 Perhaps because of his sister’s advice, Henry’s diary – which resumes in January 1862 – makes it clear that he was in no hurry to return to Canada. Attempting to exercise some manly assertiveness, he was at that time pressing for back rents and attending to other English estate business. That he was rather lacking in forcefulness, however, is amusingly reflected in his 27 January entry stating that he had been visited by a Mrs Gill, “my late tenant,” who “thought I might give her some thing to buy a new pig as an excuse for haveing obliged them to pay their rent up to time or little after[;] gave her ten shillings But have heard that the gift was not necessary.”

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As a rentier, Henry had little to do in Ely but socialize with old friends of the family, so he decided to spend the rest of the winter in London, with his ever-vigilant godmother warning him to be economical and “to take care you do not run your head into any mischief.”44 Henry took a room in the city on 28 January 1862, and two days later – thanks to a reference note from prominent book printer Richard Clay – he began to apprentice informally in an engineering works owned by a man he referred to as Mr Alen.45 His aim, he wrote to Maria, was to acquire blacksmithing skills that would be useful when he returned to Canada.46 In the meantime, Henry was participating in male youth culture, not by joining self-improvement societies such as debating clubs, but simply by socializing daily with male friends.47 He was still sufficiently parsimonious, however, to record in his diary the price of every small purchase, including bus tickets. Furthermore, he kept a separate detailed account book. On 12 February, for example, he paid three pence for a newspaper and a glass of stout.48 While writing a day earlier that “I find my Mackineckall Studys afford me pleasure and I am pleased with my labours,” Henry was also keeping an eye open for business opportunities. He noted that “there has been news of Gold diggins in Vancouvers rather Frazer River in Columbia and my attention is drawn to it[;] perhaps I may go to it if I feel in the same state of mind I do now.” His prosperous friend Clay (with whom he dined on a regular basis) supported the idea. Three days later, on 14 February, Henry recorded in his account book that he had purchased “Maps of Columbia,” and the following day he met someone “who had been at the diggins in Australia.” Then, on 19 February, he and Clay’s son went to the Jerusalem Coffee House to meet a Mr Marsh concerning a planned expedition to British Columbia. Henry wrote that “we did not come satisfactory point but are to see each other at some future time.” In the meantime, Henry continued to go to the engineering works – paying a small fee to the employees for their instruction – as well as spending a considerable amount of time shopping for a gun. He clearly missed the hunting days of his youth, and he finally contracted with a gunsmith to make a small double-barrelled long gun “of the best material,” with one of the barrels to be rifled for greater accuracy. The price with powder horn and case, Henry estimated, would be between £25 and £26, a considerable sum when compared with the £42.11.6 he

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spent in living expenses during the first three and a half months of the year. Henry wrote (21 April) that the gunsmith could not understand why, given its small calibre, one of the barrels would be used for shot, but he promised that it was “unequal in steadyness” and that it would “stand any amount of charge.” As the manufacturer appears to have realized, however, the expensive gun would prove not to be effective for hunting either wild fowl or large game. At a more mature level, by March Henry was noting occasional attendance at lectures and concerts, as well as visits to museums and salons. But his interest soon shifted toward places of “amusement,” such as one near Lloyd’s Square where he and a friend “had refreshment and smoke[;] saw some verry extraordinary gimmnasticks with verry good singing” (12 April). On 21 April he finally made an oblique reference to young women when he wrote that he and a friend had gone to see the Tilbury Barn amusement “and remained up till morning[;] we had two young friends and took them home in a cab.” He expressed some concern about the expense, however, writing that “the entertainment was very amusing but, what with refreshments and cab home, cost me 12 1/2 sh.” Henry may have been footloose and free, but his indulgence in the city’s attractions clearly had its limits. Although Henry continued to pay little attention in his diary to politics or world affairs, he did record the following on 26 March: “News of a naval engagement between Northerns and Southerns[,] the first trial of Iron-Clad ships.” The reference to the ships’ construction rather than the outcome of the battle is revealing, for he was now making progress in the engineering shop, having written on 25 March: “tried my luck at tempering some steel and succeeded tolerably well, but was a little nervous today.” The following day he wrote: “My work at the forge diverts me very much but I do not find I have the speed that I should have had at an earlyer period.” A day later he burned his fingers in an attempt to repair a steel trap. Henry’s interest in joining the British Columbia gold rush had faded for a time, and he apparently wrote to his sister that he would be returning to Drummondville in March for she replied: “I am sorry that you are not bringing your [illegible] with you, as you will be as uncomfortable as ever in that large stone house alone.” With the Civil War obviously in mind, she added: “be sure & come right through from Portland [Maine]. The States is now no place for any man to rest in.

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You can buy your ticket through from Liverpool to Richmond [Canada East] as I did.”49 And finally: “I will tell Mrs Pat you are coming & I hope she will have the decency to make the house a little tidy for you. It would have been better for you I think to have married.”50 Henry continued to be intrigued by the gold rush, however, writing on 25 March that he had read an article about it in the Times, and that “I really do not know what to think of it.” On 12 April, he learned of “some parties” who were planning an expedition to the gold fields, and the following day he paid a visit to a London resident named Thomas Burt whose letterhead revealed him to be a member of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (sPck).51 It was presumably no accident that the man who was serving as Henry’s mentor, Richard Clay, was the printer for the annals published by that Church of England organization.52 Burt was interested in sending his two young sons to the colony, but he clearly felt that they should be joined by others. After all, publications that were reportedly based on experience had advised that small groups were desirable, not only for economic reasons but for mutual support as well.53 On 15 April Henry recorded in his diary that he had visited the Pacific Steamboat office where he had learned that the voyage via Panama would be forty days in length, that it would be very expensive, and that he would be allowed to take very little luggage. Furthermore, he wrote two days later, his gun would not be finished in time for the 2 May sailing. On 18 April, however, Henry returned to Thomas Burt’s house where they discussed with a young artist (presumably Frederick Whymper) the possibility of forming a company to go to British Columbia. From 29 April to 1 May, Henry spent much of his time reading about the Pacific coast colony in the government Blue Book that had been lent to him by Burt. On 2 May, he and Thomas Burt, Jr shopped for Canadian axes and Cornish spades without handles, and he subsequently ordered several of each. Picks and a small hatchet were to be made, however, at the engineering shop that he now visited only infrequently, and on 8 May he bought a sheath knife. Clearly relishing the idea of venturing to the gold rush frontier, Henry and his young friends began to amuse themselves by shooting at targets in Hornsey Wood. The party of six had booked passage to Vancouver Island on the Tynemouth, a three-masted, iron-framed barque that was 250 feet long and outfitted with a new 600-horsepower

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steam engine. According to the owner’s advertisement, the vessel offered “a mode of transit … unequalled in speed and comfort as well as in economy.”54 That claim would prove to be quite inaccurate, as we shall see, but at least the ship had earned the reputation for seaworthiness during the Crimean War when, according to the memoir later published by Whymper, it had weathered “that terrible storm in the Black Sea, in which so many vessels (including the ‘Black Prince’) were lost.”55 On 21 May, the small group held a meeting at the Burt residence with a man from Vancouver Island who “was kind enough to give us some very good information.” Henry wrote that his five companions were “of the better class and their parents independant,” adding that “one or two refused good position and we are promised letters of introduction that will give us standing on first arrival.”56 How they thought such connections would be useful in the disreputable gold-mining camps is not clear, but the members of Henry’s group were far from unique as far as their social status was concerned. British Columbia’s Chief Justice Matthew Begbie observed, for example, that “it seemed as though every good family of [eastern Canada] and Great Britain had sent the best son they possessed for the development of the gold mines of the Cariboo.”57 In the meantime, Henry asked his friend Robert Millar to continue overseeing his house and farm, keeping for himself ten percent of the yearly produce after deducting expenses. As for the farm labourer, he added: “I hope Pat is civil and agreable to you[.] I expect he is as I have I think treated him always fairly and rightly.” Henry, who never expressed much confidence in finding gold, also asked that his horse be sold, suggesting that the money “will help to make the commencement of a safety fund in case I should be very unfortunate in the enterprise I am now occupyed.”58 The following days were very busy ones as Henry prepared for the expedition while fitting in some last-minute museum visits and entertainments. He wrote on 26 May, for example: “My friend Mr. Burt surprised me at eight[;] we went to Silvers outfitters where we met our party and got many necessary articles for use. Afterwards got up some things for mining and other purposes[;] fishing tacklet the last cost 4/0, oil cloth 4/0. Then went to the moveable[?] museum. Then went to Mr Battys for provisions who gave us a treat of champain. Then went with Mr Whymper and a few friends to the Geological Museum.

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Went by boat, returned on foot[,] took tea with Richard Clay, Jun. We arrainged abut trying the gun if weather permitted. About 8:30 went with M. to have an evenings amusement. £1.15d – much amused with sights of London. Got home in the small hour[,] had some super.” Five days later, on 31 May, Henry took the train to Ely where, in addition to bidding farewell to family friends and relatives, he gave agent J.A. Dimmock the authority to collect his rents and look after his property. Henry’s diary does not mention visiting his godmother, but two weeks earlier she had expressed the hope that he would become “a better and a Welthier [sic] Man – so that you may be enabled to maintain yourself and Wife when you have one.” She also cautioned him not to “exert yourself beyond your strength,” adding that “you are not very robust.”59 Finally, on 3 June, Henry took his two trunks and provisions to the ship and the group had their photograph taken. The following day John Garrett, Vicar of St Paul’s and honorary secretary of the Columbian Emigration Society, provided a letter stating that “it has been a clear agreement with Mr Lindsay [owner of the Tynemouth] that the following young Gentlemen are to have the Privilege of using the First Class Deck notwithstanding the agreement existing with him that the Second Class Passengers as a Body are not to be allowed to use that Deck.” The young gentlemen in question, in addition to Henry Trent and Frederick Whymper, were Thomas Dix, A.G. Smith, and brothers Thomas and George Burt.60 On 5 June, Henry went to the British North American Bank where he was given a £100 note provided by Clay that was to be drawn as $480 at Victoria’s British Colonist newspaper. The party of six went on board the following day. The informal mutual agreement, drafted by the senior Burt, stated firstly that each member of the group was to “contribute an equal share to the general expenses, sharing equally, also, in the product of the labor of the party.” Secondly, each member was “to perform any kind or amount of work that may be decided upon by the majority as necessary, fair and just.” Thirdly, “That in all things each person pledges himself to abide by the decision of the majority.” Fourthly, and most unrealistically, “That no habits or practice of intemperance be allowed.” Fifthly, “That no swearing or other bad language be permitted,” and, sixthly, “That there be no scoffing at or ridicule of religion, or religious matters or convictions.”61

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Despite the involvement of Clay, Burt, and Garrett, however, the expedition did not have a missionizing goal, nor was there mention of financial matters. Instead, the main purpose of the expedition, from the perspective of their middle-class fathers, was probably to transform their sons into men, a status that – as in most societies historically – had to be tested and demonstrated.62 In that sense, as historian David Cannadine has argued, the British colonies were valued not only for their economic riches, strategic advantages, or evangelical opportunities, they also played an intimate social role, especially for members of the upper classes.63 Given that evangelicals placed particular emphasis on character,64 however, Burt and the other parents were taking a substantial risk in sending their sons to the gold-mining frontier. Indeed, for the Burt brothers as well as for twenty-four-year-old Whymper, whose father – Josiah Wood Whymper – was a celebrated wood-engraver and artist as well as being a devout Baptist,65 the expedition may well have been viewed as an opportunity to escape from the strict oversight of their deeply religious parents. Certainly they would display little interest in prayers or sermons once onboard ship. As for Henry, whose religious relatives in England had little hold over him, he was drawn more by a sense of adventure and the desire to find a vocation than by an urge to escape moral restrictions or by financial need or greed. For him, responsibility for his younger associates and the challenge of survival in the young colony would be transformative steps towards manhood.

“A long and disagreeable voyage,” 1862 To save money, Henry’s group had booked passage around the tip of Cape Horn rather than taking the Panama route. Once they were on board, Henry’s daily journal effectively became a shipboard diary, a genre that was popular with the more literate British emigrants at the time. The main differences are that he was not writing for an audience at home (real or imaginary) and therefore had less reason for self-censorship, and that it was not a self-contained volume that began and ended with the voyage.66 Furthermore, this was not Henry’s first lengthy shipboard experience and his break from Britain was not yet definite, for he had no fixed long-term plan. In continuing with his

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diary while on board the vessel, however, Henry may have shared, to some extent, the motivation of those nineteenth-century British emigrants to Australia who, according to historian Andrew Hassam, wished to create a “narratable space” that would enable them to gain control over the uncertainties of the voyage.67 Indeed, given his general lack of confidence in himself, that may well have been a motivation for Henry’s diary as a whole. Whatever the driving force was, Henry’s description of the Atlantic leg of the voyage provides us with an intimate description of living conditions below deck on an early steam-driven emigrant vessel. Henry’s record of the voyage is not the only one to have survived, but it is much more detailed than the retrospective accounts written by three fellow passengers (including Frederick Whymper) and reveals how, with hindsight, they tended to romanticize the experience.68 The Tynemouth, commanded by Captain Alfred Hellyer, featured three full decks with the cabins located behind its tall funnel. According to the reminiscences of Charles Redfern, published in 1922, there were “a few first-class passengers, some second-class, and a large number of third-class who occupied the fore part of the ship.” Apparently no one travelled in steerage, for Redfern recalled that the third-class passengers such as himself were assigned to cabins, each with six berths,69 which must have been much the same accommodation that Henry and his group occupied as second-class passengers. Certainly, the space could not have been much greater, given that Henry wrote that it was only eight square feet, though he must have meant eight feet squared. A second-class passenger’s ticket for the same voyage specifies that each adult would also be allowed ten cubic feet for luggage.70 As with those in third-class, the rations for Henry and his cabin mates were distributed to the rotating captain of each mess, which initially consisted of twelve passengers, then prepared for cooking and delivered to the ship’s cook in the large galley on the forecastle. This was much the same system that had originated with convict ships and that was used on emigrant ships for steerage passengers.71 Sails were to be used once the Tynemouth hit the Trade Winds, but this would prove to be problematic. In fact, complaints began even before the vessel left dock, beginning with Henry’s first-day entry stating that there were “so many things packed up on my bed that I could not lay comfortably.” The following day, once under way, he wrote: “I was somewhat abashed to find we had to do some cleaning up our

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dishes. And certainly had I know what we had to do should have gone by another rout.” But washing their own dishes would prove to be the least of the unanticipated labours that he and his cabin mates would be obliged to perform during the voyage. Once the ship had made a stop at the port of Dartmouth, there was a full complement of 270 on board, including sixty girls and young women who were being sent to Victoria by the Columbia Mission Emigration Society and the Female Middle-Class Emigration Society.72 It was the honorary secretary of the former society, John Garrett, who had drafted the letter meant to ensure top-deck access for Henry’s group. Rather surprisingly, Henry’s journal makes no mention of the fact that he was sailing on what was known as a “bride ship” (the first to arrive in Victoria). This silence presumably reflects the fact that to ensure their marriageability, the young women in question were isolated from the other passengers by a clergyman and matron, for Redfern recalled that “a portion of the vessel amidships was set apart for their exclusive use and occupation, into which other passengers were not allowed to enter.”73 Furthermore, Henry was not particularly interested in the passengers outside his own circle, remaining preoccupied instead by his own daily experiences. The ship ran into very rough seas the first night out, with the result that a cow on deck was killed, and a number of pigs washed overboard.74 Henry wrote on the second day of the voyage that the ship was in “an apairant confusion in every way. The men and officers apear as yet not acustomed to each other[;] the passengers have difficulty in placeing their little goods in place alloted for them” (7 June). He complained again three days later, writing that “The Water Closet gave me great misery and I have suffered accordingly.” To make matters worse, “The ship has been roleing about; Bilge water soiling every thing left on decks or under berth.” Henry was unable to write in his diary during the next week, when he served as “Cap of the mess,” but on 17 June he recorded that “the past week apears a sort of mixed day night mare. The Filthy Watter closets still haunt me and the suffering in consequence ammounted to a feeling of desperation.” He was referring to his constipation, but with “the assistance of a little brandy” he was at least able to get “a sort of appetite up.” In fact, he added, “Our little party have got over their troubles and have began to trouble themselves about eating and all dutys conected with the Stomack. Puddings, Bread, Hams, and

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small drinkables appear to have taken possession of their wills.”75 Henry also claimed that he and Whymper still had to do the cleaning up and that “We find it verry troublesome to wash the dishes and attend to the mess.” Once again, he claimed that he “should certainly not come on board if had any idea should be treated as Emigrants.” Henry’s spirits improved as the weather became warmer near Gibraltar where he wrote: “The deck is covered with passengers and all distinctions are for the moment put away. And I find one of the life boats a verry comfortable retreat.” The entry for the following day (18 June) reads: “The passengers are getting more at home[,] some music[,] singing[,] and the after decks where crowded. Our mess gets on after a manner and we get sort of pudding or cake made by the kindness of a party known to the young Burts.” Soon afterward, however, Henry noted that the mess was again in a state of confusion. Cleanliness became an increasing problem as the weather grew hotter, but even though some bathtubs had “come into requisition,” Henry wrote that he had “not made use of them.” (He would later do so.) On the positive side, he commented two days later that “The water closet question” had been resolved with the result that he had “got over that difficulty which so apt to ingure my health.” On 23 June Henry complained: “I find the deck has been chalked to make a difference between 2 and 1 classes,” which was clearly humiliating for him and his young middle-class friends.76 Henry added, resignedly, that “as the promises of Mr Linsey [the ship’s owner] have not been carryed out in many things I think it useless at present to oppose in any thing till we get over – But not so with others who it appears are about to have a meeting this afternoon on the subject.” Henry also noted that he and his cabin mates had hired a third-class passenger “to do duty as Stewart for our mess and clean cabin,” adding that “we find it very difficult to do this duty in turn” due to “the difference in capasity and willingness” of each person. The co-operative spirit had eroded to the point that “already we have been obliged to divide the watter and take care of each his own knife, dishes, etc. I have lost a spoon and now tye up all my domestic articles at the head of my bed; my private wash basin I recovered and now ty it over the foot of my bed.” Under these conditions, writing daily in his diary was an act of self-discipline that helped him to maintain some sense of order amidst the chaos.77

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On 24 June, as they passed the Cape Verde Islands, one of Henry’s boots dropped between the ship’s iron casings at the foot of his bed, obliging him to go barefoot or wear slippers for much of the rest of the voyage. By 27 June, the cabin had become “unsufferable with heat,” making sleep very difficult. To make matters worse, during a rainstorm the deck above his bed sprang a leak and the shirts he had washed the previous day had to be used as a plug. As well as doing his laundry, Henry did his own sewing, probably for the first time in his life. Of greater concern, Henry noted on 26 June that “Our ships company do not appear to have enough strength are not numerous enough for their dutys and at the coal hole not enough hands as they appear to be verry well pleased to get assistance.” Upon request, Henry and his friends agreed to help pipe up the water from the reservoirs. He added: “We where obliged to clime up coal and creap between the deck and water tanks; as may be suposed my clothes became quite in such a state that I was obliged to have a compleat change.” Two days later he wrote that the second-class passengers were now assisting “to get up coals.” (Whymper wrote that the coal had to be raised from the fore-hold and wheeled along the deck before being deposited in the bunkers.)78 On 29 June at noon the ship’s engine stopped, leaving it largely immobile for eight hours. Henry assumed that the purpose was to give the crew a rest, but the situation deteriorated the following day when one of the crewmen was reprimanded for “carelessness at the top sale,” and in return “gave insolence.” The day after that, one of the watch crews refused to work and the captain “ordered them in irons.” The same thing happened with the next watch. Henry observed that they “gave their wrists without trouble and contended they where over worked and to few for the ship.” He added that “The Cap appeared to get through and keep tolerably cool. The officers did their duty with good grace and supported their Senior with great pleasure.” Whymper, on the other hand, clearly felt compelled to embellish the labour conflict in order to bolster sales of his memoir, for he wrote: “one of the more daring mutineers ‘planted’ (to use the language of the fraternity) a blow between the skipper’s ‘peepers,’ which brought the ‘claret’ very freely from his nose. In consequence, the fiat went forth – ‘Put them in irons!’ which was, however, a thing easier said than done. At last the officers – with the assistance of some of the passengers – succeeded in handcuffing the rebels, and they were then stowed away in a rather

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warm compartment near the engine-room, till such time as mutiny should be melted out of them.”79 In a similar vein, Redfern’s “Reminiscences” describes what he refers to as a second mutiny in which “a great colored man, had the captain, who was a small man, in his grip and was apparently trying to throw him overboard.” According to Redfern, “The passengers rushed to the rescue, and the officers with their aid secured all the men engaged in the affair who were placed in confinement till they could be put on trial at the Falkland Islands.” Henry’s diary makes no mention of such violence. Rather, he noted that the strikers were uncuffed and allowed on deck to get air from time to time, adding that “generally one of the smaller officers are left in second cabin to keep an eye on them, but they are verry quiet” (30 June). On 1 July, all but three of the seamen agreed to return to work, and only those three were left in irons below deck. In the meantime, Henry wrote, some of the first-class and secondclass passengers “gave morning and afternoon assistance in getting coal from the bunker[,] their cloths and selfs soon becoming the colour noir.” He added that the doctor and the Reverend Scott (who was chaperoning the group of girls and young women), “set quite a lively example in the dark labours.” A few of the second-class passengers, including one of Henry’s partners, also volunteered for the night watch. Henry wrote: “It was rather amusing to hear the new hands takeing in the sail.” Whymper’s rather cheerful account adds that “We scrubbed the decks, hauled the ropes, filled the coal-sacks, and hoisted them on deck, getting a fair taste of a modern sailor’s life on board a steam-vessel … we found it good exercise, and worked with a will. Did we not know that the eyes of sixty maidens were looking on approvingly, as we helped them on the consummation of their dearest wishes?”80 The Tynemouth crossed the equator without fanfare on 1 July, but there was still a great distance to travel and conditions on board were deteriorating. Of his group’s cabin a day later, Henry wrote: “The confusion below at our meals is indiscribable[,] each one looking but for the moment. Tin dishes, spoons, cloths, odds and ends of all sorts lying on the table, benches, deck and hanging up in all sorts of ways. Have you seen this or that of mine, being quite a favourite expression with some partys as in some cases not the remotest chances of an answer.” Henry also expressed outrage that the passengers who were helping haul coal up from the bunker were rewarded with extra water as well

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as bottles of beer, writing: “I must repeat I would not have come had I been awair of what I have since found out.” As a third-class passenger, Charles Redfern presumably had lower expectations, for he recalled that he “rather enjoyed the fun of it, especially as at the end of each day’s work we were munificently rewarded by the gift of a pint bottle of stout, and what we prized above all things, plenty of fresh water to wash with.”81 Some men in the third-class compartments were apparently not always so well behaved, however, for Henry wrote on 3 July: “The 3d Class is getting better and is attentively watched by Mr Taylor one of the 3d Class passengers.” Henry had, himself, clearly become quite fond of alcohol, for he wrote the same day that it had been withheld from the passengers “on account of one or two boobys,” and that it was fortunate that he had managed to acquire a bottle of brandy “or I should have suffered much.” On a more positive note, he wrote a day later that “I notice I smoke less than usual[,] once a day.” And on 5 July, he noted that the porridge served for breakfast made a pleasant change from dry biscuit and coffee. Furthermore, if able to, he planned to shovel a little coal. When a young man came to the cabin asking for volunteers and offering a bottle of beer as a reward, however, Henry replied huffily that he did not want the beer “and will not give a help on any condition.” His diary entry does suggest, though, that it was the loss of his boots that prevented him from helping with the coal, “my slippers suffering fearfully by the last help below the hatches.” Some members of the party were by now becoming discouraged, for Henry noted on 3 July that one of the younger ones “shows signs that will not add to comfort or profit. In fact if things are not better when we get on shore I shall be obliged to disengage myself.” Three days later he complained again that “Our sleeping berth is as slovenly as possible and I cannot get the young boys to take an interest in keeping things in order … Tom Burt’s dirty dinner is still in its place next the provisions. I cannot persuade him to remove them.” The twelve people in each mess were divided into groups of four on 7 July, but this did nothing to alleviate Henry’s concern about hygiene. He wrote the same day: “I find it impossible to keep clean. For instance we go to the pump[,] the deck is covered with water and sundries floating about not of the most agreable odor … then it is necessary to search for safe position to wash and a removal is not infrequent twice or thrice during the operation[,]

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some times to get out of the way of the seamen at the ropes and some times an agreeable companion gives you the benefit of some of his soaps suds by being too close.” Henry would eventually resort to using a bucket and rope to haul up seawater for himself. The less fastidious Redfern, on the other hand, wrote that “Some of us, as we could not get a bath, used to get up early in the morning when the sailors were washing the decks and get them to turn the hose on us, which they always did, to their great glee and our satisfaction.”82 In the meantime, with the sea and wind against it, the Tynemouth continued its slow progress on half steam, relying upon volunteers to shovel coal. The weather was finally becoming cooler by 8 July, but not so the tempers within Henry’s group, for he wrote: “The conversations as to the future are beginning to engross our attention and realy it is a matter of consiquence. The younger portion are a cause of great anxiety to me. The confusion of our little berth is fright full. I have done talking personally and am sickened both in smell and sight.” By temperament, however, Henry tended to be an optimist, and in a later entry for the same day he wrote: “There is now and then a grumble but we are learning to get through and over our troubles as we proceed.” He was also not above criticizing himself, adding: “I must say I have been rather slack helping but once or twice getting up fresh water.” Instead he had spent the day “makeing a needle and threat preserver out of a piece of canvis.” The calm days were over by 13 July when Henry wrote, “it still continues squally,” adding a few hours later that “The sea got up and in two hours had quite a heavy sea, which continued during the night, tossing about every loose article.” There is no entry for 14 July, probably because of the high seas, for the ship had presumably experienced the major storm that Whymper and Redfern each described as taking place off the Rio La Plata. According to Redfern, empty iron tanks had broken loose in the hold and rolled back and forth all night against the sides of the ship which, if not strongly built, “would have been lost.”83 As it was, Whymper wrote, the ship “stove in” its bulwarks.84 Though he did not write in his diary during the storm, Henry did paint a vivid picture of the aftermath on 15 July: “The confusion just now is beyond description, Between tables a dirty barrell of butter is left, Provisions in all directions, preserve pot, Smith trying to wash and after some difficult practice succeeded; It was luck that I brought a wash basin

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for my own use as my friends have lost theirs[.] The old saying what is every bodys is nobodys. [B]y our tables they have made a trafic for stores and have broken the promise that we should [not] be annoyed by 3rd Class passengers comeing for their grub. Our tables have broken and benches are now being repaired by the carpenter.” The following day, 16 July, Henry wrote that it was “still to rough for washing properly,” adding: “We still have to snatch what we can at our meals. Our young cap of mess for the week is verry careless and I hear we are out of tea for tomorrow. Every thing in joint company we have is not cared for as I would have expected.” That same evening he added: “We are in sad confusion, much could be done but I do not know how to appeal to the common senses; nothing short of famine or some calamity can bring us to order.” He had written the day before that the passengers were still shovelling coal, and that there was a concern about safely rounding the Cape “without a sufficient crew,” yet the captain was now refusing to accept the help of volunteers “as they did not please him by one or two of the 3d class not useing the most delicate language. All the passengers suffer for the conduct of 2 or three.” Furthermore, “Our refreshments have been let out very sparingly and the spirits stoped.” Henry also complained frequently of stomach pains, and the food would become less appetizing than ever by 17 July when he wrote: “Our provisions we find nicely dusted with coal dust much to the disgust of some of the passengers.” Because of continuing squalls, “Salt and flower broken, buisquet, fragments of meat, rags[,] fluids composed of the Essence of tea, coffee, sugar, water, porrage and preserved[?] milk, sardines, currants, raisons, suet[?], butter, coal dust … are mixed up and scattered in more or less confusion on Deck, Table, bench, and Shelf.” But at least the tea chest had been recovered by the steward, “among the remains of the coal dust.” And Henry had managed to acquire a pair of boots, though they “fit too tight at the toes so as to be quite painful.” The ship’s speed finally began to pick up on 19 July when Henry wrote: “The wind is far and I have given a help to get up one of the sail. The watch not being strong enough.” The captain had finally allowed volunteers to help with hauling coal the previous day, when Henry wrote: “It is lifted up in baskets and dusts everything in our cabins … It rained and the steps of the hatch way are so covered with coal dust that it is impossible to keep the hands or any part clean.” He

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later added: “The entrance to our hatch way resembles I should think the mouth of a coal pit.” It was through those hatches that what Henry described as preserved meat soups were passed up and down, with the result that “some of the preserved carrots where more like dirty brown paper boiled up.” Amidst the general chaos, Henry and some members of his party attempted to read whenever they could. Thus, on 18 July he wrote: “Mrs [sic Messers] Bohn, Whimper and self had a quiet hour reading[;] it amused us verry much.” The quiet hour was far from silent, however, for Henry added: “the reading aloud amidts so much noise required friend Bohns best exections.” The degree to which the act of reading and listening under these conditions was an effort to maintain some sense of civility is reflected by the nature of the material, for Henry wrote the following day: “Mr Bohn read an article on Mitchavalle [Machiavelli] by Macally[;]85 we are going to try to keep this up.” Bohn’s identity is a mystery, for he was not one of the group of six, and his name does not appear again in the diary. Although the ship had passed through the tropical heat and torpor, the passengers continued to resent the parsimonious captain’s behaviour. Thus, Henry noted on 19 July: “While I am writing I hear of complaints about the incivility of the Captain. I must confess that there is not that cordiality that should exist. I did not see the signal lights up again tonight, which I think is not to safe. I do not see why our lifes should be emperelled for a little oil. Our cabin lamp has gone out and the lamplighter has just trimed it; he says there is plenty of oil, but it is not very good. We find it a great annoyance to be left in the dark and it is not safe.” They were not entirely in the dark, however, for Henry also wrote that evening: “Some are writeing by their candles or lanterns candles stuck in tin boxes[,] one in a Sir Hump Davies lamp.”86 Finally, the Tynemouth laid anchor 300 yards off one of the Falkland Islands on 20 July, thirty-four days after leaving London. Whymper, who mistakenly recalled the arrival as early August, described Port Stanley as “a pretty little town of 700 or 800 inhabitants, with a church, government buildings, and school-house.” He added that “As our ship’s cow had given up the ghost – frightened to death in a storm – and the fowls were things of the past, we were glad to get ashore, luxuriate on milk and fresh provisions, and stretch our legs.” Recreation included shooting wild fowl, looking at penguins, and visiting “the excellent

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lighthouse at Cape Pembroke, the easternmost point of East Falkland” where the kelp “is so thick in some parts of the harbour that it is next to impossible to row through it.”87 Henry’s quite different account reveals how Whymper had chosen to ignore the less edifying aspects of the experience. Thus, Henry’s diary describes the village and his first night’s experience there as follows: “The houses where the two old hulkds. Also not a tree to be seen, bare rock and peat … We found a good path along the shore[,] two or three taverns already filled by some of the Tynemouth and hard at it.” He and Whymper proceeded further to an establishment known as the Rose and Crown in order to find some lodging. Within a short time a “druncan spree” broke out within the crowded house, and according to Henry’s account “we had to keep our backs to the door to prevent them from breaking into the kitchen.” In fact, Henry demonstrated a considerable degree of maturity, for after finally going to bed, he felt compelled to get up in order to “assist those who where turned out as I was afraid they might be frozen.” Only upon assurance by the innkeeper that the guard would pick the men up did he return to his bed made of “boards with a small blanket.” The Tynemouth was still being stocked with coal, water, and provisions a week later, on 27 July, when Henry wrote: “We got some Raw meat Slaped down on the table as our share number 5[;] it is the beef of the Faulkland Island Companys supply from their cattle that run over the Islands. I was told we did not get the best as the company does not have finest cattle. And the small potatoes that where sent to us resembled those paticalarly reserved by my Pat at home for the pigs.” Unfortunately, this is the point where Henry’s daily account of the voyage ends as a result of his loss of the following volume of his diary. According to Whymper’s account, however, the ship ran out of coal on its way up the Pacific coast, with the result that “All loose wood on deck, and even some valuable spars, had to be cut up for the furnaces, and the day before our arrival in San Francisco it was seriously contemplated to strip the second and third cabins of their berths and furniture!” Some of the passengers were so pleased with the American city, he added, that they decided not to proceed any further.88 Henry was not one of them, however, for he was aboard the Tynemouth when it sailed into Victoria harbour a month and a half after departing from the Falklands.89

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Conclusion The voyage from England had taken ninety-nine days, including the time spent at Port Stanley and in San Francisco, which was considerably faster than the “near-record” voyage of 128 days at sea that same year made by the sailing vessel, Silistria.90 Redfern recalled that it had been “a long, pleasant and rather interesting journey,”91 but that is not how Henry or many of the other passengers would have described it. The lengthy voyage did, however, initiate an important transition in Henry’s hitherto directionless life. After enjoying the freedom that his father’s death had finally provided, he experienced his first taste of physical hardship and danger, as well as being called upon to exercise some leadership within his rather undisciplined small group of adventurers. As such, the journey from England represented an important first step in crossing the threshold to full manhood. The second step would follow on Vancouver Island, as we shall see in the next chapter.

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Emerging Manhood, Part 2

tHe second staGe oF HenRy tRent’s rather belated initiation into manhood did not take place in the Cariboo gold fields, his intended destination, but on Vancouver Island where he spent the winter in a make-shift cabin near the new settlement of Comox. Henry seemed to enjoy this first taste of life on the colonial frontier but he did not seriously consider becoming a settler, and he continued to feel responsible for his young associates in Victoria, to which he returned in the spring. Rather than establishing a joint venture there, he attempted to operate a one-man ferrying operation serving the ships anchored in Esquimalt harbour (having been accustomed to rowing across the St Francis River), while the others resorted to menial jobs or went to the gold fields. Finally, having failed to find a stable occupation – much less make his fortune – Henry somewhat reluctantly decided to quit the west coast colony and return to Drummondville in early 1864.

Roughing It on Vancouver Island, 1862–63 According to one recent study, most British settlers writing from British Columbia shifted quickly from “epistolary fascination” to boredom.1 That was not the case for Henry Trent, if only because he never found a permanent place to settle down in. The day after his arrival in Victoria, on 18 September 1862, Henry wrote a letter stating that “After a long and disagreeable voyage I find myself in good health but not verry strong.” He would need all the strength he could muster to survive during the following fifteen months on what was still a young frontier of European settlement, one that was just emerging from the fur trade era. The gold rush would not end for another three years, but Henry’s

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letter continued: “I dare say by this time you have been informed of the general disappointment of all partys here. It appears that we have been very much mislead as to the gold districts and none but those who have a verry large capital can enter into the work of mineing.”2 His friend Frederick Whymper noted, similarly, that “Our fellow-passengers, who had come to make a rapid and gigantic fortune in Cariboo, now for the most part awoke to the fact that the mines were yet some five hundred miles away, and out of our list of three hundred persons not more than twenty-five ever reached the Northern El Dorado.” Unlike Henry, he would be one of them, but only in order to take “a sketching and pedestrian tour” in 1863.3 The fact was that they had arrived too late in the year to proceed immediately to the mountainous and soon-to-be snowbound Cariboo country.4 Henry therefore felt that there was no choice but for each member of the party to be “on their accounts.”5 Given the large number of educated and unemployed young Englishmen in town, applying for a patronage position was clearly out of the question, though Whymper’s family connections and credentials as an artist were impressive enough for him to acquire several local notables as clients for portraits as well as landscapes.6 To help make ends meet the first winter, however, he and Dix leased a house owned by a Chinese merchant and, according to Henry’s letter, “set up lodging and a sort of restaurant together.” They had already rented six of their rooms, Henry added, “and may get through the winter verry well.”7 He later wrote that Whymper and Dix had to give the business up in the spring because most of their customers were either going to the Cariboo or returning home.8 In the meantime, the two Burt brothers were repairing the building for them and the member of the party named Smith was about to “engage in some speculation with a friend of his.”9 The senior Thomas Burt wrote from London in response to Henry that he was “sorry to find that the prospect of success is rather doubtful,” but added that he hoped that “after you have been there a little while things will look brighter.” He also noted that he had written a letter to his sons about a mining company that was to be established in British Columbia, and that if they needed money and Henry could help them “you may depend upon my repaying you as soon as I hear of it.”10 As for Henry’s plans, he wrote that he had been “trying to make out the country,” but that “I cannot yet see any thing very satisfactory.” He had thought about “going into the cutting wool work,” but claimed

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that he could not compete with Chinese labour. He had therefore tried rail splitting but found that the terms offered would not even have paid in Canada, much less cover the high cost of living in Victoria. Henry was clearly determined not to live off his rental income, as he had been doing in England, and he next took advantage of a hunter’s offer to show him the best places for becoming a settler.11 What he had in mind, he later explained, was buying some small nearby islands to pasture cattle on.12 Like most of the young Englishmen who had arrived seeking gold, Henry was generally pleased with the landscape. He may have lacked the descriptive abilities of those whose memoirs and letters have survived,13 but he did write that the scenery was “very fine[,] small scrubby oak among the rocks and the valleys filled with trees[,] the red balsam being the monarch; some small maple[,] large coarse poplar and the largest alder I ever saw; the rocks predominate but round Victoria there is a great many verry prettily built woden villars and apples thrive well.” One disadvantage was that “the absence of water except by small springs and wells, takes much from the value of these gardens,” but Henry noted that salmon was very inexpensive, six pence “being the common price from the indians.”14 Henry never did purchase an island, but he was willing to take advantage of Governor James Douglas’s eagerness to provide settlement opportunities for the many men who were desperately seeking employment after descending from the Cariboo gold fields. Both the British government and the colony’s governing council were refusing to provide the funds necessary to negotiate further treaties with the First Nations, who were reluctant to sell their land in any case, but the devastating smallpox epidemic earlier that year had left a number of coastal sites vacant, or nearly so.15 As a result, Douglas enticed prospective settlers to sail to the Comox valley, approximately 225 kilometres north of Victoria, by offering them passage there for only five dollars. Henry wrote that he had accepted the offer due to “The probility of the place being of great value in the future from its position.” Having the advantage of experience in the woods, he tried to persuade his friends to join him, “but they objected on account of the distance and hostility of the indians.”16 The first group of settlers were transported to the Comox valley in October by the gun-boat Grappler,17 but Henry travelled in a small

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sloop from which he observed “beautiful islands covered with ever green woods and the inlets some times as calm as a fresh water.” To add to the bucolic scenery, in his words, “Now and then the indians skimed as it where the service [surface] of the the [sic] water in their canoes[,] some of them considered veryy fine models of naval architecture.” Once arrived at Comox, instead of joining the settlers on the prairie, Henry attempted to build a log cabin five or six miles above the bay. His aim, presumably, was to live out his boyhood wilderness fantasy but finding “the locality and work not so advantageous as expected,” he soon returned to the Scottish trader’s log house where he had left his goods. There he remained for three weeks due to ill health. Somewhat lacking in gratitude, however, he then wrote: “My Host was a hard customer and fond of the bottle, told often things not strictly true. I found out after not to be relyed on. From him got specimens of coal and I hired an Indian to accompany me to the spot.” Henry then transferred his camp on 22 February to the mouth of the river near the head of Courtney Bay (Comox Harbour), which was the site of the Pentlach village that had been largely deserted the previous year due to the smallpox epidemic.18 Henry made no mention of the village or of the tragedy that had taken place for the coastal First Nations, simply taking for granted that their ancestral land was open to colonization. He did write, however, that “Min Min my indian guide” (who was a former resident of the village), had chosen the site for his camp hearth.19 Having lost three months of his diary after his canoe tipped “when on an expidition for some ceder wood with j. McKutchen,” who was an early settler, Henry began another volume at Comox Harbour on 26 February 1863. He wrote that he had paid James Robb ten pounds for ten acres of his claim, with one acre fronting “the harbour side of the bay next the government claims.” Robb, who was the husband of the matron who had accompanied the brides-to-be on the Tynemouth,20 promised Henry a legal title as soon as he had completed his improvements, “which he thinks will be shortly.” Henry had evidently abandoned two earlier claims of 100 acres each in the rich prairie land above the entrance to the bay in order to take up a small heavily forested acreage near what Robb envisaged as a future shipping port.21 He wrote that he had hired “the chief of the Comox Indians and his mate to fetch the boards I used for a roof of my cabin” (26 February). There, he later recalled: “I spent some days solitary. The noisy owl just over head[,] now and then a few

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wolfes would give me a consert, some time the branches would crack near my camp which I found to be deer, although tracks on the beach of bear or wolf when tide was out showed me they passed close by my camp at night. Ducks and geese made great noise at times so that you will perceive that I was not quite alone. An indian would call now and then. The store keeper came after a while[,] and during the rest of the winter we gave each other visits when the weather permitted.”22 Henry did not name the storekeeper but his diary reveals that he socialized regularly with Reginald Heber Pidcock, the twenty-twoyear-old son of an English vicar whose boastful memoir describes his hunting and fishing adventures between 1862 and 1868 with his friend Harry Blaksley, the son of an admiral.23 Perhaps because he felt that being a being a humble merchant was beneath his social status, Pidcock did not identify himself as such in his memoir,24 but Henry wrote on 23 March that he had paid Pidcock’s bill of $8.37 “so that I am clear of all store debts up to this point.” Henry also continued to interact with the First Nations, for there were still a few survivors in the two small Comox (Sae-luth) nation villages near the head of the harbour, and the Lekwiltok – their traditional enemies from further up the coast – were also frequent visitors. In sharp contrast to most other British newcomers to the coast who wrote of their experiences at that time, Henry’s general attitude towards the First Nations people he met was marked by openness.25 Thus, he recorded in his first entry of the 1863 journal that “I have found them verry honest as yet, often leaveing my little chanty with out protection for two or three days.” Having built a shelter, Henry then “cut down six large trees and commenced log house” which was to be only twelve feet squared because of the difficulty of moving larger logs to the site. This cabin, he admitted, was “a verry poor affair the sides verry indifferently filled up with branches and hay.” The temperature was now cold enough for the river to have frozen over, and – no longer having a canoe – Henry had to carry his firewood for some distance on his back. Yet, he claimed rather stoically that, with “a good blanket to cover me at night,” he “hardly suffered at all from cold.” And even though he had been “verry unsuccessfull at hunting,” having “lost severall geese and could not get one deer of my own shooting,” he had ample fresh meat because he was able to purchase “Deer at a dollar.” In fact, Captain Verney of the Grappler reported in November that the Comox settlers “live principally

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on game, which they can buy from the natives at a very low rate.”26 Henry concluded the preface to his journal by noting: “My store[,] such as I did not loose[,] stand me verry well haveing 4 bags of flour, half a bag of bacon[,] 4 tins 2 lbs tins of sugar and coffee tea.” Although he had lost his “fine hoe” as well as his powder horn, Henry still had two axes, one draw knife, a maul and wedge, four augers, three or four awls, and a shingle hammer, in addition to a tea kettle, two frying pans, three cups and saucers, six spoons, two or three broken forks and knives, a coffee tin, and two buckets. But his most important possessions were his two guns, including the “one got from Buckworth at 24£ str.,” for it was largely by hunting that he planned to survive the winter. Henry’s next journal entry describes his daily routine. On 26 February, he began clearing a small spot where he would plant potatoes in the spring, and he was visited by an Indigenous man who had some gum sticks (used as torches) to sell.27 Henry wrote: “I gave him an old pocket handkerchief to get rid of him,” though the gum sticks would soon prove to be useful. The weather had clearly become warmer, for he added that his visitor “had no other cover on him but an old blanket” and that it was “quite enough for this weather which was quite pleasant for any time of the year.” In a romantic mood, Henry also wrote: “The moon shines splendidly and The geese are calling in the distance[;] my bark fire burns pleasantly and I must have a cup of coffee and hie to bed.” His only worry was that he had nearly finished his beans and deer ham, “so that if I do not get any game I shall have to live on cakes and coffee.” The following evening Henry’s supper consisted of sardines “saved from my ship’s stores that fell to my share.” He then made his diary entry by gum stick light. Two days later, he bought from an Indigenous man named Coheal two quarters of a deer for four bits, and a small canoe for two dollars, but food continued to be a concern due to his poor luck (or lack of skill) with hunting. On 7 March he wrote that Pidcock had given him two pounds of beans in return for making him an axe handle, adding that “it saved me about 25 cents certainly not a large sum but I find I must be carefull of every small sum as my expenses have not been to small since I have been about this settlement.” He returned to the question of food four days later when he noted that “I find the beans with salt deer and fish made with a little flower a verry good substantial meal indeed.”

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Despite his isolation and primitive living conditions, Henry was able to read Susannah Moodie’s Roughing it in the Bush, published eleven years earlier in 1852, for it was lent to him by Robb, the man from whom he had purchased his land claim. Henry was very interested in the book for obvious reasons, and he wrote that it “kept me up till late,” adding that “it has pleased me verry much indeed and I hope will give me courage to work on.” 13 March, five days later, found him still reading Mrs Moodie’s book “by the light of small peices of gum stick which saved my candles.” After finishing it on 17 March, he confessed that it had made him miss his sister, adding that “again I must try to shake off this lonesome fit.” Henry appears, however, to have been quite content with a daily routine that consisted largely of working on his cabin, chopping trees, and visiting settler neighbours as well as meeting local First Nations men whom he referred to in the Chinook jargon as Siwashes. From these men he learned a few other Chinook words, such as “mowitch” for deer (2 March), and in his later reminiscence he wrote: “The tribe we lived with as our neibours kept verry honest till the spring when we where warned by the chief and some of his friends that distant tribes comeing during that season and thus passing on their way South would take all they could with safety lay their hands on.”28 The first group to arrive, however, were travelling in the opposite direction, for Henry’s journal entry for 11 March states that three canoes of Indians had camped nearby, en route from Victoria to Prince Rupert on the northern coast. The following day he wrote that his precious double-barrelled gun had been stolen, as had ten dollars from Pidcock. Henry later noted that American quarter dollars and half dollars had been taken from Pidcock’s till, “but the English shillings and gold pieces left[,] not being quite so valuable in the thiefs estimation.”29 When he and Pidcock “had a chat” with Min Min and the “Ucloitor” (Eucletaw, also known as Lekwiltok) chief, the response of the latter was that it was “a bad job[,] the gun boat is our only chance of getting our goods back.” Henry nevertheless paid one of the northern visitors two bits for four small pieces of “Siwash” tobacco, the first tobacco he had smoked in several days. The following day, on 13 March, he noted that “while I am writeing this one of the strangers a Sywash is sitting by me in a red blanket watching me intently[;] he is a fine strong fellow and one of the attendants of the trader.” Henry added: “He has just shown me

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a ring appairently gold, he said Cariboo and held up his hand and said 5 dollars. [H]e has just examined my big boots and no doubt thinks them verry fine; he humbs in a verry contented manner and I wish I could speak the traiding language better.” On leaving, the visitor said “Clataway medicine Sywatch,” which Henry interpreted to mean that he was searching for medicinal plants. He also told Henry that potatoes would be a good trading item, “so giveing me some encouragement.” An hour later, another man from the same expedition visited Henry’s smoky cabin (there was no chimney), armed with an old flintlock pistol and a small dirk. Henry clearly did not feel threatened, however, writing that “as far as I can understand it is to protect himself from the indians of Comox that are here.” When he learned on 18 March that the trader planned to continue his journey north the following day, Henry wrote: “I shall not be sorry as they leave their vermin behind and I shall have to boil all my flannels as I had to do before.”30 Historical accounts of peaceful interactions between settlers and First Nations on the west coast at this time are rare, but whether or not Henry’s experiences were unusual is difficult to say. It seems likely that the recent deaths of so many in the Comox area had left the survivors demoralized as well as less pressured for land and resources, for much of the friction took place further south in the Cowichan valley and neighbouring Gulf Islands where First Nations were being displaced by settlers.31 The fact remains, however, that we cannot discount Henry’s own relatively enlightened attitude. Not having had much success as a hunter during the winter, Henry now began to think more seriously about making a living. A schooner landed on 15 March with eleven head of cattle and a horse intended for the families on the prairie, but establishing a farm was not the work of a man alone. Marrying or living with a First Nations woman was a step taken by a number of settlers,32 but the former option would have meant making a commitment to the west coast that Henry was not yet prepared for, and he may well have been too influenced by his sister and other pious relatives to father more children out of wedlock. Furthermore, Henry was certainly not immune from the settler assumption of racial superiority, as reflected in his diary entry of 16 March reporting that a surveyor named Cameron had informed him that even though “the great want of respectable women here is verry much felt … taking native women is not at all liked[,] they are not fit subjects for

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sivilation and it is not likely that they will for many years if perhaps ever will.” The only time Henry mentioned a First Nations woman was on 4 March when he wrote: “a young Klootch man [the Chinook term for an Indigenous woman] came and sat down by my cabin for a long time and then left with out giveing any reason for her visit.” In the meantime, on 17 March Henry mentioned his “plunger speck,” evidently referring to a plan to purchase a small sailboat (known on the west coast as a plunger)33 in order to establish a transportation service. That would explain why he had moved from the prairie to Comox harbour, but one of the settlers warned that he was not likely to succeed because a Victoria merchant was claiming that he would establish a schooner service for trading along the coast. Henry decided, in any case, that before doing anything further he would visit Victoria where there was a registered letter waiting for him that (as he later mentioned), included funds from his group’s financial backers in England. He was also concerned about accusations in England that he had abandoned the others by moving to Comox.34 On 24 March, Henry headed to Victoria by canoe with Pidcock and five or six others, including an Indigenous man named Looking Glass. They reached their destination four days later.35 While there, Henry saw “many of the Tynemouth [men,] some out of work and have not verry easy times of it” (29 March). One of his associates who was working as a bartender at the Royal Hotel, Henry noted, “is doing as well as any of our party.” Rather than immediately cashing the cheque or bill of exchange from England, Henry took a job sawing and chopping wood at two dollars a cord (2 April). He was only able to work half a day, however, because his wrists had not fully recovered from the long paddle south. As a result, he was paid only $1.50 (3 April). To return to Comox, Henry embarked on a leaky sailboat on 7 April. There were no other passengers on board, aside from the assistant skipper and the skipper’s Indigenous wife, but during the four-day voyage Henry had to make his bed on the bags of potatoes that were on deck (7 April). Although mention of it is curiously absent from his journal, Henry had decided while in Victoria to pull up his Comox stakes, at least for the time being. The English investors viewed him as the leader of the group and he clearly felt guilty about abandoning his young friends. 13 April found Henry loading his trunks and other goods onto a sloop headed southward, having sold most of his tools to Robb for forty

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dollars and paid the fifty dollars owing for the ten acres of land he had purchased. (The fact that he received a receipt appears not to have been of much use years later, however, when – as we shall see – the British Columbia government refused to recognize his ownership even though James Robb had been the Comox Land Recorder.)36 In the meantime, Henry also skinned the deer that Robb had shot and showed him how to pile logs, adding with a touch of superiority that he “finds it slow work clearing land and they have yet much to learn.” Henry had little to boast about, according to Pidcock’s lengthy description of his failures, a description obviously meant to contrast with his own great success as a hunter who marketed deer meat in the nearby town of Nanaimo: We got acquainted with a Canadian Englishman who had come from England hearing the glowing accounts of the Gold Mines of British Columbia. He was a capital fellow in some things & was very good Company and amused a great deal with stories of Canada & his prospects there. I should think he was fairly off and had lived in Canada all his life & talk [sic] much of his hunting excursions there. He had only been in England about a year when he determined to try this place and hearing of the quantities of Game thought if all else failed he would try trapping & hunting. He had a double Gun made for him[,] one barrel of which was rifled & the other smooth bore both the same gauge about 40 to the lb & this he called a regular trappers gun. It certainly was a nice weapon to look at and made by Egg I think but the smooth bore was far too small to throw shot so practically it was useless except for ball. We camped close together near where he had taken up a Claim on the sea beach & he initiated us into the science of woodcraft as practiced in Canada. He certainly was a splendid axeman which we rather wondered at as he was a gentleman both by birth & education and seemed quite at home in the bush. He seemed only to think of making himself comfortable for the winter & had no real idea of farming. He bought a canoe and imitated the Indians in all he could except their dirty mode of living. He went out hunting every day but never had any success and he was almost a joke amongst us as he had boasted so of his hunting in Canada. One day after being out nearly all

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day he came back into camp & said with great satisfaction, ‘I’ve broken the spell at last, I shot a deer but couldn’t find it at which we laughed but he said now the spell was broken he should have no difficulty in getting one now. However the 5 or 6 months he remained here he never once brought home a deer. He thought he was a capital shot with his rifle & one morning happening to fire into a flock of Geese close to us he kill [sic] one and Fred [a pseudonym] observed to him very quietly ‘I say old Fellow was that any where near the one you aimed at,’ at which he was highly offended. One day we found him with a piece of Paper putting down his probable earnings through the winter by trappen [sic] marten & mink & hunting for skins. I think the amount was three hundred dollars and this he seemed to think was very moderate but unfortunately he never to anybodies knowledge trapped or killed anything and had to give it up & go to Victoria & soon afterwards returned to Canada.37 This passage portrays Henry’s shortcomings in a harsher light than does his diary, but his own day-to-day accounts are quite honest about his failure to live up to the image of a self-sufficient frontiersman. Apparently unaware of the conflict then taking place between British gunboats and the First Nations villagers of Kuper Island’s Lamalcha Bay,38 Henry wrote that he had experienced “a verry passable voyage” back to Victoria. Three of his party had decided to go to the Cariboo,39 but Henry opted, instead, to rent a draughty room in Esquimalt for five dollars a month, and to purchase a rowboat for thirty-five dollars from Tom Burt, who was now working in a local bakeshop. Having spent his earlier years on a farm across the river from town, Henry was very familiar with small-scale ferries and his aim was to provide such a service for the ships in Esquimalt harbour, which was then a summer naval station (see Figure 3.1).40 Because Henry was still short of ready money, on 28 April a local merchant agreed to act as surety and the British North American Bank finally allowed him to withdraw some of the $200 that had been sent by the group’s English backers. Aside from socializing, Henry spent much of his time repairing his new boat, which he found to be “quite a fussy business” (30 April), given that his borrowed tools were “neither numerous nor good” (1 May).

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Figure 3.1 “Esquimalt Harbour.” This photograph of sailing ships at anchor in Esquimalt Harbour was taken by Victoria photographer Frederick Daily in or around 1868.

The money from England was probably meant to be invested in the Cariboo or some other business venture rather than paying for the group members’ expenses while they were biding their time in Victoria. In any case, Henry continued his long-time practice of recording the cost of everything he purchased, writing on 10 May: “My method of liveing is rather frugal[,] 3 bits of meat[,] two dishes of clams[,] a few herrings are all I luxuriate in except plenty of bread which I do not spare.” One of Henry’s chief expenses was “treating at the bar,” which he claimed was unavoidable because “It is considered mean not to conform to this custom however expensive.” As historian Adele Perry notes of Victoria at that time, “Drink, rather than the church or the domestic, seemed to sit at the centre of colonial society.”41 Two weeks passed before Henry was able to obtain a licence, but on 12 May he paid the Victoria harbour master $7.50 for it and the following day he painted the name “Trusty of Esquamault” on the backboard of his boat, adding that it was “done verry clumsy but served the purpose.” His first expedition was with a friend to a “hen ranch

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near Woods Landing” where they spent the day “in cooking and loafing about waiting for Customs.” After cutting a mast and sprit for his boat, and mending a canoe for a dollar, Henry finally had “a show” on 17 May. He rowed three passengers to the Topaze man-of-war, receiving “a dollar and half for my trouble about 2 hours time, haveing to wait some time.”42 The following day, Henry wrote, “Went off to the Topaze with the bumboat mans son and did duty for him[,] got 50 cents for my trouble[,] half an hour after got 50 cents more for taken a Scotch woman to the hospital landing and back.” (He was referring to the site of the three wooden buildings constructed as a naval hospital at the head of Esquimalt harbour.)43 Henry added that “walking about waiting for customers[,] being the greator part of the time idle tires us at times.” He remained optimistic, however, writing that “My Brother boat men say it is slack times and but one ship in harbour makes a great difference.” The following week Henry earned $11, but paid $5 for rent, $3.37 for groceries, 37¢ for treats, and 25¢ for coffee, leaving approximately $2 to spare. He still owed money to the baker, however, and his income soon declined to about a dollar a day. On 1 June he finally conceded: “I must say there are some inconveniences connected with this vocation,” examples being calls to get up in the middle of the night to ferry passengers to the men-of-war, and the fact that some sailors did not pay him because they did not have any money left at the end of their shore leave. Furthermore, his competitors enjoyed the advantage of having regular customers, and Henry admitted that his skill was still “not of the best” because his wrists ached and he had still not learned to feather the oars while rowing. Always inclined to be generous in his appraisal of other people, however, Henry wrote that the sailors “are verry jolly and have warm hearts,” and that “My neibour boat men are verry friendly and next neibour Mac and Self get on verry well[;] his information on various subjects affords me amusement as well as knowledge.” In the same vein, Henry wrote that his conversation with the Aboriginal interpreter of the Cowichan gun boat expedition “gave me much amusement. He spoke Canadian French verry fluently and was as fond of Grog as most Indians are. From what I notice the indians must be much at his mercy as he is in many cases the only mediam between the whites and indians[;] he says he is a great favourate with the Gov and his name is often in

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his mouth” (1 June). Henry was referring to Tomo Antoine, the former Hudson’s Bay Company Iroquois-Chinook employee who had served as interpreter aboard the gunboat that had been attacked in Kuper Island’s Lamalcha Bay. Although Henry made no further mention of the incident, the full weight of the colonial power would be applied on 4 July when three of the captured warriors were hanged even though the gunboat had fired the first shot on their village.44 In the meantime, Henry also observed on 1 June that the “California steamer creates quite a stir when they call here, which occurs about 3 times a month. The great supply of Fresh meat & vegetables, cattle, etc, are obtained from Sanfrancisco.” His ferrying business did not improve, however, for he wrote that “Except for coaling steamers work is verry precarious and wages verry low[,] a dollar a day average.” Still, he concluded on a positive note five days later, writing: “cannot say[,] considering all things[,] I have a great deal to complain off.” The contrast with his constant complaints while aboard the Tynemouth is notable. Rather than making diary entries every day, Henry had begun in mid-May to produce lengthier entries at the end of several days. The reason became clear on 8 June when he wrote: “I find it imposible to write the details of the day haveing to keep watch while my boat is at the steps. Sometimes amusing things occur.” One reason Henry did not become more discouraged was his longstanding fascination with the navy, which was not surprising, given his father’s career. Thus, on 11 June he wrote: “The Topaze went out to practice her guns and I got a sight of her fireing at the mark with the big guns.” The next day he noted that a ship had arrived bearing the flag of Rear Admiral Kingcome who inspected the harbour. He added that a number of “the Victoriates came down” and that the show was “small but respectable.” Henry’s business finally began to improve in late June. Thus, he wrote on the 22nd: “The steamer from Californai and a Russion war ship comeing in; made the place quite brisk and for two nights I had little or no sleep.” Collecting fares continued to be a problem, however, for a week later he wrote that some officers of one of the men-of-war owed him money that he had no hopes of collecting, “not knowing them by sight.” Also, he had nearly lost his boat when two seamen “borrowed” it while he was dozing. This time it was returned safely, but stolen again on 1 July. Henry then wrote: “At one time it was suposed that the coloured man at Mr Johnsons had made off with it

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but he haveing returned and denided it we suspected other parties. It was said some seamen had deserted and where suposed to have taken it.” Henry then had to work with another man’s boat for half the fares. He wrote on 11 July that he was averaging only eighty-three cents a day, and – his disappointing Comox experience, notwithstanding – he was contemplating taking up hunting for a living. In the meantime, he took on odd jobs such as repairing a midshipman’s canoe. He had also been performing a task normally done by women, for on 12 July he wrote: “I do not think shall cook for my neibours any more as I cannot look to my other buiseness at the same time.”45 As a business venture, one person suggested cutting wild vetch for fodder (13 July) but, on 16 July, Henry instead bought a leaky old canoe from an Indigenous woman for $3.50, adding that the fact that it was “not verry good looking will in all likely prevent its being stolen.” His aim was to embark on an expedition along the coast “to see if I can pick up a liveing,” a decision that his friends apparently derided, for he added: “I have some Jobes comforters. I feel quite enough depressed without any addition to the loss of my boat.” On 18 July Henry paddled and walked to Langford’s Lake, about twelve miles from Victoria where he met a “Canacka” (Hawaiian) settler who informed him that there was game further inland. Henry added: “I divided some rum and water with him and he gave some dried venison in Exchange which I found eatible.” After following the Cowichan trail for another twelve miles without seeing any game, Henry wrote: “It is a verry wild country and but for the trail the progress would have been verry small.” Noting that the crops were failing from drought, he added: “I returned home in not verry good fraim of mind and blessing those who threw such lavish praise on this colony in general. I shall try to have a better look at the country as G.B. [George Burt] and self intend to have a tour through the settlements.” The destination Henry had in mind was again Comox, though for what purpose he did not record. He was clearly at loose ends, for his 19 July entry states: “I have not written to Canada and should like verry much to hear from my sister and also Mr R. [illegible word] but I must wait till better times come or some one decision is arrived at[;] for the present we are not advancing much either towards wealth or position bearly gaining a liveing.” Henry spent the next couple of weeks continuing to work at odd jobs and wandering rather aimlessly

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about in the Esquimalt area. He could at least console himself that he had not joined the gold rush for he wrote on 27 July: “The news for the last few days has been that Caraboo is about played out[;] a few are making some sums but the 99 out of a 100 are with difficulty suporting themselfs[;] many have come down and think themselfs fortunate in being able to do so.” Still feeling a sense of responsibility for his fellow adventurers, Henry had been upset to learn from a letter he received on 4 June that his friends in England “supose that I left my Young Companions.” On 9 August he wrote: “I have serious idears of writeing home to know weather it would be right to send for the boys as a few months more the loss will be great now a year being spent in loss without any gain.” But the following day found him still planning the expedition to Comox, for he and his friend George Burt went to Victoria that day to purchase fourteen yards of tenting canvas. Several days later they bought a large canoe for ten dollars. The protracted preparations were still underway on 21 August, but even though Henry had a claim to land in Comox he does not appear to have been planning to remain there; he wrote later in the day that he and George “Saw some of the Tynemouth passengers and we find them like our selfs not in a prosperous buisness[;] we shall be obliged too, like them, look towards home; once more, some of them pretty hard up.” The expedition northward may have been planned as one last adventure because two days later Henry wrote that he felt it would do his friend George good by “leading him from the temtations of the Bar.” Perhaps with a prick of his own conscience, he also wrote that “although there is a small church in the neibourhood we have never visited it yet.” (Needless to say, the Burt brothers’ evangelical father would not have been pleased.) Only a day later, however, George had a last-minute change of heart about the journey, apparently because his brother Tom was no longer interested in joining them. Relations between Henry and George then quickly deteriorated to the point where Henry decided not to share a room with him any longer, and to write to the senior Burt as well as Clay in London asking that the boys be called home. Henry added in his diary: “I cannot stand to be insulted and browbeaten by those whom I have sacrificed so much time & interest in. George had the use of my room as usual and bed stead while I took my usual place on the floor.”46

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Henry was still upset on 28 August when he wrote that he had planned to write letters to Canada and England, “But find it impossible am so disturbed by anxiety about G.B.” The following day George moved into the quarters of a new friend with whom he planned to travel to Nanaimo. Henry was now attempting without much success to catch salmon (his finger was bitten by a dogfish shark) and mentioning almost daily the shortage of jobs and numbers of men returning home or planning to go to Australia or New Zealand. On 30 August he wrote once again: “A few days more and I think it will be necessary to write home for instructions. It is better to return than to waste time here.” In the meantime, he added, “I feel a wish to try the Salmon a little while longer[,] salt what I get and when this is over try a turn in the woods again.” As George would no longer speak to him, he offered Tom some money to give to his brother “for requirements while in search of a new occupation.” He also offered to give George the canoe and tent they had purchased in order to encourage him “to go quietly on his way, and if he did not succeed[,] on his return should be happy to do what I could within reason” (31 August). The common fund had apparently not yet been exhausted, for Henry wrote on 1 September that he had settled with George by giving him ten dollars, adding that “all other expenses I have submit to an account of this would be expedition.” Five days later Henry fretted: “G.B. still lives with his friend and has not yet tryed to get a situation.” He added that Whymper would soon be back from the Cariboo, “perhaps broke so that It will require to be carfull of funds.” The wind blowing “through the numerous cracks on the sides and floor” was causing Henry to consider either constructing or seeking out “a warmer habitation,” but he rejected the invitation of “Charly the indian” to stay at his camp because “the appearance of things was not to my likeing” (7 September). Henry continued to be a close observer of the local First Nations, and particularly how they pursued the salmon fishery. He wrote that “The old Indian showed me his line and I found it to be about 25 fathoms long with braded cotton line near the hook[,] a roundish stone tyed four or five fathoms from the hook.” He added that a “large cockle was used for a bate with a hook of native make which a native gave me to understand was better than they could buy from us. Some have caught as much as 30 in the morning.” He also noted that “The women do all

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the duty of cutting up the fish, the man sitting by splitting small peices of cedar to strech the fish with” (August 1). Not being an active church member, himself, Henry was rather cynical about the efforts of the missionaries. He wrote that local Indians “showed me certificates of haveing signed the temperance pledge but have my doubts as to their keeping it and as for the christian religion being known to them[,] neither their minds nor their language can explain that.” Henry did not believe that the barrier was a lack of intelligence, however, for he added that these people were not “devoid of ideas,” rather, the difficulty was explaining complex concepts when for them “one word does for a dozen things.” Henry probably made this assumption based on the Chinook jargon with its simplified vocabulary, for he had no knowledge of the Native languages. In any case, he felt that religious conversion was not a positive step for the Aboriginal people because “Their reform commences in consealing what they have hither to done openly[,] and deception the first move in the direction of the habits of the whites” (1 August). Henry was still contemplating the fishery as a possible pursuit on 10 September when a Sergeant Wade proposed that they purchase a fish net together. The journal entry added that Wade had offered to provide shelter for the winter if the venture “did not pay and nous verrons.” The plan went no further, however, for Henry instead went on a hunting expedition with an unnamed friend to Goldstream Creek a few miles west of Victoria. He wrote the following day, on 24 September, “The rain destroyed our pleaseure … we saw not game[,] got a good dunking[,] very wet.” After returning to Victoria, he wrote on 1 October: “Took a tour through the woods[,] no luck as usual. Saw quite an abundance of mushrooms[,] looked at my snairs and no luck.” A week later, a dejected Henry noted that approximately two hundred men, “most of them miners,” had departed the colony on the steamer that had arrived from California. Not only had his health prevented him getting work while the steamer was in port, he wrote, but even though new buildings were being constructed at a rapid pace, “I see no work for me in contimplation[;] strong men are imployed and there are plenty of hands to be got now so that those who are not trade men or hard strong working men need not apply” (8 October). In the meantime, George Burt had gone back to “his situation” behind the counter of a tavern (15 September) and Dix had returned

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from the Cariboo, relating “good news about the rest of our party who are the last time he heard are in safty” (20 September). It would seem, then, that Henry and the two Burt brothers were the only members of the group not to have gone to the Cariboo that summer. Whatever money had been earned in the gold fields, however, apparently did not last long, for Henry wrote on 8 October: “Smith of our party came down and Mr Johnson has taken him as bar keeper. It is astonishing how careless most of the young men are of their money; as soon as the pile is made it melt in all sorts of dissipation. I find that my own little cash on hand is fast disapearing and my little bills increasing. I have not felt well enough to exert myself to make a new start.” The following day found Henry again in a depressed mood: “I feel still that nervous anxiety without the vigour for a commencement, work, etc. My yesterday washing quite fatigued me and all I did to day was get an armfull of wood, take Tom and his bread to the hospital.” While historian Laura Ishiguro found that west coast settlers’ letters “almost never mentioned buying game, fish, and other foodstuffs from Indigenous people,”47 Henry’s diary entry continued: “An indian canoe arrived with potatoes for sale[;] these natives take the potato trade out of the hands of the new comers, under selling them.” He had also mentioned on 8 June that First Nations members had arrived in Victoria carrying pea straw that they sold for sixpence a bundle. With California as another competitor on the local market, the result in Henry’s words was that “The farming as a rule is verry poorly carryed on[;] the poultry generally with some cattle running about affords them sufficient [illegible word]. I have not with one exception seen more than 3 or 4 stacks of grain and hay.” Henry now had ample time for reading, but books were in short supply. Thus, he wrote on 11 October that one of the three warehouse men in the room next door had asked to borrow one, but he had already lent him the only one he owned. Still a believer in self-improvement, Henry added: “It is a pitty that books could not be so place as to be handy at all times. This amusement would become a growing habit as well as a pleasure and might be the means of saveing many troubles to the hard working class.” He concluded the day’s entry by capturing the moment: “My next door neibours are buisy Snoreing[;] I have just taken a peice of cold salt beef and onion. My bed verry simple[,]

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blankets and half of my tent for a piller[;] it still rains out side and I feel in a fit of writeing.” Henry’s pensive and depressed mood persisted on 12 October when he wrote: “The effects of the cold beef and super gave me an uneasy night, Dreaming of home and meeting past friends gave me quite a melancoly morning.” The rainy evening was spent conversing by “Mr Johnsons warm fire,” and the entry closed with the literary observation that “life hear of a young man in some ways resembles Gil Blass of famous renown. I long to get back regular life.”48 The following day, after noting that “The wind blowes about my room,” Henry referred to a more recent book: “I borrowed a book by Smollet[,] Hist of Czar Rus.[,] which gives me quite a treat in reading.”49 Rough as his living conditions were, then, Henry was still determined to sustain his intellectual growth. Finally, with the arrival of a steamer on 16 October, Henry was able to find some paid work in a storehouse, as well as doing “a littel coopering for a party loading the schooner with freight for Victoria.” He also loaded some beef “which was almost out of my lattitude,” but claimed that he “got through tolerably well and did duty watching during the night. The steamer did not go till morning.” The next day Henry was again active, for he had borrowed a “Chinaman’s boat and gathered nearly a cord of wood on the watter,” apparently dropped by the steamer, “which I put in the scow.” There was also now a prospect of somewhat longer-term employment, for he wrote: “This evening reports of gold being discovered at Gold Stream about 6 miles in a streight line from here[;] Mr Hawkins invited me to go with him on the morrow and thought he would take some Liquors for trading purposes” (17 October). The next day Henry wrote that his London associate, Smith, “intends going to the diggins and great excitement every where,” but he added: “I cannot ketch the gold fever.” Having failed to find “any colour,” Hawkins returned to Esquimalt with Henry only a day later. There, Henry found that another California steamer had arrived, and that “A good share of Canadians are returning homewards this steamer” (20 October). Henry delayed making up his mind, however, and a week later, on 27 October, he turned his hand to chopping wood that was available to him on a nearby property at fifty cents a cord. Skilled axeman though he was, he found the first tree “rather troublesome commencing at the

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head which was notty.” The next day he broke his maul on the tough wood, and by the third day he and his two neighbours had managed to cut only a cord, and so they gave up. What appeared to be a more promising prospect had appeared that day when a Mr Wilby (also spelled “Williby”) hired him for yet another trip to Gold Stream. Henry later wrote in a brief memoir that he had worked “as cook and muster for 9 or ten rainy days in the mountains among excited gold hunters[,] the excitement being got up at a place called gold stream a few miles from Esquimalt.”50 The small group travelled by horseback to the nineteen-mile mark where Wilby had his “marble claim.” There, Henry cut the wood for the night, recording that he found his “knowledge of the axe come in verry handy” (1 November). After finding a speck of gold, Wilby returned to Esquimalt, leaving Henry and the owner of the horses to hunt deer. Henry soon lost his enthusiasm, however, writing on 10 November: “Went out after deer as usual and quite exhausted, cut camp wood, etc. The woods have hardly time to dry when more rain comes so that they are always uncomfortable and the guns are continually wet.” By the following day the men were low on flour and Henry was not feeling well. Fortunately, hunters gave them half a deer in exchange for tobacco (12 November), and Wilby returned a day later. Henry then told him that he had to return to Esquimalt because he had heard that his friend Whymper had “come down and I wished to see him before he left for England.” (Whymper would not return to England until 1867.) Furthermore, “the mail is expected tomora.” Typically of him, Henry had not asked for a fixed salary in advance, and Wilby paid him only eight dollars for “the days of wet and bush life” when his “coat and trowsers [were] tolerably well torn” (18 November). On a more positive note, Henry wrote on 15 November that Whymper and Dix had visited him, which was “quite an agreeable suprise[.] George and Tom joined us and we had quite a meeting.” Henry informed them that he was now determined to “return homwards as soon as I received a letter from home with the necessary.” By “home,” at this point, he was apparently referring to England, for he wrote that “all the party are in the same fix and I think it will be as well to write home accordingly which if I can muster up courage I shall write.” At least one member of the group was making the best of

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the situation, however, for Henry wrote on 17 November: “Smith has taken to sell apples and does tolerable well.” As for the small proceeds from the wood Henry had laboriously chopped with a couple of others before joining Wilby, he found that they had spent all the money but promised to reimburse him in a few days. Rather than expressing anger, however, he wrote: “poor fellows they have had rather hard time of it.” On 19 November, Henry again rented a boat on the halves in order to row passengers to and from vessels offshore, earning $2.12 on the first day. He noted, however, that “My bills are getting rather heavy for my present sircumstances and I must try to settle as much as possible before they get to deep.” Finally, six days later, he “Settled Mr Smith the Grocers bill $16.43 1/2.” This took all his cash, but he did have a couple of creditors, for he “called on Mr Edwards whom I worked for and he settled with me 7 dollars being the sum.” Also, “I called on Mr Graham who owed me 5 dollars but he has been unfortunate and has a sick house so I got none” (25 November). Unlike many of the men he observed, Henry’s financial position was not desperate, for he wrote on 4 December that he had withdrawn thirty dollars, “leaving with Mr Lanley Chemist the rest of the bill on the Bna bank for 145.00.” This was presumably the money meant for the group as a whole, however, and Henry still owed his landlord twenty dollars for rent, so he vowed: “I intend to have as few bills as possible.” Four days later, on 8 December, Henry wrote somewhat wistfully that a steamer had arrived and “A large number are preparing to depart by her[,] many Canadians among the number.” He still felt responsible for the other members of the expedition, however, writing on 11 December that “Tom got a letter from his father but unfortunately lost it, he tells me however that my last letter has been received at home.” Henry added that Tom had given notice that day to his employer at the bakery, “which I was sorry to hear.” On 20 December Tom’s brother, George, urged Henry “to make up my mind about returning or not,” adding that Mr Burt wanted him and his brother to remain a little longer.” Henry made it clear that he was still inclined to go: “I do not like to leave my friends but at the same time I cannot see what will be the advantage of remaining here as nothing appears to be of benifit” (20 December). Finally, after Tom had shown him

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the supposedly lost letter from his father, Henry screwed up enough courage to write again to Mr Burt on 23 December. Whymper and Dix had “invited all the party to come and Dine with them on Christmass day,” but Henry could not join them, instead spending the day in bed with cold swweats. On Boxing Day Henry was offered “a situation at a tinkers in town,” for twenty or thirty dollars a month, but he wrote: “I don’t hardly know weather I shall be able to take it as Tom says he has received a letter from his Father saying Mr C_ [Clay] has sent me fifty £ to return with and perhaps the boys will return also if Mr Langley’s opinion be the same as mine.” New Year’s Day, 1864, found him still vacillating. He wrote that he had used one dollar and two bits of his pocket money “to give my room mate and self rum punch to let us sleep and he is going to try a weeks absunance and I must draw in my horns a little. I must confess now I think of returning home whards and am divided as to go to Canada or England.” Henry felt more dispirited and listless than ever during the following few days, writing on 5 January: “Got up about 9 or 10 oclck[;] room as cold as outside[;] every liquid frosen. A sort of lasitude is the prevaling feeling, and although I have to go to town cannot get the impetus to start.” He was then stricken with a severe earache, writing on 9 January: “I find the same dilitary feeling want of vigour that I have had for some days.” Finally, on 12 January his spirits began to recover. He wrote: “Put my small revolver in order; and intend to begin to prepair to return home wards,” by which he now meant Canada. He then sold his canoe for nine dollars and his big revolver for twenty dollars. He had apparently moved into a shanty, for he noted that “Tanniel still lives and sleeps at my camp, and we get on verry well.” By this point the two Burt brothers appear to have been Henry’s chief concern. He wrote that George intended leaving Connor – “he cannot some way get on with him” – but “Tom intends remaining at Mr Smith Backers [bakers]; Stockham the baker who bakes for Mr S. with him is inclined to be his friend and I hope they will get through the winter well” (14 January). Clearly, in this homosocial environment, having a close male friend was considered a necessity, at least for young unmarried middle-class men.51 On 14 January, Henry wrote that he hoped to sell his odds and ends before the steamer arrived, otherwise “I shall have to remain

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till next boat after which will delay me much as I should like to go to Canada before the spring commences.” When the steamer Oregon arrived four days later, Henry paid twenty-five dollars for passage to San Francisco and had a last supper with his friends George, Tom, and Tanniel, feasting on a goose that George had won in a raffle. He also “bid good by to many Esquimault friends,” and had a “social glass” with Whymper who, the following summer, would be hired to join two important expeditions as an artist. The first one was Alfred Waddington’s ill-fated and tragic attempt to construct a road inland from Bute Inlet, and the second was the more successful Vancouver Island Exploring Expedition.52 Henry’s memoir states that “it was with painfull feelings I left my young friends who would not return or write to return[;] they preferred waiting for a turn of events.”53 This would be the last time he would see any of the group’s members except for a brief visit with Dix when he passed through San Francisco.

Returning to Canada, 1864 Henry’s return journey took place in several stages, the first one ending in San Francisco where he took advantage of the opportunity to visit the library, view two plays, eat dinner at a “French house,” and attend a church service where he “heard the explaination of the Unitarian Doctrain.” On the lighter side, he also visited a “music place of amusement,” and “Saw a gambling house for the first time and was glad to get out” (entries for 24 January to 1 February). The next leg of the journey was aboard a ship bound for Panama, and Henry reported on the second day (4 February) that he had eaten fresh meat for breakfast, the decks were clean, and the water closets were “kept in better order” than those on the ship from Victoria to San Francisco. On 8 February, however, he wrote that “The grub does not agree with me and I eat as little as I can.”54 Henry’s complaints then intensified and he wrote near the end of the voyage that “There is not that attention to the publick that I have expected, the $ has the predominance.” He did add a positive note, however, by observing that “the master does what he can and spitting on the deck is not quite so bad as it was when we first came on board” (18 February). Also on the plus side, he had been able to read three or four novels.

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The steamer arrived in Panama two weeks after leaving San Francisco; then, after a two-hour journey by rail, the passengers arrived at the Caribbean port of Aspinwall, now known as Colón. After stocking up on fruit and plenty of “eatables,”55 Henry embarked on the steamship Illinois for the voyage to New York City, having booked a berth “near the hatch which I find more comfortable.” He wrote the following day, on 18 February, that the food and “table arraingements” were “a little better than the American stamer we left.” On the downside, however, there was “no accomidiation for washing,” and Henry was “obliged to take the surplus water that leaked from the deck pipes.” Also, “Watter closits as usual verry dirty[;] suffering in consiquence” (20 February). Mercifully, after only nine days at sea, the ship arrived in New York City where Henry paid “$12 greenbacks” for a ticket to Montreal on the New York Central Railroad. After a “very Disegreeable” four-day delay in the border town of St Albans, Vermont (27 February),56 Henry finally reached Montreal on 1 March when he wrote that he was “suffering from the extream change of heat to cold climate and the neglect of clothing.” Finally three days later, he was back on the Drummondville farm where he had spent so many lonely years as a boy and a youth.

Conclusion There are several evocative first-hand accounts of the hardships that middle-class British gold-seekers endured while travelling to and from the Cariboo country, but Henry Trent’s diary is uniquely valuable for the detailed picture it paints of the challenges they faced while in Victoria and area, as well as for the glimpses it provides of settler contacts with the First Nations. The young men who accompanied Henry to the west coast appear to have enjoyed their liberation from the oversight of their strict evangelical parents, for none were anxious to return to London despite the poor economic prospects and rather primitive living conditions they experienced in Victoria. As for the First Nations, Henry’s diary sheds a light on how those in the depopulated Comox area quickly became dependent upon the settlers for labour as well as a market for fish and wild game. Henry also claimed that Indigenous growers competed successfully with newcomers for the Victoria market in potatoes and other crops, which was one reason he

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decided not to become a settler. Nor did he have the skill to become an entrepreneur, though that was his prime ambition even in Comox where he had briefly hoped to establish a freight service to Victoria. In short, the rather feckless Henry Trent failed to conform to the standard depiction of purposeful manliness as found in Canadian immigration handbooks.57 He had, however, been able to engage in strenuous labour as an axeman as well as oarsman, and he had survived a winter living alone in the primitive cabin he had built at Comox. Furthermore, he had cooked for himself and others in Victoria, as well as assuming a degree of responsibility for the youths he had traveled with from London. The experience had not only reconciled him to returning to his Canadian farm, but also given him the confidence to take the final step toward manhood by marrying and starting a family, as we shall see. Seasoned traveller though he was, Henry would never again board a ship or leave the province that was soon to become known as Quebec.

4

Manhood

HenRy tRent Was not an aRcHetyPal HeRo deeply transformed by his series of adventures,1 but he had matured sufficiently to accept what appeared to be his fate: life on a farm where he would not be able to afford the servants who had enabled his father to play the role of English squire. Not only did Henry’s class status decline but, in a reversal of the British colonialist trajectory, by marrying a French-speaking Catholic he became more or less integrated into the local French-Canadian community. Although the tone of Henry’s writing remains the same in the following years, the focus of his diary now shifts to what Steinitz identifies as a “technology of intimacy,” namely a text that was not only produced within the family sphere, but also “worked to construct and solidify the family and the domestic sphere.”2 As we shall see, economic challenges for Henry’s growing family were such that tight emotional bonds became a necessary source of psychological strength.

Marriage and Fatherhood, 1864–68 After returning to Drummondville, Henry was saddened to learn that his brother-in-law and boyhood friend, William Robins, had recently died as a result of a horseback accident, leaving the unfortunate Maria a widow with a young son.3 He had also found that the “old farm looks verry rack rent,” and that “the old stone house” appeared “verry much delapidated & quite lonesome” (4 March). Pat Hogan and his wife, who were still in charge of the farm, had produced a small market surplus, for Henry noted that he had potatoes and butter to sell. He added, however: “I find the oldest barn requires repairing[;] the roof

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begins to leak. I have my hands full of work repairing different things on the farm” (2 April). Not having engaged in manual labour for some time, Henry was soon incapacitated by a sore back that prevented him from putting his socks on in the morning. Fortunately for him, “Mrs Hogan kindly got me my meals not being in order to prepair them my self.” The following evening he concocted a medicinal drink by boiling in “the Shadron [“chaudron” is French for cauldron] … the branches of Hemlock, Spruce, cedar, pine and tamerack.” To add to his discomfort, Henry was “Disturbed as usual by flees” (11 April). When the neighbouring Mrs Metivier called on 13 April to do the washing and put fresh straw in his bed, “she killed several fleas which have taken my rest for several nights, so much so that last night I dozed [an appropriate misspelling!] myself with some wisky to get to sleep.” He then added, somewhat uncharacteristically: “it had the desired effect but the liquor does not agree with me.” Most of the neighbouring farm families were obviously now French Canadians, for that same day Henry wrote that “Francis Joutras called for some butter to buy[,] Elizear his wife not being well; as they are my neibours I gave them some; but said that in future I should be happy to sell them some.” In contrast to his father, Henry clearly felt that neighbours were important; indeed, one potential drawback to life on the farm was isolation from the village. The long-awaited bridge across the St Francis River had been carried away by the ice in 1862, less than two years after its construction,4 and, as we have seen, the crossing could be quite dangerous in the spring and early winter when the ice was too thick to navigate but not strong enough to support much weight. Indeed, Henry’s diary reports on 2 April 1864 that a horse and sledge were lost through the ice, the second such occurrence that spring. As for flooding, the other major concern about the river, Henry wrote only two days later that the heavy ice was threatening the farm’s flats which “have been much worn away during my long absence.” With the river finally clear of ice on 7 April, he wrote that he had made an arrangement with the new ferry operator “to take me for the season two dollars without horse.” His diary subsequently reveals that he went to the village nearly every day. Needless to say, visitors to the farm were very welcome, and on 12 April Henry wrote that he had received a call from the Reverend

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Alnot, who was the new Anglican minister. He had also met Timmins, his “back neibour who gave me a kind welcome back as every one has done here.” More portentous for Henry’s future, he had made social contact with members of Drummondville’s French-Canadian community, which now constituted nearly three quarters of the town’s population.5 Two men named Boisvert and Caya had arranged to pay him a visit the following week, with the result that Henry grew more reconciled to a future on the farm. He wrote on 10 April that “The various things about the house give me strainge interest as momentons of the past. My ideas of settling down here are becoming more agreeable.” Three days later he received a letter from his sister suggesting that he live with her for the season, but he wrote in his diary: “my interests will not permit me to move about. The farm requires my attention[,] so many immediate repairs; and my friends will not permit me to move about.” With hindsight, it becomes clear that Henry’s main interest was the sister of his new friend, Trefflé Caya, who was clerk of the Drummondville circuit court, and who would later construct an impressive house in the centre of town that is now an official historic site.6 Matters advanced quickly, for Henry wrote on 16 April that he had called on Trefflé’s father, Antoine, who was the local baker,7 and had spent the evening with the Caya family. Two days later, “Mons. Boisvert and T. Caya” paid their promised visit to the farm, “and we had a frolic for the evening.” The following morning, in Henry’s words, “my friends left after breakfast and where quite pleased with our nights frolic.” The “frolic” clearly involved considerable quantities of alcohol, as well as acrobatics, for Henry later wrote: “Went to villiage[.] Saw my two friends of the other evening and they where rather the worse of the amusements. D.B. legs quite pained him with his exertions tumbling” (20 April). Although such behaviour was not what one might expect from someone wishing to demonstrate responsible middle-class manhood, Henry had clearly been engaged in a manly ritual of sorts in order to lay the ground for permission to court the much younger Eliza Caya.8 He recorded the first real hint of his romantic intentions a day later, writing: “Went over to villige of Drummondville and called at Mr Caya where by Gods blessings I have got through a part of that trouble the pleasure of which I cannot record. Came home got not sleep. I trust and hope that I do what is right as far my little judgement permits me.” This entry reflects Henry’s general reticence to record his deepest

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emotions, but whether or not he was being ironic when he associated trouble and pleasure, he had obviously taken the second step in his courtship strategy, which was to gain the permission of the parents. One local historian claims that Eliza had been working in the Trent household,9 but Henry’s diary makes no reference to servants; he appears to have relied, instead, upon occasional paid help from the Madame Metivier noted above. Another local history includes the romantic story that when Henry went to England with his father he promised Eliza that he would return for her,10 but that is highly unlikely because she would have been only ten years old at that time, and his diary does not mention her by name until 22 April, when he wrote: “Called Mr Cayas morning, had chat about affairs with Eliza.” Only the following day did Henry write that he had “spent most of evening with Eliza.” The fact that there would be no formal betrothal was in keeping with the Catholic Church’s concern about pre-marital sexual intercourse.11 What was much more unusual was the haste at which preparation for the marriage proceeded, for the courtship period in Quebec was then normally six months to a year. Two days after Henry first mentioned Eliza, he wrote that Monsieur Caya had “walked over” the farm, evidently in order to ensure that his daughter would be well provided for. Caya was obviously satisfied, for after the passage of three more days, Henry reported that he was “Makeing preperations for marriage between Ht & ec” (30 April). He was obviously excited by the prospect, for he added: “Head turned with to many things to write jurnal.” What Eliza’s feelings were can only be a matter of conjecture. Not only did she have less time than most women to become familiar with her future husband, but at the age of twenty she was little more than half his age, and that at a time when the average age gap was only four years in the area that is today the Quebec-Centre administrative district (the low-lying area between the St Lawrence River and the Appalachian foothills in one direction, and the St Francis and Bécancour Rivers in the other).12 However, most females in that district married at the age of twenty or twenty-one.13 Furthermore, given that rural French Canadians had considerable liberty in choosing their marriage partners,14 it seems unlikely that Eliza was prematurely forced into the arrangement. Indeed, if she was somewhat romantic, she may have been attracted not only by Henry’s social status but also by his considerate nature and his adventurous past.

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That said, the Caya family had driven a hard bargain, for Henry wrote on 30 April: “The notere [notary] Mons. Peltier came down and took an account of various things about the house but a verry unexact one and where valued much below their value.” His only livestock was five cows valued at $100, a pair of oxen at $39, and two calves at $4. There were also one hundred bushels of oats ($40) and sixty bushels of potatoes ($15). Reflecting Henry’s passion for hunting, the most valuable items were two long guns and a pistol estimated to be worth a total of $125, and there were also two other guns valued at $10. Carpentry tools and other items stored in chests were listed as worth $200, and the stove and furniture at only $245, for a total of $778.15 Eliza’s “hardes, linges, chausures [sic], coiffures et lits” (clothes, linens, shoes, hats, and beds), on the other hand, were estimated at a substantial $200. The reason for these evaluations was presumably that the marriage contract specified a separation of goods between the two spouses.16 This left Henry with complete control of his property, but the purpose was clearly to ensure that not all would be lost should he suffer a major financial setback, for the contract also bound Henry to give his bride $2,000 in the form of a mortgage on his farm, plus equal title to future acquisitions.17 Furthermore, Henry was legally required to support the household, including provision of clothing for his wife and children. Eliza thereby effectively gained the benefit of a community-of-goods contract without the financial risk that it would have involved. The Caya family appears to have realized that she was tying her fortunes to a man who, at the age of thirty-eight, lacked a record of vocational stability and whose economic prospects were not particularly promising despite the value of his landed property. Finally, as a condition of Eliza’s church, all the children were to be raised as Roman Catholics.18 Henry was clearly too indifferent to religion himself to make this a stumbling block. The marriage required special permission from the Roman Catholic bishop, following which it took place at 4:00 pm on 1 May, which was not a popular month for French-Canadian weddings. It was also a Sunday, which was very unusual in Quebec.19 Perhaps the parish priest wished to ensure that the traditional public celebration that followed weddings would not take place.20 To further ensure that the union would not be seen by the parishioners to have the Church’s enthusiastic approval, the public banns were dispensed with and the curé officiated in

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the presbytery rather than in the church. Given that there would have been no prayers or religious ceremonies, it was effectively (though not formally) a civil ceremony.21 The Trent-Caya marriage illustrates how, in Quebec, the Catholic Church was able to minimize the number of unions between French-speaking and English-speaking Canadians, Irish Catholics being the exception.22 Even if the children were raised as Catholics, the concern was obviously that they would be exposed to materialistic Anglo-Protestant values.23 The Catholic Church aside, the fact that there was no charivari following the Trent-Caya marriage, even though it was rushed and semi-concealed, would suggest that the French-Canadian members of the bilingual Drummondville community did not disapprove.24 Henry described the day’s events in a rather jumbled manner as follows: Had supper and went over home with the member of my new relations. Slight rain. No fuss was made and we changed our clothes and came quietly home. I was some what tired haveing run over home and about good part of the day. Mrs Trefly Caya my sister in Law was with her husband a verry great help to me in the middle of my troubles. Our contract was signed by us at Mr Cayas house in the village of Drummondville. Rev. Mr Prince performed such rights as where considered necessary at his house in a private way so that none but the notare[, and] Mr Boisvert & fils where except members of the family where present; I was glad when the business was over. We came over and Mons. and Mrs Boisvert came over so that we had more like an evenings play as children than a marage evening[;] all went well and quietly; and Eliza was better pleased with this plain way. Rev. Mr P fee $5.00.25 Henry could finally be said to have entered full manhood, for in Tosh’s words, establishing a household “has long been a crucial stage in winning social recognition as an adult, full masculine person” because “to speak for one’s family in the public arena conferred weight which was denied to the single man.”26 Furthermore, Henry’s marriage into a well-established petit-bourgeois family offered him the security he had lacked,27 not to mention the fact that Eliza was a particularly capable young woman. He would mention her frequently during the ensuing

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years, and never in negative terms.28 Eliza bore the burden of giving birth on an average of slightly less than every two years until she reached the end of her child-bearing at age forty-five, but she presumably viewed this as the duty of a devout Catholic.29 In Quebec, marital fertility remained high during the latter half of the nineteenth century,30 though the fact that the intervals between births did not increase with Eliza’s age was certainly unusual. The deaths of her twelfth and thirteenth infants at the ages of nine and four months, respectively, would, however, help to explain why the birth intervals remained less than two years even for the last two births.31 What must have been still more unusual, for any time or place, was the fact that the first seven children were daughters. Given the crucial role played by sons as workers on the family farm, that alone would have encouraged Eliza and Henry to have more children. The next two births were to sons, but they both died young, though not before a third and a fourth son were born. Yet another son was born two years later, making it five in a row, though he and the daughter who followed both died in infancy. (The fact that there were only two infant deaths out of fourteen births was highly unusual for FrenchCanadian women in an era that saw approximately one quarter of all Quebec-born children die in their first year of life.)32 Finally, Eliza’s last birth was to another son, making boys six of the last seven progeny, another statistical anomaly.33 In the meantime, the newly married couple did not embark upon the customary wedding trip to visit friends and relatives, not even to visit Henry’s sister who had not attended the rushed wedding. Instead, Henry reported that from 2 May to 6 May, he and Eliza “went to the villiage and back again[,] went to church with E, amused our selfs and spent some part of the time with Treffly[,] time passing pleasantly.” Catholics who married non-Catholics were to be deprived of Holy Communion for several months, at least earlier in the century,34 but whether that decree was enforced in Eliza’s case is not clear. In any case, she and Henry attended morning Mass together on 7 May. Eliza would be a faithful churchgoer throughout her life but Henry – after attending the Anglican Church service the following few Sundays – slipped into his customary absenteeism. And even though worship was a family-based ritual, he clearly had no desire to join the Catholic Church; nor is there any indication in his diary that Eliza attempted to change his mind.

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The entries in Henry’s diary became monthly throughout the ensuing summer, which was mostly uneventful. For August he wrote: “Some of settlers who knew me years ago[,] and now and then see me[,] speak verry kind to me; and my wife appears to be a favourate with many of her country neibours.” That fall, Henry became ill with “the small colora” writing on 25 October that as a medicine he had “tryed my usual remedy in dysentry spirits,” but “I took to much spirits more than I was aware off, and consiquely between the sleeps got excited.” His condition became serious enough that his mother-in-law was summoned, “and about 12 oclk this night my friends sent for the doctor and I find that they had enough to do. I quite tired every one out.” Two days later he wrote that he could only remember that the doctor had called again, as had the Anglican minister, while “Mrs Trefly” stayed the night to help Eliza, “who was nearly worn out.” Henry was sufficiently recovered by 3 November to begin renovating the upstairs of the house by knocking one partition down and building another, presumably in preparation for the first baby. Even though the diary does not mention it, Eliza was five months pregnant by that time.35 Henry did write, however, that “Eliza was verry much pleased at the improvement … The upstairs passage is now much smaller; and we have a good chamber up stairs[;] we found a hole in the chimney for a stove pipe.” With the plastering job completed by 6 November, Henry wrote: “Both Eliza and myself where tired after our weeks exertion; E had an attack of Canadian Cholera or kind of Dysentry, which gave us much trouble.” Given that a well had not yet been dug, and that their farm was downstream from Drummondville, they may have both been infected by the river water. In order to cash the British North American Bank draft for £30 that had finally arrived from England, Henry and Eliza made a rare trip to Montreal accompanied by Mme Caya on 5 December. Henry’s London agent had also sent a larger draft but had directed it to “Hamilton” rather than Montreal. Demonstrating how personal connections could overcome such obstacles, the bank allowed Henry to draw $200 on the wayward draft, presumably due to the intervention of G.L. Marler who “kindly offered to draw the remainder and leave at Darwins,” which was another Montreal bank. (Marler had left Drummondville for Montreal in 1858, and was now the well-paid business manager and accountant of the city’s Sulpician religious order.)36 Henry had

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clearly been dependent upon his in-laws for money, for he then paid Mme Caya $150, “and settled up to this date.” On their third day in Montreal, the generally frugal Henry “Called on the protograph man and ordered six copys of Eliza[;] gave him 3/4 of a dollar.” Most of the photographs were quite likely to be sent to his English relatives, who would never meet his wife. Further demonstrating the importance of family to Henry, he also purchased a pair of snowshoes for his sister’s young son (8 December). After being detained by the river’s ice conditions for twelve days at the home of Eliza’s parents in Drummondville, Henry and Eliza finally crossed in a canoe laden with groceries and ten pounds of flour “for Pat’s boys.” Clearly in a generous spirit, Henry also gave the boys fifty cents “for their Christmas Wisky.” Christmas was spent quietly, however, for Henry and Eliza evidently did not attend the traditional FrenchCanadian family gathering on Christmas Eve known as the “réveillon.”37 The reason may have been Eliza’s health, for on 26 December Henry “Called on Doc Barard and got a small bottle of medicine for Eliza, as she was not well last night and gave us great uneasyness.” She had recovered by New Year’s Eve, however, for Henry wrote on 1 January 1865: “Went over after dinner with Eliza and remained at Mons. T. Caya’s till next year.” Finally, conforming to the widespread practice of even the least reflective diarists,38 he added the retrospective comment: “Amen for this Eventful year which started rough and Ended Well. Thank God.” After the first child was born on 17 March, a somewhat befuddled Henry wrote to a friend in England that “our little visitor made her appearance on the 18th April.”39 She was baptized Marie-AntoinetteDorothée-Angelina, and Henry referred to her in her early years as Dorothy, which was the name of his mother. In fact, nearly all of the Trent offspring were baptized with a combination of French and English names,40 but Henry used the English versions. Whether or not English was the main language in the household is unclear, but the children were obviously bilingual. As for the first daughter’s commonly used name, Henry lost out in the end because his diary later refers to her as “Annette.” He was clearly a devoted father, for seven months after his daughter was born, he wrote to his godmother that she “begins to say Ma Ma – and gives us great pleasure and trouble combined. Now and then takes from us some time of the night rocking as we do not keep

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any nurse.” Furthermore, he added: “Now that the busy season is nearly over we intend liveing without any domestic except to come and wash.”41 Henry reported a month later, on 4 December, that the baby remained healthy and it appears that Eliza continued to breast-feed her until 20 December, nine months after her birth, when Henry wrote: “E. and self went to village with horse. Got a feeding bottle for little one.”42 The temperature dropped on 6 January 1866, when Henry wrote: “A Holoday for Eliza. Glad to remain in the house as it is extremely cold.” What he clearly meant by a holiday was not that Eliza took a day of rest but that it was a church holiday, namely Epiphany. That said, Henry did assume household chores on occasion, for he wrote on 14 January that “Eliza went to church while I took care of Baking,” a skill he had learned on Vancouver Island, as we have seen. With the onset of cold weather, the family had moved once again into the kitchen of the large uninsulated house that had no cellar furnace. Even in the kitchen some nights were uncomfortable, for Henry wrote on 20 December 1865: “It was verry cold to day indeed and at night on account of the little one we slept on the floor and had not much rest.” He wrote again on 7 January that “We find the extream weather verry tiresome. The house is cold not with standing we keep a hard wood fire continually[;] the doors and windows want refitting as they now begin to be old.” Henry spent much of his time during the winter cutting wood but he was occasionally housebound due to stormy weather, as on 15 February when he noted in his diary that he was writing letters to his English relatives, “Eliza joining me in sending one to Mrs Dean to thank for the box and good things she kindly sent us from England.” Three days later, after Henry had cleared the snow-drifted road fronting the farm, Eliza was able to attend Mass, leaving him at home with the baby, as she would many times in the future. He noted proudly that at “just 11 months today she rocks her own cradle and begins to play about of her own accord.” By the following fall, Eliza was pregnant again, and a concerned Henry wrote on 25 November: “Eliza not well during the night and I tryed to releave the suffering by hot bricks. And we got but little rest from anxiety. Mrs Lafond came and kindly stayed all day. Mr and Mrs Caya came after noon and I found their help of great service in bringing Eliza round she having suffered much during the morning.” Eliza was well enough two days later to help set up a stove in the old drawing

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room which was to be used as a bedroom. Georgianna, named after Henry’s father, would be born a month and a half later on 9 January 1867.43 The fact that she was always known in the family as “George” may indicate how much Henry and Eliza had been hoping for a son. Although references in his diary to his two daughters are relatively rare, Henry reported on 25 September of the same year: “Our little ones are getting up[;] the Eldest is pretty active and carry various articles up to the kitchen loft and makes herself busy in trying to do the work of her elders and is verry fond of talking in French[;] will not be three years old till next spring.” Henry did not neglect to mention the challenges of parenting, however, with passages such as: “Our little ones require much attention at night and fatigues E. very much getting up often” (29 September 1867); “Dorothy not well and I went a second time to village and brought back Doc Berard” (10 October 1867); and “Our little ones and father and mother had a blow out on oatmeal porrage this evening” (28 November 1867). Eliza was evidently now nursing for a shorter period, for George was only six months old when her mother became pregnant again. Henry expressed concern that her illness “might injure future of our family” (26 January 1868), clearly meaning that he thought she might miscarry. That concern persisted eight days later when he wrote: “E not well and when this way is quite nervous and excites others as well” (3 February). Eliza was on her feet the following day, but Henry wrote on 18 February: “Had rather a hard night of it E not being verry well.” He did not mention Eliza’s health again in the following weeks, but on 10 March he wrote: “We find that liveing with out servants very quiet and agreable in some respects except that it is to much for E. Our two little ones are verry good; the house appears cleaner and no fuss But we must have a domestick verry soon.” A month later, on 12 April, Henry described the drama of the third child’s birth in the kind of detail that is quite unusual for a male diarist of that time. He wrote that Eliza’s “water began to pass about sundown or a little before, I went over for Doc Berard but he had just gone some seven or eight miles off – returned and crossed at home (bringing a bottle of Brandy from V.C. in case) found Trefly Caya and he like a good brother went after Doc with his horse.” Henry then went for the elderly midwife, Mrs Dally, who had been a housekeeper for his father. After two long hours, he returned to the ferry, only to find that “Doc Had

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arrived with Trefly and returned home as the ferry man had not heard them.” Henry then hid the oars to ensure that the ferry could not leave without him and the doctor, and they were able to make “a shure passage about half an hour after.” Whether or not Henry witnessed the birth is unclear,44 but the following day he reported: “Eliza gave birth to a female child about 2 or 3 ock morning,” adding with obvious relief that “The new born is verry quiet and healthy also the mother doing well.” In keeping with Catholic practice in Quebec at that time, the baby was baptized only a day later, on 14 April. Henry wrote that “Madame LaVine [an occasional employee] went over with me to get the child Christened and I found our two friends [i.e. the godparents] at Treflys[,] Mons. Marchand performing the dutys according to Elizas Custom in her church. The names where Eliza, Heneretta, Emma. I think they were written in french and placed in the records kept by the resedant cure.” The reason that Henry did not know this for a fact was that, as a Protestant, he was not welcome to attend the baptism.45 The baby was christened Henriette,46 clearly in honour of her father, but Henry would always refer to her as Heneretta. Although there would be eleven more births, none of them happened to coincide with the surviving volumes of Henry’s diary. But, as we shall see in the next chapter, he remained strongly attached to his children as they grew older.

The Farm Economy, 1864–73 The first few years for any farm family were challenging, given that there was a growing number of mouths to feed and the children were still too young to be of much help. Henry’s English rental income was evidently sufficient, however, for him to leave most of the farm work to the Hogan family during his first year of marriage. Thus, rather than mention farming in his 16 May - 25 June entry for 1864, he wrote: “Verry few fish in river which has been low for some time. E. likes bass but have caught but 4 bass.” For July, he admitted: “I have done little but hoe some some [sic] corn potatoes; little or no fish in river.” And the entry for the month of August continued in the same vein: “These last three months of comparitive ease and contentment has made me quite fat so that I find I cannot work as ready as I should wish.” In early September, Henry set five snares with the help of Eliza, and continued to fish in the

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river, but with no luck, though he had heard that “Salmon are comeing up in numbers” (8 September). It was Hogan who harvested the oats as well as the potatoes, which – in addition to hay – had been the main crops for the region since the 1840s.47 Henry was no longer idle, however, for during the same month he hewed timber for the roof and floor of the stable. By 19 September he was able to host a barn-raising bee attended by several neighbours as well as his father-in-law, reporting proudly that “E. made dinner and every body was much pleased with the raising and enjoyed their dinner verry much.” Henry could not always rely upon the regular arrival of the rental income from the Ely estate, for he wrote to his godmother on 18 September that the reply from his agent, Dimmock, had apparently been delayed because the Canadian mail steamer was three weeks late. This, he claimed, “makes it quite a serious affair for us as winter is fast approaching and we are in want of a number of articles for this severe season of the year.” Adding to the financial worries, the autumn plowing was to be done “on trust which will cost us more if we are lucky enough [in] getting it done.” Henry concluded on a positive note, however, writing that “With our labour and economy we are in hopes to be able to live a quiet and healthy life and sufficient for our requirements.” Furthermore, Henry was careful not to suggest that Eliza engaged in any work not appropriate to a young middle-class wife, for he added: “we are happy each in our several dutys. Some woolen socks, preserves, pickles, and numberless little house hold devoir from my good little wife contribute to our happyness.”48 As was common for farm women of the time, however, Eliza engaged in more than the household production and chores.49 To take one of many examples, Henry wrote in his diary on 11 October: “E. and self hoed up two bushels of potatoes,” a task that would continue into the following week.50 The following spring, a year after he had married, Henry wrote to an English friend: “It is our hope that the farm will suport us in a short time and it is with great anxiety that I wait to see the effect of my labours. I feel now sometime like when I was out to sea in my little canoe at Vancouver. Nothing but firm reliance in the kindness of Providence and my little woman gives me courage.” Despite his past reliance upon the Hogans to do most of the work, however, he claimed that “We have had some difficulty with the family.” Their lease was to expire on 1 May, and Henry added: “their departure is looked upon as

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a releaf by us.”51 The farm clearly could not support two families, but the relatively inexperienced Henry would have to work hard with Eliza to keep it productive in the coming years. Henry now had no choice but to rely upon the seasonal labour of neighbouring farmers and their sons. Several months after his letter to his English friend, he wrote to his godmother: “Our man servant is exchanged for a boy till the Autumn plowing is over. My first attempt the other day (would not have obtained a medal) but gave us much incouragement. The weather has been very cold so that we put the cattle under cover at nights. Provision have risen in value verry much but we are in hopes a small cow and pig we are fattening will provide for the winter and perhaps longer. We have eaten buck wheat cakes of our own rasing. Our fowls give us eggs haveing sold enough to pay the first expense beside haveing about 30 chickens, also fresh eggs for part of the winter. We burn quite a quantity of wood and it take 3/4 of an hour chopping a day to keep the house warm.” Eliza had also made sixty pounds of butter, which Henry claimed was “no small amount as we have had very little fresh meat this summer. We have had some fish now and then and some grouse lately with a hare, not having time to hunt for game.”52 Henry was again assuring his elderly godmother that he had finally settled down, and that he and his wife had been working very hard, labouring outdoors on his part, and frugally managing the household on her part. When Henry returned to his diary a couple of weeks later, on 13 November, he wrote that the river had frozen to the big island across from the farm. The weather had now become quite mild, however, and he expressed the hope that he could finish the fall work before the winter set in. He wrote on 17 November: “Finding the little boy could plow I left him to finish and went after dinner to compleat the lower flat wood road which I got through enough for the winter use when the snow falls. Also cleared part of an old swamp road.” These primitive roads were necessary for hauling firewood to the house during the winter. As for the unnamed hired boy, he did not remain long, for Henry wrote four days later that he had “plowed a part of the fore noon and got so tired calling to the oxen and they became so willfull that the poor boy gave it up in disgust.” The following day, he “left after breakfast.” Henry did not record the boy’s wages, but the following summer he would pay a boy three dollars per month (14 July 1866), and he

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later hired boys at four dollars a month to work in the woods and help with other tasks after the harvest season had ended. Low as this rate was compared to the average of $13.50 per month paid to male farm labourers in Ontario in 1870,53 it was much higher than the dollar a month that Eliza paid a neighbour girl to assist with household work during the first winter of the Trents’ marriage (17 November 1864).54 According to historian Jane Errington, hired girls in Upper Canada generally received between three and four dollars a month.55 The fact that this was much more than what Eliza paid would suggest that the main advantage for the parents of the hired girl was that she would have been one less mouth to feed within a large family, particularly during the slow winter season.56 Exploitive as the arrangement was, such girls were generally treated more as part of the family than as servants,57 a term that Henry no longer used when referring to the hired help. Henry spent much of his time during the winter months cutting firewood in order to keep at least part of the house warm enough to inhabit.58 Historian Joshua MacFadyen has stated that cutting firewood for home consumption on Canadian farms “was so much a part of everyday life that most people never thought to record their experiences with this form of energy,”59 but that was not the case for Henry Trent. He normally worked in the woods only for the family’s own needs, but he made an exception on 20 December 1865 when he “cut some of the hard wood and sent a load to Miss Marlers who told me yesterday they could not get any wood on account of the roads and being old friends I could not see them freezing.” Helping the two shopkeepers, who were sisters of the influential G.L. Marler,60 was not simply an act of charity, for two days later Henry wrote: “I called on Miss Marlers and they gave me ten dollars on account as well as five lbs of sugar and thanked us much for the fire wood we sent them.” Another ongoing concern was water for the livestock. Henry wrote on 18 December that he had begun driving his cattle to the river to drink, but that the frozen road made it difficult for them to walk. And again on 7 January: “The Weather still verry cold indeed. The cattle do not like to go to the river to get their drink.” After a brief mild break, Henry wrote a week later: “The weather getting very cold again had difficulty to get the cattle to drink at the river. Still keep the cow in the horse stable.” He had complained on 18 December that “I find feeding the cattle horse pigs hens and watering them take a considerable time

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so that these short days I have little time for aught else but cut the fire wood.” Finally, on 20 December, he hired a boy named Francis Bergeron “to work for me and cut wood.” Whether it was part of the bargain or not, that evening Henry gave young Bergeron “a lesson reading.” The boy returned home three days later, but would again work short spells for Henry in the future. The Trents also turned to neighbouring families for certain handmade items, such as clothing.61 Thus, in mid-January 1866, Mme Metivier made Henry a coat, trousers, and waistcoat, and Eliza a dress, working four and a half days in their home for $1.80. Much of Eliza’s own time was devoted to producing household articles such as candles and soap.62 Henry, on the other hand, fashioned necessary articles from wood, noting on 14 December that he had cut birch roots for the runners of an ox sled. Purchases were largely restricted to food that could not be raised on the farm. Henry wrote on 29 December, for example: “Got from Miss Marlers five dollars cash and a bushell of salt. From Mons Boisvert some cinimon.” Given that his in-laws were the town bakers, bread was an occcasional exception to home food production, and Henry added: “From Mrs Caya half loaf bread.” Money was also still needed for expenses such as property taxes. While in Acton in December, Henry was informed that the municipal council had become more sympathetic to the absentee proprietors. He made no mention of hiring crews to cut timber on his Acton township land, but by 6 March 1866, he had produced enough logs on his farm to have his brother-in-law, Ferdinand Caya, take a load to a mill across the river. Henry wrote that Ferdinand “had a narrow escape getting through the ice” on his way to the Trent farm, but that did not deter the two of them from hauling fourteen logs across the river the following day. According to Henry, “it required a great deal of caution landing[,] the thaw having broken up the ice a few days ago.” The lumber economy was less important to Henry as a market for his logs, however, than for his agricultural surplus. Local merchant and sawmill owner Valentine Cooke purchased twenty-one bushels of his oats for seven dollars on 25 April, promising to take all he could spare in the future. The logging season would have ended with the spring timber drive, but horses and oxen still had to be fed and Cooke continued to purchase oats as well as hay on a regular basis until mid June, when Henry had no more oats to spare.63 Even though the Trents were not

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producing agricultural products for an export market, they were tied to it through the local lumber industry. Furthermore, their most important income source would, for a time, continue to be the English properties. On 2 April, Henry collected fifty-five dollars on his account with G.L. Marler, and from that sum he bought a plow for six dollars cash as well as paying Bergeron the remaining two dollars in wages owed to his family. He also recorded spending 1/6d to have a pair of moccasins made for the boy who had been working for him that winter. Then, in late May, before all the crops were in the ground, Henry travelled with Eliza to Montreal where he called on Marler and “paid off Miss Marlers bill and found comeing to me after paying for Pork and nails $120.00 … some I got in Bills at Dorions bank.” Henry then splurged by paying $39 for groceries (though some may have been for his Caya in-laws), and $16.45 at a tailor’s shop. He certainly had ample funds at this point, for another £30 from his English rents had arrived at the British North American Bank, where he cashed the cheque for $145.33 (25 May). Reflecting the influence of the market culture, Henry’s exchanges with local farmers were sometimes monetized. Thus, on 5 June, he sold a neighbour a bushel of buckwheat for three shillings, and two and a half bushels of potatoes for six shillings, buying in return seven pounds of maple sugar for two shillings and eleven pence. No cash actually exchanged hands, however, for the balance in Henry’s favour was to be paid by a day’s help from the farmer and his son “for 5 shillings at fence makeing.” That task accomplished, the neighbour would still owe Henry “one shilling and one penny.” A similar process took place on 14 July when Henry wrote: “Barnaby’s father came over about his boy and the account. The boy not having bhaived himself remarkably well[,] we settling that he is to go … home this evening[,] and the half month which he owes me he is to pay me in cutting hay himself.” Towards the Barnabé boy’s wages of $16.50 (or 10¢ a day) for five and a half months work, Henry had paid him: “Potatoes $7.00; buckwheat $0.60; gal molasses $0.60, boots $1.00, oil $0.10, cash $6.00, moose[?] leather $0.60, shoes $0.33, cash $0.25, cash $0.12 1/2, strap harness $0.50, post office stamps $0.05 = $17.35 1/2.” Barnabé therefore owed him 85 ½ cents. Complicated as these transactions were, they did not involve third parties, though that was often the case in pre-industrial economies.64 Also notable was the fact that the purchase of farm labour was generally

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involved, as when Henry paid five bushels of potatoes on 28 April in return for two days plowing. No monetary value was mentioned in this case, or when the neighbouring Monsieur Lafond helped to butcher a pig and his wife assisted Eliza to make black pudding from the blood. Henry wrote: “we spent quite a social day of it – gave Lf a bush of cut potatoes and bush of Potatoes [to] Sanciere[?] who is in need.” Eliza also gave some meat to the neighbour (21 June), which was a common practice in rural Quebec when an animal was butchered.65 Henry appears never to have provided his own labour, serving instead as a source of cash and produce for local farmers. He had little time to spare from his own farm, but the fact that he did not even participate in a building bee (aside from the one for his own barn) is notable, for Jean Provencher claims that it was “fort choquant de ne pas être invité à la corvée du voisin,” and that it could only be the result of “des relations tendues.”66 Evidently, as an Anglo-Protestant of upper-middle-class origin, Henry remained somewhat socially isolated from the farming community at large. That did not prevent him from helping someone on an individual basis, however, for he wrote on 24 February 1867: “Drew some wood for our next neibour Mons. Masse who is left alone with a large family and has no horse.” Despite the fact that the Trent farm’s black surface soil was occasionally fertilized by deposits from the St Francis River’s spring floods, production was on the boundary between low commercial and high subsistence agriculture.67 In early May 1866, Henry sowed oats, melons, cabbages, and cucumbers, as well as planting apple, plum, and cherry trees, thereby ensuring that fruit and fruit preserves would be a part of the family diet. Later in the month, he sowed corn, beets, and potatoes (26 May). After crows ate the corn seedlings, he wrote that he was shown by his neighbour Lafond how to sow fast-germinating buckwheat as a replacement (29 June).68 Even though this was the busy season, Henry did take some time off to do some fishing, writing on 12 May: “Plowed in the flat greator part of the day[;] heavy work for the oxen. After sundown fished with small line and got two suckers[,] one weighed 7 3/4 lbs.” On 9 June he “Spent the night fishing with N Joutras.” Fishing may have been an escape from the daily routine, but the catch was also a welcome source of food, and Henry noted three days later that he had been using an unsportsmanlike net as well as a night line.69

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The Trents were particularly reliant upon neighbours for labour during haying season, which lasted many weeks when the weather was wet, as it was throughout the broader region in 1866.70 That summer, haying did not begin for the Trents until 24 July when a neighbour named Francis Grammond began to mow on their farm. Two days later, Joutras helped to haul four and a half loads to the barn before the rain began. (At that time, relatively small two-wheeled carts were used for the purpose.)71 Henry did not record what he paid in exchange, but he managed to gather three loads on his own on 31 July. It continued to rain until the weather finally improved on 11 August when he wrote: “Took 5 loads of hay in and finished the fence near the road … This is the first fine day we have had for some time.” The last of the hay was finally mowed on 24 August, but Henry wrote a day later that he was obliged to leave it as well as the wheat on the ground “on account of damp and cold weather.” Continuing wet weather forced him and the hired boys to turn the hay and wheat over on 28 August and again on 1 September in order to prevent rot, but they did manage to get it all into the barn by 4 September. Henry was still harvesting oats during damp weather, however, until 15 September. As for other crops, Henry wrote on 6 September: “Turned the flax in the field and find by the damp weather that we have lost much of this little crop.” He added a day later: “Eliza - girl - and self got in flax and put in stable.” The degree to which the Trents were attempting to be self-sufficient is reflected by the fact that flax was grown for the home production of linen, which was used in the making of homespun clothing.72 Henry also harvested two and a half loads of buckwheat, spreading it in the kitchen loft to dry after threshing and fanning it by hand. The peas were harvested on 21 September and the last of the buckwheat on 29 September. Finally, the potato harvest began on 2 October, when two French-Canadian women were hired for the job. By that time Henry had also hired a man to help him dig a sorely needed well (16 September, 2–6 October). He wrote on 8 October: “We had hard work and the ground gave way.” The following day, young Grammond returned with his three sisters, “the latter at breaking flax[;] also Madame lavoie & John Nail & son came and we all worked at stoneing the well[.] I drew stones with the oxen[;] hard work.” The stone lining was finally finished on 12 October, and hemlock logs placed on the well the following day, presumably to prevent the children and

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livestock from falling in. Henry later added a balance pole, explaining that, instead of using a pump, “I intend to haul up the water after the ancient manner,” namely by lifting the bucket up with a lever (20 November). The fall work came to an end when, with the use of a threshing machine rented at $2.50 per day, and with the help of John Nail and son, Henry threshed approximately 132 bushels of oats, sixteen bushels of peas, and seven bushels of wheat during the first three days of November. Despite the inclement weather during that summer, the harvest had probably sufficed for most of the family’s plant food needs as well as fodder for the livestock. On 19 November, Henry began preparation for winter. He wrote: “After breakfast I went to the bush and cut about a load of fire wood piling the branches. After dinner planted and pointed pickets in front of the house to make a fence to keep the cattel from destroying the pine planted to keep off the cold wind that comes from that direction.” But the winter months, as well as the following spring and early summer, are missing from Henry’s diary which resumes only the following year, in August 1867, and which he titled “Haying Season.” The initial entries consist largely of accounts for three employees working on the hay harvest. Thus, the first entry (Wednesday, 7 August) is “Thomas one day[;] Countoirs[?] one day[;] Masse one day – I gave Jimmy Thomas fifty cents on account[;] Countoirs two dollarrs and Masse one dollar.” On 12 August Henry noted that Thomas and Masse were both complaining of dysentry (despite the new well), but “We got in 4 verry large loads of hay … from Gibraltar hill and one left of the hill this side.” On a more exciting note, he added: “The fox that has carryed several of our chickens and about 9 young Turkeys gave me a random shot late this evening but escaped.” The following day, Henry drew up his hay account and found that the harvest had taken a very lengthy forty-six days, and had cost him forty-six dollars, or about seventy cents a load. He left the number of loads blank, but simple arithmetic would indicate that it was sixty-six. It had clearly been a dry summer, for during the following few days Henry and his hired hands finished the haying with seven more loads, a month earlier than the previous year. For the next phase of the harvest, Henry turned from boys or young men to female labour earlier than the previous year. He wrote on 26 August: “Mons. Caya[,] the little girl Lavine and self cut wheat all

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day … Madam La Vine[,] the girls mother[,] came late to help us to cut wheat.” Madame Lavine and her daughter continued the same work the next day, and Henry wrote on 28 August: “Got in 70 large bundles of wheat before 12 oclk with the assistance of Madam la vine.” In contrast to the previous year, Henry added: “their is every appearance of havin a good crop of grain this year and the reapers say I shall have a heavy crop of oats also.” The oats harvest again continued into early September when Henry’s combined entry for the third to the seventh of the month states: “Madame and Daughter cutting oats with sickle. We got in the greater part; all our big field. Oats looked well.” Finally, on 12 September, the diary adds: “Got some buckwheat in barn, Threshed Linseed with Madame lavine, got in last of oats.” Once again, clearly, machines had played a limited role in the harvest. Madame Lavine had worked fourteen days, for which she was paid $4.65, or the equivalent of approximately ten dollars a month, which was more than double the rate for the males working on the hay harvest.73 In addition, Henry paid her two dollars for her daughter’s work. Cutting with a sickle was a semi-skilled operation, and Madame Lavine’s wage would suggest that the scale for outdoor work was based more on maturity and ability than on gender. Furthermore, the fact that domestic labour was less valued than harvest work presumably reflected the greater degree to which the latter was essential to the family’s survival.74 And, low as the wages may have been, they clearly made a significant dent in the farm’s profitability. Henry wrote that after “taking the good Woman home about 10 or 12 miles from here on the Cote St Piere road,” he had “set 6 snairs as we where out fresh meat for some time and E began to feel the want of it.”75 Purchasing meat from the butcher was evidently not an option, and Henry added that “Our sheep are not yet fat enough to kill and the fowls the same haveing been obliged to shut them up on account of the grain” (14 September). He finally gave in the following day when he wrote: “We felt the want of change of food so bad that I eventually went over to lafond and Madame gave us a peice of pork an 8 eggs which Eliza is to settle for another day.” The fall harvest was not yet finished, however, for on 30 September Henry noted that he had “fetched Mme Lavine and little girl to hoe up potatoes,” a task that, as we have seen, had been performed by two hired women the previous fall. By 4 October they had harvested ninety-five bushels, some of which were rotten. There were by that time still fifteen

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bushels left to pick, but Henry wrote that Mme Lavine had become ill and he took her home three days later. Reflecting the small scale at which the Trents were still farming, Henry wrote on 16 November that “We have now in the barn a yoke of oxen, red cow (4 or 5 years), two brindled cows (3 years) got from Grammond, and Lady Durams calf now a cow of 3 years old – 4 cows in all – also two heifers of 2 years old next spring – and three calfs of this last spring[;] 3 old sheep and two lambs and a ram, 16 poultry and 8 turkeys in all.” He added: “We killed an old sheep and and [sic] a lamb and have two pigs to put up and two to keep for next years killing.” Although the cows produced milk for the butter that the Trents sometimes sold in town, it is obvious that they raised few livestock for the market. Finally, Henry owned a horse that he hitched to go to town as well as haul wood during the winter. He would, however, continue to rely upon oxen for ploughing and other strenuous work long after most Quebec farmers had abandoned them.76 The fact that the Trents had to hire a considerable amount of labour for the harvest obviously cut into their profits and limited their ability to expand production. They were particularly dependent upon the Lavine family, for Henry wrote on 10 November, after the 1867 harvest was over, that he had taken the Lavine girl home because she was sick, but returned with her mother to whitewash the rooms he had altered “with a view to make changes for our convenience this winter.” He drove Mme Lavine home again the following day and returned with her husband and a younger daughter. The former chopped some wood and threshed thirteen bushels of oats, while the latter was to work for only a dollar a month (22–23 November). The Lavines were clearly not servants but small-scale farmers who relied upon agricultural labour to survive,77 and Henry’s consistent reference to “Mme” Lavine suggests a degree of respect, though he generally referred to her husband as “the man.” The threshing machine finally arrived on 9 December and, even though Henry had claimed that it was a good year for oats, he bagged only about 100 bushels, which was considerably less than the 132 bushels of the previous year. As for peas, the harvest had remained the same at sixteen bushels, though ten or twelve bushels of mixed peas and oats were also threshed. The small amount of wheat Henry grew for family consumption had presumably been threshed by hand, as he reported on December 17 that he had received ninety-seven pounds of flour from the two bushels of wheat left at the mill. Later in the winter Eliza would

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pay $2.33 for the weaving of twenty-eight elles (thirty-two metres) of flannel (18 February 1868), all of which would likely have been used to make clothing for the family.78 The Christmas season brought a brief and welcome respite from reliance on home-grown food. On 21 December, Henry purchased on credit ten pounds of sugar, a pound of raisins, a pound of currants, and a bottle of high wine.79 He also butchered the one remaining duck for Christmas Day, noting that “the fox and hawks eat the rest,” but he lamented on 27 December, the day of “la quête de l’Enfant Jésus,” that “Mons. le cure called with Trefly accordding to the custom of Eliza but we had verry poor way of giving him the reception of the old house. We have had a verry poor Christmas in one way, the turkeys not yet fat as also the pigs[;] nothing but hard frozen beef.”80 Henry became ill following New Year’s Day, noting on 8 January that Léopold Barnabé had bought for him at Cooke’s store “a box of sardines[,] a bottle of Gin and a small bottle of stout; not being able to get some thing into my stomach to strengthen it and in hopes of being once more able to work and go on as usual.” Probably more beneficial was the herbal tea made from several kinds of evergreen branches that Henry referred to as “an old remedy much in use among some of the early inhabitans for restoreing the appetite.” In any case, he was well enough the following day to work in the woods with Barnabé and “the boy,” but another problem emerged with the well in the barnyard going dry and the ice on the river so slippery that some of the cattle failed to get enough water. As a result, Henry was forced during much of the winter to haul it to the barn. Most of Henry’s work time was spent in the woods with a boy hired at the usual rate of four dollars a month, cutting rails, pickets, and firewood. The family was short of cash by January, for even though Henry had sold one of his Acton lots for $500 in the fall of 1867,81 the purchaser had not paid the instalment due, forcing him to borrow $10.50 from Trefflé. He also had to rely on credit for his high wine and gin, as well as groceries, and on 22 February Eliza borrowed eighty-one pounds of flour from her father, “to be returned as soon as we are able.” Once the snow became too soft in March to work in the woods, Henry found himself with relatively little to do aside from regular chores, for he did not tap his maple trees. As a result, he was drawn to town despite the dangerous ice conditions, crossing to buy a bottle of

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high wine on 10 March, and another on 14 March when he wrote that the ferry crossing was “Not verry good.” Two days later he got his feet wet from melting ice and on 17 March he noted that the crossing was impossible for horse or man, forcing travellers to detour above the falls. The ice had cleared by 14 April when, to celebrate daughter Heneretta’s baptism, the increasingly bibulous Henry “got a bottle of HW [high wine] and bot of Brandy at V Cookes on acc.” Three days later he purchased yet another bottle of high wine, but a crimp was placed in his drinking habit the following month when, in his words, “the efforts of intreaguing by certain parties” caused the municipal council to ban “the sale of spirits in villiage thereby encouraging the secret use of the same.” He had been forced to go to St Germain, which was “about 5 or 6 miles from here[,] the roads not verry good … Got at the Inn 3 bott of H Wine[,] paid cash $1.50” (15 May). Henry had less time to imbibe once the seeding and harvesting season began, and it unfolded during the spring and summer of 1868 much as it had during the previous two years. The weather was initially unseasonably dry, however, resulting in a fire on 28 April that burned some of the rails and pickets that Henry and the young hired hand had cut. Another fire on 29 June consumed some of the hemlock bark that they had peeled for the new tannin factory.82 Then the weather turned wet, so that by 28 July only nineteen and a half loads of hay had been taken to the barn. Furthermore, the rain had arrived too late for a good hay crop, for Henry noted two days later that it would be a small one on his farm that year, as it was elsewhere in the province.83 The only sources of income he reported during that period were his sale of fifty-five pounds of veal to several people in the village (22 August), and Eliza’s sale of “$1.50 cents of butter, which I think went to the girl for wages” (29 August). The entry for 15 September provides a good snapshot of the variety a day in the fall could offer: “I harnessed the mare and Eliza with two little ones came with me and we got a load of wood from pond field and took in the oats after we got our dinner between the loads[.] We also got a load of wood from Gibraltar Hill road, 1 1/2 loads of oats and also gather the flax[;] three bundles was all we got this years flax a dead loss[;] the weather appears to hot for it this year. I cut the patch of oats among the potatoes … and threshed till sun down, got a partridge off the hill which we had for supper. Annette [this is the first time the

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diary does not refer to her as Dorothy] and Goerge [sic] where quite fond of it … Splendid northern lights this Evening.”84 The harvest, except for the potatoes, ended on 24 September when Henry wrote that he had taken in the Indian corn with Eliza’s help. The Trents were apparently less able to afford hired farm labour that fall, for there is no mention of the Lavine family or other agricultural workers. The focus would now, once again, be on finishing the fall plowing and keeping the house warm, for Henry wrote on 28 September that the two stoves consumed a remarkable three wheel barrows of wood a day, “The little ones requiring to be kept warm all night.” He added that “Our girl Zoe Prue is about to leave us and return to the U.S. where her mother and brother resides so that we shall be once more left alone.” The diary for 1868 ends on that day, the last comments being that a fox had recently taken two of the turkeys, and that “Our little ones disturb us much of a night lately.” There is a lengthy gap between 1868 and the next surviving diary that covers two months of 1883, but the Canada manuscript census for the spring of 1871 reveals that the Trent farm’s production had not increased a great deal since 1867. Seventy-six acres had been improved, and fifty-five acres were in cultivation (as compared to the forty-threeacre Drummond County average), but Henry still relied upon oxen and, like nearly all the farmers in the county, he owned no farm machinery aside from two implements in the plow/cultivator category. Clearly, then, he still had to hire help to gather the harvest.85 This may explain why he had sold his second Acton lot in September 1870.86 Assuming the census was accurate, however, the Trents were focusing more than ever on the timber shanty market because nearly all their land under cultivation was devoted to oats and hay. The fall harvest had yielded 150 bushels of oats (which was slightly more than the county average of 143 bushels), and twenty-five tons of hay (which was much higher than the county average of ten tons). It is unlikely that their single horse (the county average was two), two oxen (county average 0.4), twelve other cattle (county average 6.5), six sheep (county average 8.1), and two pigs (county average 2.6) could have consumed all of it.87 The potato harvest of 100 bushels for the single acre planted was also quite good, though the county average was 148.8 bushels. It has been calculated that the mean annual adult consumption of potatoes in Ontario at that time was fourteen bushels,88 so the Trents, like most

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other farmers in Drummond County, would have had a surplus to sell, especially given that their four children were aged six and under. The sizeable production of hay, oats, and potatoes evidently precluded other crops that the Trents had grown in the past, and would again in the future, for they did not report any flax, wheat, buckwheat, or tobacco. Not reported either were barley, rye, or maple sugar, but neither had they been mentioned in Henry’s diary. Helping to satisfy their home consumption, however, were the fourteen bushels of peas, four bushels of carrots and/or other roots, two bushels of corn, and a single bushel of beans recorded by the census. In addition, the Trent fruit trees were reported to have yielded ten bushels of plums and/or other fruit, not including apples, though Henry had planted apple as well as plum and cherry trees. More impressive was the family’s dairy production, for the seven cows (an increase of three since 1867, and more than double the county average of 3.1) had yielded 350 pounds of butter (double the county average of 170.3 pounds).89 There must have been a surplus of butter to market, for it has been estimated that the average yearly adult consumption was only thirty pounds.90 Eliza also produced seventy-five yards of woollen cloth, which was more than two and half times the county average from the same amount of wool, namely twenty-five pounds. It seems likely, then, that some of Eliza’s cloth was marketed, though she reported no linen and the average production in the county of that cloth was 11.8 yards.91 Finally, Henry did not report any logs but he had clearly spent a lot of time in the woods for he reported fifty cords of firewood (the county average was thirty-four cords), most of which was presumably required for the house.92 Not included in the census schedules were garden vegetables such as tomatoes, melons, cabbages, and cucumbers, which the Trents had grown in the past. Furthermore, they almost certainly continued to raise chickens and other fowl, but they too were omitted from the census list, presumably because they were not considered to be part of the market economy. Furs, though, were included, and Henry was obviously still trapping despite the fact that he reported only one muskrat to the census enumerator, which was double the county average. In short, despite the advantages Henry had inherited, his farm did not stand out greatly from the average farm in the county, and

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the family relied upon Eliza’s home production to earn some essential income. The Trents were moving towards a greater focus on the market by 1871, particularly in the household production of butter, but profits were reduced by reliance upon seasonal labour at that stage of the family cycle. This would create a vicious circle that helps to explain why Henry did not purchase the machinery that would have made him less dependent on paid assistance and that was associated with the agricultural revolution then beginning to take place.93 The 1871 manuscript census lists no outsider living in the Trent household, but Henry wrote to his sister two years later that his “farmer” had left at the beginning of the winter, adding that this was fortunate because “we might have suffered more by his want of care and negligence.” Since the farmer’s departure, Henry claimed in a somewhat humorous vein, the horse had recovered, the cows were giving more milk, and the cattle had become more obedient, going to their stalls with almost “military presision.”94

Town Life, 1873–83 By the early 1870s, Henry was becoming discouraged enough to begin thinking of moving his family to the ten-acre property that he had purchased during his sojourn on the west coast. The reason he wished to uproot his family, he confided to his English property agent in 1871, was that his current locality “has been in some circumstances strangely against me; we know not what tomora will bring forth.”95 The following year he asked his old Comox acquaintance, R.H. Pidcock, to assume the power of attorney to acquire legal title to the lot in question.96 Henry still had the sales receipt from Robb, and he wrote rather naïvely that the tree Brown and Pidcock had helped him to chop down would be “a witness of the camp.”97 By 1873, he was even claiming that he was prepared, if necessary, to travel to British Columbia to acquire the deed.98 One reason that Henry was discouraged may well have been that three more daughters had been born since the end of the 1868 diary – Margaret (Maggie) in 1869, Francesca in 1871, and Victoria in 1872.99 Henry’s English property agent commiserated with him: “You are indeed getting a family around you & all girls too[;] if they were boys they might by this time be made useful, particularly at Farm Work.”100

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Laura Thatcher Ulrich has observed that the mix as well as the order of boys and girls in a family “helped to shape a family’s destiny,”101 but Henry never complained in his diary about not having a son. Indeed, it was Eliza who had to shoulder a heavier burden outside the house than did most farm wives, especially when Henry was disabled by rheumatism and other ailments. Not surprisingly, Eliza had indicated in 1873 that she hoped not to spend another year in the stone house. She had in mind a move much closer to home than the west coast, however, namely across the river to Drummondville. Henry had agreed that living in town would be preferable to remaining on the farm, “for the benefit of the 1/2 doz as well as our selfs” because “They could go to school and profit by the same.”102 He clearly felt less a man due to his failure to be a good provider, for he wrote to this sister that by leaving the farm he would be free “to go where I like for the benefit of the family … and if I should go as far as Vancouver I think I should be treated with respect by those who may have happened to have known me.”103 The implication, it would seem, was that he had lost the respect of his in-laws, for Verrier cites Henry’s 1873 diary (which was subsequently lost or misplaced) to the effect that he had been quarrelling with them, and with Antoine Caya in particular.104 But that was as close as Henry would come during his marriage to expressing an escapist fantasy, and there is no evidence that he travelled to Vancouver Island. In fact, he was still attempting to claim the Comox lot as late as 1897.105 Despite the apparent break with his in-laws, Henry and his family had by September 1873 moved to a “cottage” that he had purchased in Drummondville. The fact that the lumber economy was hit by an international crisis that year may have been the precipitating factor. Henry did not sell the farm but, to make ends meet, he and Eliza had decided to open a general store. Henry explained to Dimmock that “our little store commences on a verry small scale but answers better than anything we have yet tryed our hand at.” He then asked that his agent “send what small change you may have to my credit as we cannot suply such customers as we have and they go to others merchants who are better suplied.”106 Dimmock replied by offering to purchase the English properties for £800, claiming that Henry’s understanding of their value was highly inflated (the annual net income was now only £33 to £34), partly due to the deteriorated state of the buildings, and partly because agricultural labour unrest had lowered the value of the country’s farms.107

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Figure 4.1 Drummondville in 1875. Artist Jane Ann Cooke was the wife of Drummondville merchant and entrepreneur Valentine Cooke. Several of her paintings, including this one, appeared as prints in the Canadian Illustrated News (L’art des Cantons de l’est, 14).

An agricultural depression had, indeed, hit England in the 1870s, and Henry appears to have accepted Dimmock’s offer.108 This would have made it possible to expand the store operation, but the Canada census report instead lists the Trents as back on the farm in 1881.109 The following year, however, they were again in Drummondville, living on a town lot that included a shed, stable, house, and store.110 Eliza would manage the store, and they would continue to operate as separate financial interests, for Henry wrote in 1883: “Paid Mr Girouard Notare $1.50 we owed him for drawing out a settlement between Eliza Trent and H Trent some months ago so that we are out of Debt to Each other.” Evidently as part of the settlement, “Eliza T gave me the ammount of the goods sold on the 5th, 6th Feb and the 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th Feb last week[;] cash and credit amounted to the sum of $13.30 cents” (12 February 1883). The return to town in 1882 may have been precipitated by the death that spring of their two older sons, one at the age of five and the other at three. The cause was possibly a tragic accident (they died on the same day), but it was more likely a childhood disease, because 1882 was an epidemic year.111 Whatever the cause, the deaths would have ended the

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possibility of sons being able to help on the farm while Henry was still fit enough to do much strenuous labour. And there remained the seven girls and an infant son (Frédéric, known by Henry as Freddie) to provide for, with another baby expected in the fall. Three of the daughters would have been old enough by this time to contribute to the family economy by helping their mother produce homespun cloth, but in his application to the Bradstreet Company for a business credit report, Henry wrote that “We left our farm as our family required Education and the farm work was to much for my strength.”112 According to the 1881 census report, only George and Henriette had been attending school while the Trents remained on the farm. Presumably – at the ages of fourteen and thirteen, respectively – they were the only school-age children in the family considered old enough to cross the river each day. (Annette, aged sixteen, had obviously graduated.) The children’s needs and Henry’s decreasing strength aside, the move also made economic sense insofar as the town’s population had begun to grow with the arrival of the railway and the opening of several new industries, including one of the province’s largest iron foundries in 1880. From only 750 residents in 1879, Drummondville grew to 1424 in 1884 and 2,700 in 1889, when it officially became a town.113 Henry still had money left from the sale of his English properties, for his credit application states that he had no debts after purchasing and building on the town property, which was valued at $1,000. He also owned a quarter lot in Grantham township valued at $400, and other assets worth $1,500.114 He was therefore able to hold onto the farm, valued at $2,000, presumably viewing it as security in case the small business failed to produce an adequate profit. As for Eliza, her work in the shop aside, she would no longer have the large stone house to manage or outdoor labour to do. Her health had been a concern, for following the death of the two young boys Maria had advised Henry that his wife should “take some medical advice about her headaches.” She also wrote: “You must take it upon yourself to watch over her & see that she does not neglect herself (which she is sure to do). I feel more uneasy about her than about the poor children, for you would be lost without her – see if she gets sleep enough.” Turning to religious consolation, as was now her usual practice, Maria added: “She must not fret more than she can help for her boys – it has been God’s will that they should be taken care of in this way & in the future

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she will acknowledge it. I always resigned myself when I thought of the many ills which might befall my children in life – there are many things worse than death.” She also counselled Henry to be grateful that he had the opportunity “for the Godly bringing up of your children,” adding in reference to the first-born that if all of them were “like Annette, you are blest above thousands – when we see in the miserable bedecked daughters of today, strutting through the streets to see & be seen – a flower like Annette is something to be infinitely thankful for.”115 How Henry adapted to the move back to town is revealed in the twomonth fragment of his 1883 diary (the first since 1868), which begins on 2 February when he was fifty-six years old. He was still working on the new buildings, for he wrote that he had brought three augurs and the big hammer from “the Stone house” where he had “talked with Farmer Mons Charpentier” who was operating the farm on a shared basis.116 Henry’s final entry for the day hints at what must have been a difficult adjustment to the smaller house, for he wrote: “The children made the usual noise after return from school.” A clearer picture of the new routine emerges from the following day’s entry: “Morning lost searching for a paper. Split some wood in shed, repaired socks and got Bank papers arrainged[.] Fed horse and pig. After dinner went to the Bark factory[;] got bons settled by Mr Mitchel.” The latter sentence reveals that Henry was still engaged in the environmentally wasteful process of harvesting hemlock bark from his farm. In fact, he paid the lessee of the farm “$10 on acc of Bark drawing.” Finally, he noted that a man named Bobien (Beaubien) “works for me from time to time and Mrs Trent keeps the acc at the store.” Despite the money acquired from the sale of the English properties, finances were obviously tight, and Henry had been drinking quite heavily. He wrote on 2 February that, after giving a local merchant ten dollars on account, he still owed him $17.55 for high wines and porter. Three days later he noted that “The 2 Eldest girls have gone to the Hall to partisipte in some performents to get funds to assist the Nuns of La Baie. E gave George 50 cents for her seat and Annette paid for her self. The rest of our selfs could not go as we thought we could not afford it.” On a more positive note, Henry’s relationship with at least some of his in-laws was now good, for earlier in the day he had gone “with Mr A. Caya for water at river and [,] after he went and got a load of Wood other side of River[,] he returned and kindly Brought me another.”117

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The use of sleds and sleighs meant that short-distance movement during the winter months was relatively quick and easy, but longdistance transportation by rail could be a different matter in a region with heavy snowfall.118 Henry wrote further on 2 February: “Went to the depot after dinner and also after supper but no goods arrived; some of the trains have been thrown off the rails on acc of the hard snow and it will be tomora before any goods come.” The goods that had been ordered for the store had still not arrived four days later when Henry wrote that the train was “bringing only the express.”119 By 7 February the store’s stock was running low, and the train was still blocked by snow. Henry worried that “if the weather continues as at present it will [sic] two or three days before we can get our goods from Montreal.” The following day, he wrote: “Sent to Messrs Tiffin & Co of Montreal $15.00 – ten from Eliza and store and $5.00 from me out of the bark money.” He had ordered “more store goods[,] Syrip, lard, cheese as these things sell durring Lent time.” The trains finally arrived that evening, but they would fail to reach Drummondville again between 12 February and 15 February. Finally, on the sixteenth, Henry wrote that the cheese ordered from Tiffin had arrived, but not the lard or syrup. (It arrived three days later.) Sales were modest, for he added: “During this Week we sold for cash and on credit – Monday $5.00, Tue. $3.09, Wed $2.27, Th 54¢, Fri 64 cts.” And on 23 February he wrote: “Eliza sold for cash 1 quart of Syrip 20cts, 1/2 doz herrings 15 cts, 1/2 lb cheese 10 cts.” Business picked up considerably three days later, however, with the sale of ten pounds of sugar and half a pound of mustard to the butcher, to be paid for in pork. The day’s sales also included tobacco, molasses, wool, thread, and tea. There was no mention of cotton cloth or clothing items aside from Henry’s comment that “I took a pair of soft slippers out of the store for my own use.” Just as the references to credit and barter suggest that the local economy was in a transition stage, so does the sale of wool and thread reflect the fact that families still purchased merchandise in order to produce home goods and not only to consume “luxury” items such as tea and molasses. Finally, the store also sold local farm-produced goods, most likely to the timber shanty market, for Henry had noted on 6 February that “We are on the look out for pork[,] hay[,] oats [,] from the habitants[;] we hope to get some on the morrow.” In that sense, the

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Trent store linked farmers as producers indirectly to the international lumber market, and as consumers to the import market in food products such as syrup and tea, but it was doing relatively little to contribute to a revolution in consumer goods.120 Henry would nevertheless complain eleven years later, on 15 March 1894: “None of us are properly fixed up for a Canadian Winter. There is so much factory make, The good old home flannell and thick cloth is wanting, no more Buffilo robes and the home made moccasins, Snow shoe fixings, head dress, etc.” He added that “The present depression may make the farmers turn to look to their own skill in making the farms give them many comforts they cannot get the factory to supply them … Would be Gentility has been the means of much suffering, Apeing beyond their means.” Henry may have been expressing a sense of pride in his own family’s relative self-sufficiency, but there is also a strong hint of class snobbishness in his latter comment. Furthermore, it was his own gentility that had prevented him from pursuing a vocation that he would have been more suited for than farming. In the meantime, while Eliza minded the store, Henry spent most of his time in the woods as well as in his wood-working shop. Sundays were now more leisurely without the care of the livestock, but he still did not go to church. He wrote on 11 February: “The children and Mother get up about 6 oclk as they go to the R.c. denomination and get their breakfast in time to go to their church, some remain to get dinner [the noon meal] and take care of house. I get up when it so pleases me as I feel well or otherwise. I made my coffe after about 8 oclk, greased my boots, shaved, put socks in order, fed and watered the horse and brought in an armful of wood or bucket of water as case might be. Shaved, so my morning was pretty well filled up. After dinner Read the papers[,] fed the horse and this Evening watered & fed [illegible].” The daily routine was altered on 21 February when Henry wrote: “I took the horse and went for the beach tree cut yesterday for Swiss runners [use to construct a sled]. [A]s water was on the ice at the ferry, I went by the Iron ore foundry and crossed safely brought back the runners and on landing on this side the horse went down so as to cover his rump but with a jump or so got me on solid ice again. A. Caya and self did what we could for the comfort of Billy after his return.” This entry reveals that, without a bridge, life beside the St Francis River continued to have its perils. As for the farm, much of its productive

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value obviously still lay in its woodlots. Henry noted on 26 February that he had gone through “the shanty roads at home examining the pines I wish to take to the mill.” He had also arranged that his tenant, Charpentier, would cut and haul 1,000 rails and 400 pickets for fourteen dollars. Reflecting the ancient belief that sap was lowest in trees when the moon’s gravity pull was weakest,121 Henry specified that “they are to be cut this month in proper time of the moon.” Money remained scarce, however, and on 28 February Henry wrote that he had traded “the little mare colt that is on the farm” for a cow, explaining that “Our circumstance warrent us in being saveing and getting all we can however small as our family consists of 7 girls and two young boys – 4 girls go to school, the convent.”122 Henry was certainly economizing, for he wrote on 5 March that he was repairing the old great coat that he had worn since living in England and on Vancouver Island, and that had become quite rotten. Eliza purchased a Wanzer sewing machine for fifty dollars that same day, with Henry paying the instalments of $2.50 per month, most likely to save money by making clothes for the family, and perhaps even for customers. Hints of self-pity, or at least discouragement, were now beginning to creep into Henry’s diary. On 28 February, he complained about the amount of work he had to do, even contradicting what he had written on 11 February about his lazy Sabbath: “Sundays do not make much difference as we keep no servant[.] I get a little reading and perhaps a little doze of sleep, haveing hardly time to take a leasurely shave.” And on 6 March: “I was much tired haveing wood to saw and cut and cold drive to 4th Range, Grantham.” Three days later, after cutting wood in Grantham again, he returned the tin kettle he had borrowed from the inn keeper, and paid for a ten-cent glass of brandy, “the first spirits I have drank since 3rd or 4th of february[;] my head ache I thought would leave me.” The following day he complained of influenza, adding that “I paid out of my private purse 24 cts for the flask of High Wines.” The 1883 diary fragment ends on 26 March with the note that he had purchased “30¢ spirits cash out of pocket.” Although Henry continued to justify his alcohol consumption as necessary for his health, then, the fact that he repeatedly mentioned that he had paid for his wine and spirits from his own funds would suggest that Eliza did not approve of his long-time habit.

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Conclusion Despite his weaknesses, Henry had made a successful transition from someone without a clear direction in life to a dedicated and nurturing family man, in sharp contrast to his strongly controlling father. There is no evidence in Henry’s diary that he considered Eliza’s powerful role in the family to be a threat to his sense of manhood. On the farm, Henry benefited from outside sources of income, as well as a capable and supportive wife, but he also had the disadvantage of his initial lack of experience and, more importantly, the many mouths to feed after he had passed the prime of life. And not only were Eliza’s first seven births to daughters, followed by the early deaths of two sons, but the family’s middle-class status prevented the girls from doing much work outside the house or contributing to the family income as domestic servants.123 Presumably, as with most large families of the time, the older daughters took responsibility for much of the household work and domestic production as well as caring for their younger siblings.124 It is surely revealing, for example, that the Trent daughters served as godmothers for the last seven of their siblings.125 Freed to some extent from household chores, Eliza was able to help Henry outdoors, but, without the assistance of sons, farming became so unprofitable that in 1873 and again in 1882 the family moved to town so that Eliza could operate a small general store. Only when Henry was well into his old age, as we shall see in the next chapter, were two of his sons able to be of some help after the family had returned to the farm.

5

Old Age

tHeRe is an eleven-and-a-HalF-yeaR GaP in the surviving Trent diary volumes between March 1883 and October 1894. Perhaps encouraged by the reconstruction of a bridge to Drummondville in 1885, the Trent family had returned to the stone house by the time the dominion census was taken in the spring of 1891.1 Another motivation may well have been that the town was experiencing a protracted economic decline.2 The fact that two years earlier Henry had mortgaged the farm to Antoine Caya in return for a seventy-dollar loan suggests that the store was not doing well.3 As we saw in the previous chapter, Henry had begun exhibiting some of the symptoms of old age when the family moved to town for the second time in 1882. In fact, at the age of fiftysix that year, he had already surpassed the average life expectancy of fifty-two for Quebec men who had survived to the age of ten.4 In the pre-industrial era farmers were worn down and worn out by physical labour,5 but none of Henry’s sons were yet old enough to take over the farm at the time his diary resumes in 1894.6 At the relatively old age of sixty-eight, and in failing health, he was still working whenever he could, but his status as a family provider was on the decline. The last child – Robert Julien (known as Robin) – was only six years old in 1894. His oldest sister, Annette, had in 1884 married Doctor Georges-Henri Poirier, the son of a neighbour, and the second daughter, George, had married a pharmacist named Gaudette in 1888. With Drummondville’s population declining by a quarter by the end of the century, both couples joined the province’s large-scale exodus to New England by moving to the textile town of Salem, Massachusetts.7 All the other daughters, except for Heneretta, who lived in Drummondville where she worked in the post office, were still with their parents in 1894.8

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Figure 5.1

Henry Trent in old age.

Within the next two years, however, Francesca and Victoria (Lilly) would join their sisters in Salem. It is somehow fitting that the last volume of Henry’s diary is a soft-covered school exercise book, which he referred to as a “scrap book,” for in a sense old age meant a return to childhood dependency. Henry began by noting that he was again living in the “Old Stone house where he has lived and called it his home for over fifty years, and every thing is changed[;] the big hemlocks have gone besides many of the primitative trees of other kinds and fresh forest taking their place. The river has its sides and bed much changed. We see no more Carier pigeons and ducks and birds as plentiful as in former years. A rail road passes through an Iron factory for pig iron, and some say a pulp factory and other factory are in contiplation … The writer is getting old and looseing his pours and activity and is writeing this for his amusement.” With a sizeable family still to support, Henry relied more than ever on Eliza’s outdoor work, but he nevertheless had to do what he could

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Eliza Trent, ca 1900.

on the farm, including cutting enough wood to heat the big house during the winter. The first daily entry, on 1 October 1894, describes the family’s regular routine as well as illustrating Henry’s nurturing role as a father. He wrote: “Cutting wood for winter and present use not far from the house, it is clearing away the wood from among the small pine where the children have chosein for a pick nick ground[.] I brought home 4 partriges. Minnie was sick with dysentry but is getting over it, Maggie has had a tothe drawn and is with her sister in the villiage, leaves are falling and the woods have quite a colour, We feel the comeing winter; The boys go to sckool and make their study before going to bed as usual.”9 The following day Henry complained: “I find I get tired after some hours cutting; We begin to use the large kitchen stove and I have my hands full from now till spring cutting with the axe.” By 16 October, Henry was becoming anxious about having enough firewood for the house before winter arrived, “as I find my strength

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is not to be dependant upon.” He also complained of foot problems, writing that he would “have to put on my old top boots which are sore on the feet, but shall try to get an old fashion pair of moccasins as they are best for my work.”10 Wild game was more than ever a necessity, for Henry had written on 2 October: “We have had a good supper of partriges and have been with hares the only fresh meat we get till we kill later on, I have brought home up to date 14 hares and 28 partriges witch make quite an itiem, and we are glad to get them, besides a scunk[,] besides several squrells, the scunk I left in the woods[;] it was a fine large one.” But the snares were not always to be relied upon for Henry complained on October 16 that “Flour and bread are cheaper than has been for many years but pork is higher than usual, we live principally upon bread and butter[,] porrage now and then and consume our self raised peans[sic], which we find verry good when well cooked baked or in soup.” Henry was less sanguine about the family diet eight days later when he wrote: “We have been liveing on beans and bread and butter which gave me I think much trouble with wind on Stomach and shall be glad when Beef killing commences.” There was clearly little money for small luxuries, for Henry’s 16 October entry continued: “I want to get a little time to set some traps for mink and rats [muskrats] so as to get a Montreal news paper regularly.” And again on 20 October: “As I have no paper I began to read of out of the Old Liberary.” The following day, a Sunday, he read part of Gulliver’s Travels to the boys. Finally, on 24 October, his two older sons brought him a Boston Globe as well as a number of unnamed newspapers. The diary continued: “Today Norris’s b’day and his mother gave him a pocket knife.” Henry apparently no longer had the power of the purse. They rarely hired neighbourhood youngsters to help with the outdoors work; Freddy and Norris increasingly filled that role even though they were only thirteen and twelve, respectively.11 Daughters Maggie and Minnie, who were still living at home at the ages of twentyfive and nineteen, must have done much of the indoor work, for Eliza was outdoors more than ever. For example, Henry wrote on 18 October: “Cut wood in the morning and with the boys drew all I had cut in the pine field 5 loads. The boys with their mother worked at the garden and worked at the apple trees placeing manure round each tree trimming, etc.” He added: “I am in the hopes to get enough cut by the end of the

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month to put me more than half way through the winter but we burn a great deal of Wood. Freddy is of great use as driver and Norris helps with the mother who is as anxious as I am to get all the Wood trouble over before the severe Winter comes” (13 October). Reflecting Eliza’s assumption of the farm’s management, Henry wrote on 4 October: “E went over and bought a black sheep, she paid two dollars cash and the little boys and her brought it over in the little skiff.”12 During the month of November, Henry continued to be preoccupied principally with firewood, meals, and newspapers. He wrote on 6 November: “My little jobs kept me busy all day. The boys did not bring me any papers, But E promises me when she draws the rent of the villiage house to get me the Montreal Star Weekly. I feel verry anxious to get forward with more wood and hope the ash swamp will frese over soon before their is much snow as I can cut the roads easely before the big snow falls.” He also continued on occasion to provide small game for the table, writing that “We all eat heartily just now, Consisting principally upon Bread and butter, potatoes[,] preserves of apples and on Sunday E has a foull or a partrige but I have been out of game the last two weeks and have not time to attend them.” As in the past, meat would be scarce until the thermometer dropped to near freezing and butchering could begin. Henry wrote on 10 November: “The eddys in the river are partially frozen for the first time. E proposes to kill the Bull on Monday so that we may have some beef and save the fodder. We have not seen any Geese go by yet, so that it is verry difficult to say what sort of a time it will be before the winter will set in for good.” On 12 November, Henry expressed concern that the weather was still not cold enough to freeze the beef that had been cut up after the bull was slaughtered. He noted that the meat had been packed in bags that were covered with straw and oats to save it during the occasional winter thaws. Several days later he added: “E and Minnie cut up the pigs in the kitchen and salted the fat parts, put the rest away to freese ready to bag and bury in oats to preserve them fresh … We find the fresh meat quite treat” (21 November). In contrast to earlier years, Henry no longer went to town on a regular basis, depending on his sons to bring him newspapers and even his winter footwear, for he wrote on 19 November: “The boys did not get me the indiarubber shoes put promise tomora[.] I have to get No. 11 as I have tender feet.” Henry still enjoyed being in the woods, however,

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writing on 21 November: “Afternoon I went to my Snairs and found a hare which is quite white[;] the last I caught about a fortnight ago was yet brown on the back so that we know now that winter has come.” Unfortunately, his health took a turn for the worse on 26 November when he wrote: “Went to woods and began to work at winter roads but had a sudden attack of Rhumaticks in back (Lumbago) which quite finished me from further work.” He was more concerned than ever about being able to cut and haul enough firewood to heat the house, writing the following day: “E put on goose oil on the back and hot bricks at the foot and back while in bed which had greatly relieved the pains so that I got up later in the day and walked about a little. It is verry cold out side. I felt nervous about the wood as this Rhumaticks, means burning the reserve wood I cut, and am afraid the boys could not keep up sufficient wood.” Finally, Henry became well enough for his worries to be alleviated somewhat on 29 November: “To Gibraltar Hill with E and boys – managed to get 5 loads with Swiss … We have a good pile of wood in the shed at present, and I shall cut more near the house in the pine field and with what we have … piled on Gibraltar will take us a good way on for the winter.” Henry then cut trees in the pine grove during the following weeks, writing on 20 December: “The boys with their mother and sisters made fires of several brush piles an made quite a change … The children where much pleased with their work.” This was one of the rare times he mentioned his daughters working outdoors. Despite the necessity for the young boys to help with the farm work, their education continued to be a priority, as Henry recorded in his 21 December entry: “Freddy has got nearly through with Swiss Robertson Chruso, he understands what he reads. Norris and Freddy learn the two languages together. N. the younger is in advance as he has been to the same school longer. Their mother take great interest in making them study at nights. Robin begins to read a few words and is lively and picks up what he hears in both languages. Maggie and Minnie also help them.” On 25 December, Henry wrote: “The boys got their Santy Claus presents which quite pleased them especially Robin.” This is the first mention in Henry’s diary volumes of Christmas gift-giving, and it is clear that the small extravagance was made possible by the oldest daughters. Thus, the diary entry added that the family had received a letter from Annette and husband “with $10 for mama

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and papa for Xmas – God bless them, have been very generous often to rest of family besides.” (They would receive a letter from George with five dollars for Eliza on 3 January.) The rather lean fall days had been succeeded by more bountiful ones, for on Christmas Day Henry wrote: “We had Goose and Plum pudding and I felt thankfull that we are all so much in good health.” On 27 December, Henry returned to the firewood imperative: “We want to get the pile at the shed as large as possible before the storm of Jan and Feb come on so that I may go and cut at my leasure as weather permits.” He wrote that keeping the two upstairs bedrooms warm at night took several armfulls of wood, adding that an old fashioned three-foot stove “does the business, but we have to get up several times to replenish especially on cold nights.” Waxing nostalgic, Henry added, “I often think of the tremdous cold winters I have passed here and it makes me reflect. Our house is now over 50 years built[;] one part built during Papinieus foolish rebellion 1837.38. O what changes to remember what we thought then and how suprising every new change came on and we wonder what is next coming. This house was the first stone residence built here, and although verry plain built cost quite a some those days and even now a nice house could be built for a sum not greater at all events.” It was Eliza’s turn to experience ill health after the turn of the new year, and Henry wrote on 6 January that it was fortunate that the two older boys could do the stable work. Furthermore, “they appear to be happy.” Freddy and Norris were now also hauling wood, and Henry wrote on 8 January that, “their mother[,] Robin and Minnie came down to woods to encourage the boys,” who had drawn five loads. Five days later, Henry wrote that the two boys aimed to draw the rest of the old logs and rails by the end of the week. Once that was accomplished, “E wishes to get them to go to school again[.] All I can do is to cut the wood and bring it in with a few jobs that come up from time to time.” Life for the Trent family was now, more than ever, based on agricultural subsistence. Henry wrote on 19 January: “The Weekly Star I study about cheese making and Agricultural topicks[?] it amuses if it does nothing else, as we cannot farm but pick up all we can to help us to live. If we can get food and fireing with some wool as to have a help to cloth us and help to keep us out of debt it will be w[page blotted].”13 January and February were trying months, with the roads blocked by

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snow for days at a time. Having been confined to bed for a few days, Henry wrote on 9 February: “I gave myself a sort of bath, cut some wood in the shed and feel a little better.” He added: “Henrettas visit does us all good[;] her dutys at the Post office are to great a strain without a rest now and then. Maggie takes her place. We shall have plenty of Newspapers to read when we can get to the villiage. If it storms to much for the horse to go to the villiage and I get strong enough I shall try to go on my old snowshos but they are neary 30 or 40 years old and I am not rigged properly, so it will take some thinking and prepairing.” The cold weather and his poor health kept Henry indoors for the next two weeks but he was finally able to write on 24 February: “I feel a little better, shal have to hurry up as the wood at the door long wood is getting short, not haveing drawn any from the woods for 25 days.” There was still no relief from the cold temperatures by 4 March when Henry wrote: “Cut at door but find it hard it is so cold. It was all I could do to get up my wood, but the boys went to school; The well is dry at the barn and we have to take from the spring and we long for spring.” The next day the boys stayed home because of the cold, and Henry commented: “this last cold snap appears to effect us all; The appear to be sort of discontented I do not know what to do but have to bear up as best I can[.] I feel we aught to be satisfied.” This was one of the rare references Henry made to dissension within the family. Finally, the cold spell broke on 7 March, allowing Henry to return to the woods. The following day he observed: “First crow seen. Heard the first flying at night sign of Spring comeing[;] also the big black wood peckers call.” He was suffering from lumbago, however, and on 14 March he wrote: “I find it tiresome working on account of my back[;] in the morning quite lamed up so I have commence late when it is more pleasant; E feels tired up to[;] I want some change but cannot afford it.” As he did each year, Henry complained about Lent, only this time in more detail: “It is now lent which is a great nusence we requring better and stronger food. I wish the powers that be would mind their own stomacks and let other peoples alone. Lent was not made for this latitude and Longitude.” As usual, however, he did his best to avoid self-pity, closing with the following comment: “By the papers this winter has been a hard one for many a poor family, and we have to be thankfull for our selfs. Our prosperity has been as an inflated bladder but lets hope that better times may come earlyer than we expect. We

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get into discontented moods when we should be thankfull. We are made to work and lets keep agoing and be thankfull and cheerfull.” Spring, which arrived in earnest at the beginning of April, brought the tapping of a few maple trees,14 but also a new concern: “There is the appearance of a change of weather and I fear I shall have trouble to get our many pickets and rails as the winter swamp road will soon break up.” The pickets and rails were clearly for fencing, and Henry added: “I calculate we require perhaps 900 to 1000 rails and half as many pickets, I have a big job.” On 2 April Henry hired a neighbour’s boys to help him cut rails, and two days later he wrote: “Etues boys did not come, but the rails where got out by Freddy and Norris and mother came to encourage. We have all the rail cut by E[tue] boys drawn out in front of house. E counted 443.” Once again, on 5 April, Eliza was doing work generally associated with a man: “Fine frosty morning boys went to school. E and self swamped out and got out all the pickets and small firewood from the swamp – about 150 pickets small and large.” Two weeks later, Henry wrote: “The boys and their mother set fires in back field.”15 Henry’s sense of optimism was now returning: “Logs are going down the river and various insects are out as well as the frogs croking. Got a paper from the villiage[.] Politicks rather warm – Buisness said to be getting brisker and things getting more cheerfull every where” (19 April). On 1 May, Henry once again counted his blessings. Although he appeared to be uncertain about his own birthday, as we have seen, he did recall that “This is the anevercity of E and selfs marrage. We have 3 sons and of girls liveing Annette the eldest has 5 boys and one girl[,] our grand children[,] which we hope to see down here at home this summer, so we have 15 liveing, And have to be verry thank full for same.” The plowing and seeding were again done by a neighbouring farmer whose sons showed Freddy how to handle a plow. Henry wrote proudly that it was “done well for a beginer” (16 May). Then, with the commencement of school holidays in mid-June, Freddy and Norris began working full time on the farm. Henry noted on 19 June that they “worked at sheltor for washing at river,” and on 23 June that they were shingling the shed. There was some time left for pleasure, however, and the 23 June entry continues: “tonigh Freddy[,] Norris and Robin[,] Self gathered worms by lanthorn light in hopes of getting some shad. Our working together I find makes us more cheerfull and the antisipation

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of Annettes and Georges familys comeing visit cheers them up.”16 The family was busy making improvements in preparation for those visits, and Henry noted on 1 July that “E went to village and bought a new cooking stove which Annette whould have her purchase.” Finally, Annette arrived with her children and maid two days later. A very pleased Henry wrote: “We where all glad and the young Uncles and nephews had a great time.” To enable her to reach the village more quickly and frequently, the obviously prosperous Annette purchased a horse and buggy which continued to be “a great pleasure to the mother and children” after she returned to Salem (12 July, 8 September). In the meantime, George arrived from Salem on 17 July, but the harvest had to proceed. A neighbour agreed to cut some of the hay with his mowing machine at thirty-five cents an hour (2 July, 8 July), which was as much as Henry had paid per day for labour in the summer of 1867. Eliza (though not her daughters) helped in hauling the hay to the barn (2, 8, and 12 July), and Henry took some time out to fish for bass and shad (13, 16, and 19 July). After Annette’s husband arrived on 5 August, the harvest came to a halt for ten days. To celebrate, a sheep and a goose were butchered and a large picnic gathering was held in the “Bois de Boulonge” pine grove near the house. (Note the shift from the farm’s British imperial names applied by Henry’s father.) With so many relatives as well as friends of the Trent daughters living in the area, more than eighty adults and children attended, and a “hop” was held afterward in the “Big room.” Henry did not forget to add that “The Lady part of the house worked verry hard for quite a time.” “Doc” Poirier returned to Salem on 17 August, but Annette, George, and the children remained until 7 September. A grateful Henry wrote: “Annette’s goodness made her go to the expense of getting water to house and Stables.” Presumably to replace the well, more than 160 feet of pipe were laid from the spring to the house, and a new strong pipe was purchased for the stable (25 August). After noting that Eliza had taken Norris to the same college in Nicolet that Henry had attended, the diary continued: “this is speaking well for the children to send their brother to Collage as poor Papa has not the means” (3 September). (Most, if not all, of the money received from the sale of the English properties had evidently been long since spent.) As for the other two boys, they returned to the local school on 8 September when Henry wrote: “E is busy this evening getting the boys books ready and proposes

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keeping them at studying pretty hard during the winter.” The diary makes little mention of the two daughters in Massachusetts who were not yet married, but Henry wrote on 4 October: “Got Lillys letter and Photograph this evening, it look very nice (all well at Salem).” A year had now passed since the 1894 diary was begun, and much the same work routine and anxieties about the fuel supply were repeated in the following entries. The younger children matured noticeably, however, and Henry wrote proudly on 25 October: “Little Robin brought a good conduct cart from school[?]; he gets along verry well with his arithmamick and E helps him at it on evenings.” Henry was particularly pleased with Freddy, who had been eclipsed by younger brother Norris as far as education was concerned, and who now appeared to be doing much of the outdoor work. Thus, Henry wrote on 22 November: “Freddy shows himself verry well and is a great help. We shall be all glad when we get settled for the winter as we have experienced some tough ones in year gone by. I do not find myself verry strong and cutting the wood and making the roads, with a few miner jobs taxes all my strength. Yet I must do something or I should be soon out of health … Maggie and Minnie are busy all day at something or another.” Christmas brought a break in the daily routine, but Henry wrote that it had passed very quietly. Maggie and Minnie had attended midnight mass on Christmas Eve, Norris was home for the holiday, and George, Francesca, and Annette had sent letters, the latter enclosing ten dollars (25 December to end of month). Three weeks later, Henry wrote that for entertainment “The large edition of the Swiss Family Robinson engages the children and Mama.” He then added: “I wish I could get some more good books for the children. It is Freddy’s birth day and I want his mother to buy an axe for him as he is a good boy” (21 January 1896). At the age of seventy-one, Henry now rarely felt well, complaining frequently about constipation and weakness. Eliza and Heneretta went on a pilgrimage to the shrine at Ste Anne de Beaupré downriver from Quebec City on 30 July, but Henry had not even gone with his family to the local Dominion Day picnic. By the end of the month, he was complaining that he lacked the strength to write to his sister and Annette. He had been despondent about the news from Annette that she and her family would likely not visit that summer (she was expecting yet another baby), but he was delighted when George made a surprise appearance on 31 July. Henry wrote: “I think it helped to

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make me get better,” adding the following day that she had brought “all sort of things for her mother and brother and Sisters not forgetting Papa who is verry thankfull to have such good and generous children.” George did not leave for Salem until 4 September when Henry wrote: “I wished she could have stayed longer.” In the meantime, during the week of 19–28 August, Henry was well enough to haul oats to the barn and cut buckwheat while George and her brothers fished “and had a general good time of it.” Henry added: “I got over the constipation but still am weak. I thank George for the two bottles of good Spirits that brought me round again.” He made another multi-day entry for 4–19 September, during which time 250 bushels of oats and three bushels of buckwheat were threshed. Though there had been no mention of tobacco in the 1871 census entry, Henry continued: “I put tobaco in barn so that I shall have enough for a year a head. Potatoes not as plentiful as usual but no rot this year.” Finally, he had bagged a few partridges “and we had plenty of Apples and tomatoes.” The aim clearly continued to be as much self-sufficiency as possible. Henry made relatively few complaints about his health during the fall of 1896, aside from perennial concerns about the physical effect of having to keep up the firewood supply. On 21 December he noted that he had “made a winter chopping cap that is not much admired by the family but suits me exactly[;] made of some wool stuff a sort of Scot plaid. We have to be economical these days.” The other principal theme continued to be family, and he added the same day that “half of the family will be away this Christmas. Trefly invited us to dine with him Christmas day but I do not know whether I shall be strong enough for the exertion … We expect Norris at the New Year from Nicolet, Annette, George, Heneretta, Lilly, and Francisca are at Salem, Mass. usa. We soon expect to hear from them. God bless them all … I must try to write to my sister Mrs Robins Sherbrooke who like my self is getting aged and like me feels it. We should like see each other again and have our old fashioned talks. We wonder when we look back the past.” On the negative side, hints of resentment at being relegated to the role of financial dependent finally began to emerge. Henry complained on 1 February 1897, for example, that “They want me to cut new sills for the villiage house but do not get me an hewing axe[.] I am verry

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economicall and make but little expence[;] a dollar for Family Star and … for the winter a ball of shoe makers thread now and then to repair the harness and tuch up old mittons.” Still, he admitted, “we find it hard to keep from getting deeply in dept. I feel anxious at time, and find I am getting weaker at times, but do all I can to please but it is tough betimes.” Henry’s simple wants were not entirely neglected, however, for he noted that “Maggie is to send for the Family Star to day as the paper was up last week, and has some nice stories at present which I should not like to loose.” And, as usual, he ended on a positive note: “We all have a good apetite and must be thankfull, especially when we think of so much misery in all parts of the world.” At the young age of sixteen, Freddy was now assuming the role of chief provider for the family. His schooling over, he had been cutting pulp wood all winter (the first pulp and paper mills in the region had opened in the 1870s),17 and in early February he also began “to draw logs to Mr Vasselle’s mill, most of them being balsam and pine and one or two sprice.” A rare hint of friction appears with Henry’s note that “I cut wood in swamp … Freddy drew part of a load to the house, but I want him to draw all I have cut but he is so anxious that I have to let him have his own way” (3–4 February). And the following day: “We where not all in a good humour to day but got over it evening[;] was anxious and nervous at time but should not be so so [sic].” The house was not always so gloomy, for on 10 January, Maggie had hosted a party for her friends who danced to the music of four violins as well as brass instruments, a clarinet, and a flute. Henry also noted in early February that the “children” organized a surprise party at the house, adding that “they made use of the big room and danced to the Girl I left behind me, with a violin and harmonium and had gutar.”18 From 18 February onward, however, Henry was “under the Docs care … It was an affection of the bladder and verry cerious as I remained in bed all the time. Freddy was verry good and did quite a mans work and all did what the could … I must have give a great deal of trouble to Eliza and the rest of the house this month in bed.” Annette had arrived from Salem, “not with standing the cold and brought her little baby,” and Henry wrote that “She was a great comfort to me and brought me my comforts but I suffered verry much and my legs swelled[.] I took I do not know how many pills and liquids [.] It is like a dream now but I [illegible] had a verry narrow escape.”

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There is only one entry per month for the following months, for Henry continued to be quite ill. For March he wrote: “This month I remained in bed haveing every attention paid me and kind visits. Freddy still working like a hero and as the wood went down cut more and kept us well suplied besides going to the villiage verry often[.] Annette and George kept me well supplied with oragens and did many things too numerous to mention, but it was a great trial for Eliza. I did not feel shure I should get over it Rev W[?] came several times.” (Whether he was referring to the Catholic priest or the Anglican minister is not clear.) Francesca replaced Annette in April when Henry finally “began to walk about a little.” The swelling in his legs began to decrease the following month, allowing Francesca to return to Salem, and he finally began to do a little farm work in late June when he wrote: “Walk about a little more and brushed a little in back field but still am verry weak” (23–30 June). In July, he made hand rakes and fork handles as well as doing “other little jobs.” That month also brought the first small step towards mechanization on the farm, for “Freddy hoed up potatoes with machine which made great progress and saved us the old fashioned hand hoeing” (15–25 July). They also began sending milk to the cheese factory, about a mile down the road (15 August). In short, there were already signs that Freddy was taking steps to increase the farm’s production. As fall approached, Henry continued to take comfort in his family’s strong support. Annette and Annie (presumably her daughter) made a quick two-day visit in September. Henry noted that she talked of going to Europe next year “and may pay a visit to my native place Ely England.” At home, “Freddy has been working like the good boy that he is … Maggie stays at the Post Office and comes down on her bick [bike] which takes but a short time as quick as with a horse. Minnie helps her mother and we have much work between us all but live in hopes.” Henry concluded: “It would be nice if we could all live together but we must be thank full” (September, illegible number). In fact, the family was becoming increasingly rooted in New England, for in November Lillie married a Biddeford, Maine lawyer named A.G. Pelletier (19–22 and 28–30 November). Then, on 4 December, Henry received a letter from a Boisvert de Nevers of Woonsocket, Rhode Island concerning a marriage proposal to Francesca, and the wedding took place in Salem a month later. There is no indication that parental consent was required, or that

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it had been for any of the other daughters’ marriages. This is hardly surprising, however, given that they had already left the household to earn their own livelihoods, and given the increasingly independent attitude of the young middle-class women of their era.19 As for Henry, himself, he summed up the year of 1897 as follows on 27 December: “I was ill and it took a long time to be able to go out[,] and still feel some of the effects yet. Lillies marriage and the first time we eat bread from the wheat soed on the farm, Dear Freddys soeing plowing harrowing. We also got quite a peice of land cut on Gibraltar, I got but little game in the fall not being well enough to hunt but I got a few hares 3 or 4 partriges. The fire also destroyed some of my old spots where I usually got my small game. My illness has made quite a change in habits and I begin to feel something like old age comeing on but I think I ought to be verry thank full.” The diary continues into 1898, but only for the month of January when the last sentence reads: “The stable pipe froze but E and children thawed it out – burn quite a quantity of firewood” (15–31 January). Why Henry ended on that note is not clear, but it is doubtful that he was able to continue working much longer. He would, however, live another eight years, finally dying at the age of eighty on Christmas Eve, 1906. Despite the fact that he was still recorded as an Anglican in the 1901 census,20 he was buried in the Catholic cemetery. Either he had experienced a genuine late-life conversion, which somehow seems unlikely, or he had simply joined the Catholic Church in order to be interred beside his family members. In lieu of a will, he had signed a donation inter vivos in 1904 transferring his farm and livestock to Fred on condition that he support his mother (who lived until 1936), two brothers, and sister Maggie while they remained at home.21 Minnie had died the previous year, and Maggie, who was still the town postmistress at the age of thirty in 1901, would marry soon afterward to a local farmer named Léopold David.22 Their children would become the only Trent descendants to live in the Drummondville area, or even Canada. Norris died in 1910, and Robin – after earning an engineering degree at McGill University – died as a soldier in France in 1918.23 Neither Norris or Robin had married, nor did Fred, with the result that the male Trent line ended when Fred died at the age of eighty-two in 1963.24 Contrary to his wishes, the Trent farm then became an official historic

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Figure 5.3 Trent daughters mourning [1900?]. The name on the wreath at the top of this touching photograph suggests that it is Annette who has died, which would place the date at July 1900. The four mourners were clearly her sisters because her children would have all been under the age of fifteen at that time. The fact that portraits of the parents are hanging on the wall suggests that they were unable to travel to Salem for the funeral. The photograph is clearly meant to reflect Annette’s religious piety, as well as the close bonds of her parental family.

site, not because of the fame of those who had owned it but because of the distinctiveness and endurance of the old stone house that had done little to add to their comfort.25 Henry and Eliza had proven to be exceptions to Laura Thatcher Ulrich’s observation that “A couple spent their first years of marriage raising workers and their last bereft of help. The middle years were the harvest time of family life.”26 Even though the “harvest time” for the Trent couple had been delayed, it finally materialized just in time for the family to be able to hang onto their farm. As for Henry in his senior years, his diary reveals that as his health and strength deteriorated he became less than ever the dominant force in the institution referred to by Tosh as “domestic patriarchy.”27 This was not unusual, for historian Thomas R. Cole claims that during the Victorian era, old age no longer signified “superior insight, knowledge, or wisdom,” but instead

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Figure 5.4 Frederick Trent, ca 1940. The two bird dogs in this photograph suggest that Henry passed his love of hunting in the local woods on to at least one of his sons.

“dependence, disease, failure, and sin.”28 Rather than simply retiring, however, Henry had been forced to continue working on the farm, and especially in its wood lots, but the impression left by his diary is that this responsibility, challenging though it certainly was, gave him a sense of purpose and accomplishment. After all, he was ensuring that his loved ones stayed warm during the bitter cold of those lengthy winters.

Conclusion

GeoRGe noRRis tRent Was one of a considerable number of officer veterans from the Napoleonic Wars who settled in British North America, but his role in the colonializing process was rather limited. He arrived in the lower St Francis valley long after the St Francis Abenakis had shifted most of their hunting and trapping activities to the north shore of the St Lawrence,1 and more than two decades after the dissipation of the danger of American invasion that had led to the founding of Drummondville as a military colony. The solid stone house that Trent built was emblematic, however, not only of his social pretensions but also of the “garrison mentality” that had emerged within Lower Canada’s British elite as a result of the French Revolution.2 At the time it was built, the French-Canadian campaign for more political autonomy had reached the boiling point. Rather than symbolizing British dominance after the crushing of the Lower Canadian Rebellion, however, the Trent house is actually a tangible reminder of the failure of Trent’s ambition to become a colonial squire. The construction of what was meant to become a British-style manor house was anachronistic insofar as the colony was about to begin moving towards internal self-government and industrialization. Furthermore, the region’s English-speaking population would soon begin its rapid exodus.3 Not surprisingly, Trent’s imposing stone house became somewhat of an albatross for his son, if not his grandson. In a revealing letter, Maria wrote to Henry that “The money papa saved when he became a widower was one thousand pound [sic] & he brought it all out with him & spent it on your stone walls: mores the pity for you.”4 She remained proud of her genteel origins, however, later sending Henry a copy of

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their father’s death notice, as well as one of a testimonial, explaining that “I thought that it would be good for your boys to know that their grand father was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word, for it gives more unctions to the soul than mere dollars.”5 The mental illness that George Trent suffered from was presumably to remain a family secret, much as it had in their mutual correspondence and in Henry’s diary. As for Henry, himself, even though he did not dwell upon his decline in social status, the old stone house that cost him so much effort to heat during the winter months did evoke the privileged English background that his sister referred to. In a sense, the young Henry was a victim of the British Empire’s role, in the words of David Cannadine, as “a mechanism for the export, projection and analogization of domestic social structures and social perceptions.”6 During his later childhood and youth, Henry emulated genteel British sportsmen by spending much of his time hunting and trapping in the family’s woods with the result that he failed to gain much practical experience in agriculture, much less in managing his erratic father’s lumber business. When no business opportunity emerged in England and he had failed to establish a foothold on Vancouver Island, Henry finally retreated to the farm he had inherited where – despite his outside sources of income – he was unable to adapt to the agricultural revolution that was then taking place in Canada. Rather than fulfilling his father’s dream of joining the colonial elite, Henry became a struggling farmer partially integrated into the local French-Canadian community through a marriage that resulted in the creation of a large bicultural Catholic family. His only descendants in the province are now culturally indistinguishable from the French-speaking majority. Even though Henry Trent spent his youth as a member of the dominant colonial class, and even though he later embarked upon the enterprise that was opening Vancouver Island to British settlement, his story does not conform to the triumphalist colonial narrative recounted in recent books such as Robert Hogg’s Men and Manliness on the Frontier. Instead, it illustrates how fragile upper-middle-class status could be for British newcomers to the New World environment. Due to his upbringing as well as his rather passive personality, Henry’s maturity to manhood was delayed and he never did become fully independent, but viewed through the lens of gender and family history, his life story is a more positive one. Aside from evidently feeling

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a sense of responsibility for his aging and troubled father, he found solace in his role as an appreciative husband and nurturing father to his own children. In pointing to the rise of the Victorian ideal of domesticity, family historians have largely limited their attention to the urban middle class, emphasizing in particular the withdrawal of wives from direct involvement in the productive work of the household.7 That development clearly does not apply to farm women in general, nor to Eliza Trent in particular, yet the harmonious, child-centred family depicted by Henry certainly fits the definition of domesticity. It should also be noted that in addition to the rise of separate gender spheres, domesticity has been associated with the growing influence of evangelical religion,8 but that, too, fails to apply either to Eliza as a Catholic or to Henry as a rather indifferent Anglican. Henry Trent played little or no role in the children’s religious training, but – as historian Martin Francis has observed of England at that time – the usurpation by the mother of the father’s traditional responsibility for moral and religious instruction did not prevent fathers from achieving considerable levels of intimacy with their children.9 Henry took a strong interest not only in his sons but also in his daughters, whose femininity and social status were preserved by being educated by nuns and not having to work outdoors or hiring out to neighbouring households. Henry therefore personified domestic masculinity, conforming to what Tosh variously refers to as the “nurturing,” “engaged,” or “intimate” father, as distinct from the “distant” father who feared for his own manhood as well as that of his sons.10 The diary’s image of family life was certainly an idealized one, for Henry avoided describing the squabbles and tensions that take place within even the closest of families. As Joanne Ritchie has stated of diarists in general, however, “we can learn as much from what people don’t say as from what they do.”11 And one thing we can learn from Henry’s silences is that, in sharp contrast to his father, he valued stability and emotional support too highly to allow himself to harbour resentments or grievances. Also referring to silences, historian Gail Campbell has stated that “if the temptation to read nineteenth-century diaries for the vicarious pleasure of learning the most intimate details of the author’s life is strong, only the most assiduous readers will persevere, for the extraneous material usually dominates: the births and deaths, the weather, and the

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routine.”12 Henry Trent’s diary is more detailed and introspective than that generalization would lead us to believe, nor does it conform closely to what Marilyn Motz refers to as a “folk diary,” motivated by a farmer’s wish to discover annual patterns in his activities and in the weather, as well as recording major events in the community.13 References to the weather are a minor part of Henry’s daily entries,14 and his social circle in Canada was rather limited when compared to those of other nineteenth-century diarists.15 Even though he was very fond of alcohol, for example, Henry’s drinking rarely took place in the local taverns, at least during the years for which his diary is extant.16 His failure to join in church-going or in church activities also cut off a major opportunity for social contact.17 Because he did not fit entirely into either the local English-speaking community or the French-speaking one, and because he had no kin close by, Henry’s social world on the farm was largely restricted to his family and immediate neighbours and in-laws. Henry wrote about his daily activities not out of a desire to trace patterns, as is suggested by Motz’s characterization of folk diaries, but rather for the reason Kathryn Carter adduces when noting the increase in popularity of diaries in the industrial era: as evidence of time spent productively.18 It also partakes of the motive that Andrew Holman and Robert Kristofferson discern in the mid-nineteenth-century diary of a young Scottish-Canadian craftsman: that it was a stock-taking of his attempts to become “more of a man” by engaging in self-improvement activities.19 Henry did not partake in such activities, aside from during the few months he spent in London, but his meticulous records of fish and game caught or shot, store goods purchased, produce sold, and so on quite likely served as a regular means of reassuring himself of his frugality as well as his dutifulness towards his family.20 Some feminist scholars claim that women’s journals are characterized by discontinuity and fragmentation, and that they create mutable and multiple selves,21 but for Henry the transitions from one life stage to the next were protracted and his sense of self quite consistent. It was only in his later thirties, during his sea voyage to the west coast of North America and his sojourn on Vancouver Island, that he faced the challenges and responsibilities that marked his transition toward full manhood by preparing him for marriage and fatherhood. Henry’s voice in the diary nevertheless remains much the same, for he continued to

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be open-minded and generous as well as rather dependent and lacking in initiative. This self-revelation does not suggest that Henry failed to conform to the basic requirements of manhood, but simply that he did not do so in the stereotypical middle-class fashion.22 Though more evolutionary than fragmented, Henry’s diary does express a variety of emotions ranging from happiness, contentment, and love to disappointment, frustration, and (rarely) resentment. The fact that he seldom gave vent to anger despite his many setbacks probably reflects not only his somewhat easy-going personality but also the growing belief that expressions of anger should be repressed, especially within the family.23 The feelings Henry did express, however, do take us beyond his daily experiences into the realm of subjectivity and emotion that Roper claims is largely missing from the study of masculinity, with its focus on relations of power.24 With emotional support from family members, Henry was able to maintain a generally positive outlook on life despite his downward social mobility and the hardships he and his family faced in the cold stone house built by his rather authoritarian father. Henry may or may not have shown his diary to his family members before he died,25 but the fact that he preserved a good part of that record of his life suggests that he felt it was important that they and their descendants know that, despite his failures and weaknesses, he had been an upright and dutiful son, husband, and father. In short, the personal story that emerges from Henry’s diary is one of adaptation and fulfilment as he made the protracted transition from emotionally immature son to caring father of a tightly knit and mutually supportive family. As for what the diary reveals about the broader social, cultural, and economic environment in which Henry lived, it shows how, during the Victorian era, class privilege could be undermined by psychological handicaps and educational shortcomings; how colonialism could, to some extent, be a two-way street with the “colonizer” being partially absorbed into society of the “colonized”; and how patriarchal authority could have strict limits within the family. By shifting the view from towns and cities to the countryside where the great majority still lived and worked, Henry’s rural diary also reveals how much a farmer’s economic success depended not only upon the labour of his wife but also upon that of their offspring, particularly their sons; how difficult the transition toward the market economy could be even when one had

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the advantage of outside resources; how someone with such resources could be a source of income for neighbouring farmers; how in that part of Canada, wood lots provided not only vital winter fuel but also a valuable supplement to farm income; and how changeable weather there, as elsewhere, dictated the bounty of the harvest from year to year, thereby playing a crucial role in each farm family’s wellbeing. In other words, despite Henry’s outsider status and historical anonymity, his diary is not only “thick with the traces of human life,”26 it also sheds a revealing light on the society in which that life was lived.

Notes

Preface 1 Library and Archives Canada, RG4 C1, no. 2789, Civil Secretary’s Correspondence (Incoming), George Norris Trent to Thos. E. Campbell, Civil Secretary, Wendover near Drummondville, 24 Aug. 1849.

Introduction 1 Catharine Parr Traill’s The Backwoods of Canada was first published in 1836, and her sister Susanna Moodie’s Roughing It in the Bush in 1852. 2 See Little, “Canadian Pastoral.” 3 However, in The Persistence of the Old Regime, Arno J. Mayer argues that for pre-1914 Europe, central values of the Ancien Régime persisted well into the industrial era. Patrician elites also continued to exercise considerable power in Quebec during the Victorian era. See Little, Patrician Liberal; and Young, Patrician Families. 4 Crowley, “Rural Labour,” 14. 5 The volumes in the archives of the McCord Museum are dated 4 October 1842 – 25 September 1844, 10 February – 31 December 1844, 1 January 1845 – 13 August 1846, 25 August 1853 – 4 February 1854, 1 January – 2 July 1862, 26 February – 18 August 1863, 20 August – 31 December 1863, 1 January – 31 December 1864, 1 January 1865 – 28 September 1868 (in four parts), and 2 February – 28 March 1883. The volumes held by the Société d’histoire de Drummond are dated 1 October 1894 – 21 July 1895, and 22 July 1895 – 31 January 1898. The one in private hands is dated 24 August – 30 December 1846.

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6 See Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 8; and Carter, ed., The Small Details of Life, 5–6. 7 Carter, “Diaries in English.” 8 Campbell, “I wish to keep a record,” 303. Kathryn Carter goes as far as to claim that diary writing does not “provide any greater degree of authenticity than any other form of autobiographical writing.” Carter, “The Cultural Work of Diaries,” 264. 9 Blodgett, Centuries of Female Days, 5, 7. Henry Trent’s daily entries were less retrospective and self-fashioning than those of many diarists, particularly the well-known ones written by English notables who, according to Martin Hewitt, “deliberately rejected the rhythm of daily entries.” Hewitt, “Diary, Autobiography,” 30. 10 See, for example, Little, ed., Love Strong as Death. 11 Culley, A Day at a Time, 3. For example, Frances Hoffman and Ryan Taylor examine fifty female diaries and only six male diaries in their edited collection, Much To Be Done. For three edited Canadian exceptions to this generalization, see Reisner, ed., The Diary of a Country Clergyman; Holman and Kristofferson, ed., More of a Man; and Mennel, Testimonies and Secrets. 12 See, for example, Davidoff and Hall, Family Fortunes; Rotundo, American Manhood; Kimmel, Manhood in America; Tosh, A Man’s Place; and Griffen, “Reconstructing Masculinity.” 13 See Huskins and Boudreau, “‘Daily Allowances,’” 90; and Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 6, 9, 85, 99–102. 14 Nancy Cott has observed that the word “sphere” is more geographical than ideological in connotation, and that it has led to a too-rigid association of women with the “private” and men with the “public.” Cott, “On Men’s History,” 206–8. For other commentaries, see Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 103–6; and Campbell, “I wish to keep,” 11–12. 15 See Roper, “Slipping Out of View,” 57. 16 See Holman, A Sense of Their Duty, 7–18. 17 Tosh, “Domesticity and Manliness,” 46. 18 McCord Museum, Trent family fonds, P022, Correspondence, 1837–, S.C. Easton to My Dear Maria, Montreal, 22 February [no year]. 19 One such example is James Douglas’s attempt to have his eleven-year-old daughter keep a diary. See Perry, Colonial Relations, 170. 20 See Hewitt, “Diary, Autobiography,” 26. Pepys wrote in the seventeenth century, but his diary was not published until the early nineteenth century. Diary writing became increasingly popular in Britain during the 1820s with the invention of cheap paper and more convenient pens. Carter, The Small Details, 15.

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21 Ulrich, A Midwife’s Tale, 9. 22 Noël, Family Life and Sociability, 4; Culley, A Day at a Time, 4; Carter, “The Cultural Work of Diaries,” 251–5. On how to read a diary, see Lejeune, “The ‘Journal de Jeune Fille,’”110–12. 23 On this theme, see Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 97–9. 24 Ibid., 61–71, and Carter, The Small Details, 21–2. 25 On that theme, see Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 63. 26 Ibid., 25–6. 27 In the later, smaller-sized bound volumes there is no room for a margin and the entries often take more than a single page. 28 On dairies as material artifacts, see Culley, A Day at a Time, 14–15; and Carter, “Accounting for Time.” 29 On the importance of understanding an individual’s reasons for keeping a diary, see Culley, A Day at a Time, 6–10. 30 On the importance of the intended audience, see Culley, A Day at a Time, 11–14. 31 Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 47. 32 Hewitt, “Diary, Autobiography,” 36. 33 On the emergence of the life course as a “pattern of rules, expectations, and events ordering activities over a lifetime,” see Cole, The Journey of Life; the quotation is from page 3. To take one influential example, in 1842 Thomas Cole produced an iconic series of four paintings known as The Voyage of Life depicting the figures of childhood, youth, manhood, and old age aboard a vessel descending a river leading to the sea, which represents death. Cole, The Journey of Life, 118–27. 34 See, for example, Katz, The People of Hamilton, 262–9. 35 Tosh, A Man’s Place, 108. John Gilbert McCurdy does argue, however, that through self-mastery as well as economic independence “a single man could attain the same levels of respect and influence afforded any married man.” McCurdy, “‘Your Affectionate Brother,’” 519, 525. 36 Joseph Kett does provide examples of males who were referred to as youths when in their thirties, but that was a question of loose terminology rather than level of maturity. Kett, Rites of Passage, 11–12. The term “adolescent” that is sometimes used interchangeably with youth (see Hanawalt, “Historical Descriptions”) had not yet come into regular use, and it commonly refers to the later teenage years. 37 Mintz, “Reflections on Age,” 93. 38 Lepore, “Historians Who Love Too Much,” 131–2. See also, Kessler-Harris, “Why Biography?” 626.

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39 Nussbaum, The Autobiographical Subject, 28. More recently, Steinitz wrote: “I look at the diary as a profoundly cultural form, highly implicated in the dominant ideologies of its time, rather than simply an individualist expression of unmediated subjectivity.” Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 6. 40 See Mintz, “Reflections on Age,” 91–4. 41 Trent family fonds, P022, Histoire et généologie 1/2. 42 Trent family fonds, P022, Correspondence, 1839–61, Coppy [sic] of a letter intended to be sent to Sir G. Simson [sic], Governor, Hudson bay Company, 10 Aug. 1845. 43 Kett (Rites of Passage, 13) states that ignorance about one’s birth date was not uncommon in the pre-industrial era. 44 The first child, named George, was born in 1822, and apparently died as an infant. Trent family fonds, Biographical Sketch; “Trent, George Norris;” Histoire et généologie 1/2. 45 There is presumably a distinction between the concept of demonic possession of an individual and that individual’s belief that the devil is manifested in others. On the history of the former, see Levack, The Devil Within. 46 Trent family fonds, Box 2, Housekeeping Book and Letters and a few letters, 1836, Trent to unknown correspondent, Montreal, 31 October 1836. 47 “Coppy of a letter intended to be sent to Sir G. Simson.” See also Henry Trent’s “Journal for 1845,” 3 April 1845. 48 Trent family fonds, George Norris Trent’s letterbook, Trent to Sir George Simson, 10 August 1845; Trent to Colonel Gugy, Wendover, 29 January 1846. There is no evidence to indicate that either Dorothy or Henry attended school in Drummondville, as claimed in Trent family fonds, Biographical Sketch. 49 Correspondence, 1837–, S.M. Easton to Maria, Long Island, 23 July 1847. 50 George Norris Trent’s Housekeeping Book and Letters, Trent to unknown correspondent, Montreal, 31 October 1836. 51 Saint-Jean, Drummondville, 10–27, 35–7; LaBrèque, “Heriot, Frederick George;” Verrier, La famille Trent, 5–11. 52 Quoted in Little, State and Society in Transition, 142. 53 George Norris Trent’s letterbook, Trent to Sir, 9 January 1844. 54 Johnson, Becoming Prominent, 70; Little, State and Society in Transition, chapter 1. 55 Verrier, La famille Trent, 6. 56 Wolf depredation on sheep is also mentioned in the journal of Major Joseph Menzies, who lived directly across the river. Verrier, La famille Trent, 17. 57 Verrier, La famille Trent, 18; LaBrèque, Acton, 24.

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58 Henry Trent’s “Journal for 1845,” 8 January 1845. 6 March 1845; Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, Henry Trent to My Dear God Mother [draft, 1845]. See also Verrier, La famille Trent, 18–19. 59 Tessier et al., Les trésors du manoir Trent, 9; Verrier, La famille Trent, 11, 18–20; Henry Trent’s Unbound Journal, February 10–December 31, 1844, 31 December 1844. 60 George Norris Trent’s letterbook, Trent to House of Assembly, 16 January 1843. 61 The letter requested “Your Royal Highness” to use his influence with the Queen in making the appointment. Trent claimed that he had written several letters on the subject to “Her Majesty’s Ministers.” Trent family fonds, George Norris Trent, Autre correspondance (copies [1833–1850]), Trent to Sir (addressed as Your Royal Highness), 31 March 1843.

Chapter One 1 Musgrove, Leahy, and Moruzi, “Hearing Children’s Voices,” 1. 2 Verrier’s bibliography (La famille Trent, 97) lists volumes that begin in 1840, but internal evidence reveals that the 1842 volume was the first. Also, there is no evidence in Henry’s diaries or the family correspondence that he or his sister attended the local public school, as claimed in Verrier, La famille Trent, 20. 3 William Robins, Senior, had been a lieutenant in the de Meuron Regiment during the War of 1812. Marler, Marler: Four Generations, 27. 4 On 22 June 1845, Henry wrote: “I learned to swim nearly 10 or 12 strokes this morning while bathing.” 5 On boy culture, see Culley, A Day at a Time, 18–19; Rotundo, American Manhood, 35. 6 See, for example, Gillespie, Hunting for Empire. 7 Rotundo, American Manhood, 35. 8 Ibid., 44. 9 Provencher (Les quatre saisons, 258) claims that the passenger pigeons were most numerous in July, but Henry reported large numbers again on 22, 24, 25, 26, and 27 May. The destruction of the birds was in full force by 1850 and their population would plummet in the 1870s. See Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 259–61; Smithsonian, “The Passenger Pigeon”; and Yeoman, “Why the Passenger Pigeon Went Extinct.”

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10 Most partridges were snared rather than shot during the nineteenth century. See Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 367. 11 Ibid., 123. 12 On the rapidly diminishing St Francis salmon runs, see Allard, “Préservation ou développement.” 13 On the introduction of legislation during the 1840s to protect spawning salmon and maskinongé on the rivers of the Eastern Townships, see Little, ed., The Child Letters, 25–6. 14 There is only one other report in Henry’s journals of a hunting excursion during that winter, and it did not involve camping overnight. 15 Hunting and trapping remained the St Francis Abenakis’ principal means of subsistence in the earlier decades of the nineteenth century, but handicraft production for the tourist market became increasingly important during the latter half of the century. See Day, The Identity, 61; and Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 128–33. 16 The Gills were descendants of two New Englanders captured during the French Regime. They were delisted as Abenakis in the early 1840s, but they continued to live on the St Francis reserve. Day, The Identity, 80; Barman, Abenaki Daring, 164–7. On the production of sugar from the sap of maple trees in Quebec, see Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 81–4. 17 By 1843 there were only eleven Abenaki families remaining in Durham. Barman, Abenaki Daring, 37–8, 201–7. 18 This volume is in the possession of Denis Lambert, whom I hereby thank for providing me with a copy. 19 The shooting of migratory wild fowl was an important activity for the inhabitants of the area. Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 365–6. 20 Sarah Pearsall (Atlantic Families, 84) defines sensibility as “the capacity of certain sensitive individuals to understand and respond to the world around them,” and “the ability to possess and to display a feeling heart.” 21 Heriot, who had acquired 12,000 acres by 1838, became a Companion of the Order of the Bath in 1822 and was promoted to the rank of colonel in 1830, then major-general in 1841. He built several mills in the Drummondville area, as well as serving as justice of the peace, schools trustee and visitor, commissioner in charge of road construction, and Member of the Legislative Assembly. He also donated village sites for the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches, which were named in his honour. LaBrèque, “Heriot.” 22 On the province’s public-school reforms during the 1840s, see Little, State and Society in Transition, chapter 6.

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23 Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 32. 24 Mercator sailing is “used to find the course and distance between two positions that are in different latitudes.” Mercator Sailing – Ship Officer. 25 A camera lucida superimposes the image of the subject being viewed upon the surface on which the artist is drawing. 26 The third and final Montreal elections riot of 1844 took place on 1 December at Hay Market. Senior, British Regulars, 71–2. 27 Trent family fonds, P022, Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, Henry Trent to My Dear God Mother [draft, 1845]. 28 John Mason Good’s influential The Book of Nature was first published in London in 1825. Moreland, “Beyond ‘De Rerum Naturâ, Esqr.,’” fn 5. 29 Peter the Great was the modernizing czar of Russia from 1682 to 1725. He grew up in a village where he enjoyed outdoor games and took particular interest in military matters, also occupying himself with carpentry, joinery, blacksmithing, and printing. Nikiforov, “Peter 1.” 30 A reference to Catherine Grace Frances Gore, The Story of a Royal Favourite, which was published in 1845. 31 Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, Henry Trent to My Dear God Mother, n.d. [draft]. 32 Ibid., H. Dean to Henry Trent with postscript to Maria, Ely, 5 October 1846. Miss Dean’s first name and her age are indicated in her letter to Henry dated 23 June 1865. 33 Johnson, Becoming Prominent, 41. 34 George Norris Trent’s letterbook, Trent to Miss Easton, Wendover, 12 August 1845. 35 Ibid., Trent to Sir George Simpson, 10 August 1845. 36 Coppy of a letter intended to be sent to Sir G. Simson [sic], 11 August 1845. According to Henry’s journal, the letter was sent a day later. 37 Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, Henry Trent to My Dear God Mother [draft, 1845]. 38 Johnson, Becoming Prominent, 71, 79. 39 George Norris Trent’s letterbook, Trent to Colonel Gugy, Wendover, 29 January 1846. 40 Ibid., Trent to Colonel Gugy, Wendover, 3 March 1846. 41 This would suggest that sexual norms were communally enforced, as in late-eighteenth-century New England. Ulrich, The Midwife’s Tale, 149. 42 Civil Secretary’s Correspondence (Incoming), no. 2789, George Norris Trent to Thos. E. Campbell, Civil Secretary, Wendover near Drummondville, 24 August 1849. The Menzies diary, which can no longer

164

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45 46 47 48 49

50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60

61

notes to PaGes 35–40

be located in the Drummondville archives, also mentions Trent’s paranoid delusions on 16 August 1849. Verrier, La famille Trent, 21. Johnson, Becoming Prominent, 61, 66. Civil Secretary’s Correspondence (Incoming), George Norris Trent to Thos. E. Campbell, Civil Secretary, Wendover near Drummondville, 30 September 1849. Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, Henry Trent to My Dear God Mother, n.d. [draft]. George Norris Trent, Autre correspondance, Trent to Sir, Wendover, 25 October 1849. Ibid., Trent to Gentlemen, Wendover, 31 October 1849. Ibid., Trent to Sir, n.d. Civil Secretary’s Correspondence (Incoming), no. 2562, George Norris Trent to Provincial Secretary Leslie, Wendover, 9 December 1850; draft reply, Toronto, 16 December 1850. Ibid., Trent to Leslie, Wendover, 11 March 1851; draft reply, Toronto, 17 March 1851. Letters from his father, 1850–1, George Norris Trent to Henry Trent, Wendover, 19 October 1850, 14 November 1850. Trent family fonds, P022/C1.5, George Norris Trent, Letters from Henry and Maria, Henry to Dear Papa, 30 November 1850. Ibid., Henry to Dear Papa, 17 March 1851. Letters from his father, 1850–1, George Norris Trent to Henry Trent, Wendover, 12 March 1851. See Atkins, We Grew Up Together; and McCurdy, “‘Your Affectionate Brother,’” 517. Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to Henry. Like most of Maria’s letters, this one is undated. Ibid., Maria to my dear brother. The envelope is dated April 1851. Ibid., Maria to My dear Henry, Wendover, 20 June 1851. Ibid., Maria to My dear Brother, 17 August [no year]. He had attended three consecutive quarters by the summer of 1851. Letters from his father, 1850–1, George Norris Trent to Henry Trent, Wendover, 15 July 1851. Letters from Henry and Maria, Henry to Dear Papa, 21 October 1852; Letters from his father, 1850–1, George Norris Trent to Henry Trent, Wendover, 27 October 1852. Trent arranged to have the man who built the mill also operate it that autumn on a half-shared basis, sawing only logs from Trent’s land. George Norris Trent to Henry Trent, Wendover, 14 June 1851. 13 September 1851.

notes to PaGes 40–9

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62 Correspondence, 1839–61, Henry Trent to John Robins, 10 November 1852. 63 Rotundo, “Constructions of Masculinity.”

Chapter Two 1 George Norris Trent, Autre correspondance, 1841–56, George Norris Trent to Sir, Victoria Hotel, Euston Square, 11 January 1855. 2 Arnett, “Emerging Adulthood,” 469–70; Gee, “Marriage in NineteenthCentury Canada,” 315. 3 See, for example, Gagan, Hopeful Travelers; Little, “A Canadian in Lowell;” and Holman and Kristofferson, ed., More of a Man. 4 On this theme, see Pearsall, Atlantic Families; and Ishiguro, Nothing to Write Home About. 5 George Norris Trent, Autre correspondance, 1841–56, George Norris Trent draft letter, Ely, Cambridgeshire, 24 February 1855. 6 Correspondence, 1837–, George Norris Trent to Maria Dorothy, Ely, Cambridgeshire, 28 September 1855. 7 George Norris Trent, Autre correspondance, 1841–56, [signature illegible] to G.N. Trent, Downing Street, 7 November 1855. 8 Correspondence, 1837–, George Norris Trent to Maria Dorothy, Ely, Cambridgeshire, 28 September 1855. 9 Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to Henry, Wendover, 1 September 1855. 10 Ibid., Maria to Dear Papa, Wendover, 13 September [no year]. On the move to tax land owned by absentee proprietors, see Little, “Colonization and Municipal Reform.” 11 Correspondence, 1839–61, Henry Trent to John Robins, 10 November 1852. 12 Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to Henry, Wendover, 26 February [1855]. 13 Ibid., Maria to My dear Henry, Wendover, 5 November 1855. 14 Ibid., Maria to Henry, Wendover, 26 September [no year] 15 Ibid., Maria to My dear Henry, Wendover, 5 November 1855. 16 Ibid., Maria to Henry, undated but “1855” added later. 17 Ibid., 1851–82, Maria to Henry, undated. 18 According to one medical source, “Jaundice is a yellow tint to a newborn’s skin and the white part of the eyes. It is a sign that there’s too much bilrubin in the baby’s blood.” Treatment – when necessary – includes phototherapy. In rare cases, it may lead to brain damage and death. “Jaundice in Newborns.” 19 Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to Henry, Wendover, 16 January 1856.

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notes to PaGes 49–53

20 Ibid., Maria to Henry, [no date]. 21 Correspondence, 1837–, George Norris Trent to Maria, Ely, Cambridgeshire, 19 July 1856. 22 Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to Henry, Wendover, 15 May 1857. 23 Correspondence, 1839–61, G.W. Cooper to Henry, Camden Town, 6 November 1857 [the date was added later]. 24 The will, which was drafted in 1854, is recorded in Tessier, La famille Trent, 56–7. 25 Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, H. Dean to Henry Trent, Ely, 20 April 1858. 26 Trent family fonds, Robins, Maria Trent; Business correspondence, Maria to William Marshall, 22 September 1858. 27 Letterbook from March 1859, Henry Trent to W. Marshall, 28 March 1859. 28 Tosh, A Man’s Place, 107–8. Rotundo claims that in the United States, on the other hand, a young middle-class male who surrendered to sexual desire thereby “gave up his ability to carry out the man’s role.” Rotundo, American Manhood, 72. 29 Letterbook from March 1859, Henry Trent to W. Marshall, 5 May 1859. 30 Ibid., Henry Trent to W. Marshall, 16 June 1859. The legacy duty had still not been paid three years later. Correspondence, 1862–65, I. Timms, Solicitor of Inland Revenue, to H. Trent, London, 27 February 1862; H. Trent to Dear Godmother, 4 March 1862. 31 Ibid., Henry Trent to Dear Sister, 1 September 1859. 32 Correspondence, 1837–, Maria to William Robson. The letter is not dated but was presumably written in the late summer or early fall of 1859 when Maria was in England. She had also received a letter in England that was written to her in August 1859 by R. Millar from whom she had borrowed £63 18s 10p for three months, presumably to pay for her trip. Millar advised her not to sell the Horse Croft property at a sacrifice price, if possible. Robins, Maria Trent; Business correspondence, R. Millar to Mrs Robins, 24 August 1859; promissory note from M.D. Robins to R.J. Millar, Drummondville, 12 July 1859 (paid off on 15 October 1859). 33 Robins, Maria Trent; Business correspondence, unsigned letter to My dear Madam, Cambridge, 23 September 1859; W. Marshall in acct with Mrs M.D. Robins, no date. 34 Letterbook from March 1859, Henry Trent to the cashier of the British North American Bank Montreal, 20 October. 1859; Henry Trent to W. Marshall, 1 November 1859. 35 Ibid., Henry Trent to W. Marshall, 1 November 1859.

notes to PaGes 53–8

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36 The covered bridge was built at a cost of $8,807, approximately half of which was contributed by the townships of Grantham, Wendover, and Simpson. Charland-Rajotte, Drummondville, 90. 37 Letterbook from March 1859, Henry Trent to W. Marshall, 28 September 1860. Marshall had still not forwarded money six weeks later. See Henry Trent to W. Marshall, 14 November 1860. 38 Canada manuscript census, 1861, Wendover and Simpson, Canada East. 39 Letterbook from March 1859, Henry Trent to R.J. Millar, 29 April 1861. 40 Captain James Grant Millar, who was most likely R.J. Millar’s father or grandfather, had settled in Drummondville in 1815. Marler, Marler, 37. 41 Letterbook from March 1859, Henry Trent to R.J. Millar, 20 August 1861. 42 Correspondence, 1862–65, R. Millar to My Dear friend, Drummondville, 1 January 1862. 43 Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to Henry. The letter is undated, but the context makes it clear that it was written before Henry moved to London. “Stump,” in this sense, alludes to “a platform raised above the surrounding level to give prominence to the person on it.” www.vocabulary.com/ dictionary. 44 Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, H. Dean to Henry Trent, Ely, 13 December 1861. 45 According to historian M.H. Black, Richard Clay “was the patriarchal head of a very large printing business in a Victorian factory built in a grim renaissance style.” Black, Cambridge University Press, 152. 46 Correspondence, 1862–65, Draft letter to Dear Sister, London [May 1862]. 47 On this theme, see Rotundo, American Manhood, chapter 3. 48 Trent family fonds, P022, Henry Trent’s Account Books, Account Book, 1862. 49 Portland, Maine was the terminus of the Grand Trunk Railway from Montreal. 50 Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to Dear Henry, Wendover, 15 February 186[blank]. 51 Correspondence, 1862–65, Thomas Burt to Dear Sir, London, 15 May 1862. 52 “Richard Clay & Sons Printing.” 53 Perry, On the Edge, 22. 54 Johnson, Voyages of Hope, 94. 55 Whymper, Travel and Adventure, 2. 56 Correspondence, 1862–65, Draft letter to Dear Robert, London, 28 May 1862

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notes to PaGes 58–62

57 Quoted in Dunae, Gentlemen Emigrants, 38. 58 Correspondence, 1862–65, Draft letter to Dear Robert, London, 28 May 1862. 59 Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, H. Dean to Henry Trent, Ely, 14 May 1862. 60 Correspondence, 1862–65, John Garrett to Dear Sir, London, 4 June 1862; Johnson, A Not-So-Savage Land, 7. 61 Correspondence, 1862–65, Thomas Burt to D. Smith, London, 15 May 1862. 62 See Rose, What Is Gender History? 58–9; and Gilmore, Manhood in the Making, 11. 63 Cannadine, Ornamentalism, xiv–xvii. More important than British Columbia’s natural resources to Great Britain was its location on the Pacific Coast of North America. See Little, “The Foundations of Government.” 64 Tosh, A Man’s Place, 112. 65 See Johnson, A Not-So-Savage Land, 14–21. 66 On these characteristics of the shipboard diary, see Hassam, Sailing to Australia, 3, 41–4. 67 Ibid., 3, 65, 102. 68 See Redfern, “Reminiscences;” Emmerson, British Columbia; and Whymper, Travel and Adventure. Two other diarists, William Lomas and Edward Robinson, also describe the Cape Horn route in 1862, but aboard a sailing vessel. Mackie, The Wilderness Profound, 31. For the description of a much more comfortable voyage to Victoria via New York and Panama in 1858, see MacLeod and McGeachie, ed., Land of Promise, 42–57. 69 Redfern claimed that he had paid £30 sterling for a berth in a third-class cabin. Redfern, “Reminiscences.” Johnson (Voyages of Hope, 104–5) states that there was a large contingent of steerage passengers, but this was clearly not the case. 70 Bc Archives, J/G/t97, Passenger’s Contract Ticket for Charles Frederick Green and Arthur Robert Green, Ship Tynemouth, London to Victoria, 24 May 1862. 71 On the physical and social spaces of British emigrant ships, including the division of steerage passengers into messes, see Hassam, Sailing to Australia, 110–18, 124–9. 72 According to Johnson (Voyages of Hope, 100), there were 292 passengers. The Columbia Emigration Society, which was aimed at young lowerclass females, was founded in 1862 by the Anglican Church’s Columbia

notes to PaGes 62–71

73

74 75

76

77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

86

87 88 89

90 91

169

Mission Society. Maria S. Rye established the Female Middle-Class Emigration Society the same year. Johnson, Voyages of Hope, 23–7; Lay, “To Columbia,” 19–42. Redfern, “Reminiscences.” See also, Emmerson, British Columbia, 140. This was standard practice for single women traveling in steerage to Australia. See Hassam, Sailing to Australia, 70–2. Redfern, “Reminiscences.” For the weekly allowance of provisions, see the Tynemouth Passenger’s Contract Ticket. One rather curious feature is the statement that whenever one pound of fresh beef was issued to each adult passenger per day, they would be given no flour, rice, raisins, peas, suet, or vinegar. First-class and second-class passengers on emigrant ships commonly came into conflict concerning access to the poop deck. See Hassam, Sailing to Australia, 118–22. Ibid, 97–8. Whymper, Travel and Adventure, 4. Ibid. Ibid., 5. Redfern, “Reminiscences.” Ibid. Ibid. Whymper, Travel and Adventure, 5. Thomas Babington Macaulay was an influential British historian and Whig politician whose essay on Machiavelli was originally published in 1850 as a review of the translation of the complete works of Machiavelli. “Modern History Sourcebook.” Invented by Sir Humphry Davy in 1815, the lamp that bore his name was designed to prevent explosions in coal mines. The gases were cooled as they passed through narrow tubes and the flame was enclosed inside a cylinder of wire gauze. Knight, “Davy, Sir Humphry.” Whymper, Travel and Adventure, 6–7. Ibid., 8. This account is corroborated by Redfern, “Reminiscences.” Victoria Harbour History, “50 Tynemouth / Minnie Gillan;” Trent family fonds, Henry Trent, 1862 Miscellaneous, Autobiographical notes about his experiences in Bc, 1862. Mackie, Wilderness Profound, 31. Redfern, “Reminiscences.”

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notes to PaGes 72–5

Chapter Three 1 Ishiguro, Nothing to Write Home About, 96–8. 2 Letterbook from March 1859, Written from Victoria, North Pacific, 18 September 1862. 3 Whymper, Travel and Adventure, 14–15. 4 In contrast, nineteen-year-old John Clapperton and his friends, who had arrived from England in June 1862, set out for the Cariboo soon afterward. For a brief account of their experiences, see Dunae, Gentlemen Emigrants, 38–9. 5 Letterbook from March 1859, Written from Victoria, North Pacific, 18 September 1862. 6 See Dunae, Gentlemen Emigrants, 39–41; and Johnson, A Not-So-Savage Land, 30–3. 7 Letterbook from March 1859, Written from Victoria, North Pacific, 18 September 1862. 8 Autobiographical notes. 9 Letterbook from March 1859, Written from Victoria, North Pacific, 18 September 1862. 10 Correspondence, 1862–65, Thomas Burt to Dear Mr Trent, London, 1 December 1862. 11 Letterbook from March 1859, Written from Victoria, North Pacific, 18 September 1862. 12 Autobiographical notes. 13 See Little, “West Coast Picturesque.” 14 Letterbook from March 1859, Written from Victoria, North Pacific, 18 September 1862. 15 See Arnett, The Terror of the Coast, 93–9. 16 Autobiographical notes. Tensions between the First Nations and settlers in the Cowichan valley and neighbouring Gulf Islands were about to reach the breaking point. See Arnett, The Terror of the Coast, chapters 5–12. 17 Pritchard, ed., Vancouver Island Letters, 27. 18 Mackie, The Wilderness Profound, 48–54; Isenore, Land of Plenty, 27–8, 72–3. 19 Autobiographical notes. A chief named Joe Nim Nim (or Nimnim) was the last known speaker of the Pentlatch language. Although he claimed to have met the first settlers, he was likely from the generation after the Min Min named by Trent, because he did not die until 1940. Isenor, Land of Plenty,

notes to PaGes 75–80

20 21

22 23

24 25

26 27

28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35

171

28, 50–1; Hughes, History of the Comox Valley, 3; Millen, “The Pentlach People,” 5. Mackie, The Wilderness Profound, 65. Henry Trent’s name appears on a contemporary list of fourteen settlers as having registered a claim to one hundred acres on 9 October 1862, and another hundred acres on 2 January 1863. Isenore, Land of Plenty, 60–2. Robb’s claim was on what is now the Comox waterfront. Mackie, The Wilderness Profound, 69. Autobiographical notes. Blaksley is referred to only as “Fred” in the memoir. Bc Archives, Add. Mss. 728, Pidcock Family, Box 2, v. 4a, R.H. Pidcock, “Adventures in Vancouver Island,” 1862–1868. On Pidcock, see Hogg, Men and Manliness, 113–16; and Mackie, The Wilderness Profound, 40–2, 80–1, 83–5. Pidcock was identified as a storekeeper by Bishop George Hills in October 1862. Isenor, Land of Plenty, 61. On the descriptions to be found in the colony’s printed gold-rush memoirs, see Little, “West Coast Picturesque,” 25–31. And for the personal correspondence of British settlers, see Ishiguro, Nothing to Write Home About, 103. Pritchard, ed., Vancouver Island Letters, 99. According to John Keast Lord’s travel narrative, published in 1876, nearly every First Nations tribe in western North America carried, when hunting or scouting, what the fur traders referred to as “gum sticks.” They consisted of pinewood impregnated with what Lord referred to as a substance that was “highly inflammable.” He did not reveal what the substance was, but it was probably animal grease or fish oil, depending on the location. Lord, At Home in the Wilderness, 201. Autobiographical notes. Ibid. The theft problem continued, however, for Henry wrote on 19 March that his great coat and jersey shirt were missing. He commented: “I begin to think we have got some thieves here. The visits of the gunboat would have a good effect here just now.” See Arnett, The Terror of the Coast. Hayman, ed., Robert Brown, 121. Oxford English Dictionary online. Viewed 6 March 2020. Autobiographical notes. This journey is not mentioned in Pidcock’s memoir.

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notes to PaGes 81–96

36 On the inaccuracy of the initial surveys, see Mackie, The Wilderness Profound, 57. 37 Pidcock, “Adventures in Vancouver Island,” 76–8. 38 See Arnett, The Terror of the Coast, chapter 7. 39 Autobiographical notes. 40 Three years later Esquimalt would replace Valparaiso, Chile, as the headquarters of the Royal Navy’s Pacific Station. Obee, “British Navy.” 41 Perry, On the Edge, 40. 42 The Topaze, a fifty-one-gun wooden screw frigate, had been launched in 1858. “HMs Topaze (1858).” 43 Obee, “British Navy.” 44 As interpreter, Tomo Antoine was in a position to clarify what had been verbally transmitted between the two sides, but he was not present at the trial, apparently because he had murdered his wife a few days earlier. See Gough, Gunboat Frontier, 61–7; and Arnett, The Terror, 132–41, 171, 274–307. 45 Due to the shortage of settler women, many men in Victoria had to perform such tasks. Perry, On the Edge, 25–6. 46 The bed must have been small, for it was common practice for young men of that period to sleep together. Rotundo, American Manhood, 85. 47 Ishiguro, “A Dreadful Little Glutton,” 278. 48 The picaresque novel Gil Blas was written by Alain-René Lesage in 1715. 49 Smollett’s translation of Voltaire’s The History of Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia was published in 1848 by Leavitt, Trow and Co. of New York. https:// archive.org/details/historypetergre00unkngoog. Viewed 15 February 2018. 50 Autobiographical notes. 51 On male-to-male social relationships in colonial British Columbia, see Perry, On the Edge, 32–6. 52 See Johnson, A Not-So-Savage Land, 41–71. Mount Whymper, located between the headwaters of the Chemainus River and the South Nanaimo River, was presumably named in his honour. 53 Autobiographical notes. 54 He had written on February 5 that the food was “salt beef[,] potatoes[,], Buisquit & rice soup.” 55 Henry wrote on 24 February that he had enjoyed his oranges, and “bought a Banama the first I ever eat[;] has a sort of sickly sweetness.” 56 The famous St Albans raid, during which Confederates robbed local banks and fled into Canada, would not take place until the following

notes to PaGes 97–102

173

October, but the town was obviously being guarded by soldiers in the attempt to discourage army deserters from crossing the border. See Little, “From Borderland.” 57 See Henderson, “No Money,” 17–37.

Chapter Four 1 See Campbell, The Hero. 2 Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 95. 3 The cause of death is mentioned in an undated letter from Maria’s grandson, Phil Robins, to a Mrs Caya in Sherbrooke. Copy kindly forwarded to me by Denis Lambert. 4 Saint-Jean, Drummondville, 56–7. 5 Hughes, French Canada in Transition, 30. 6 “Caya, Joseph-Trefflé,” Répertoire du patrimoine culture du Québec. patrimoine-culturel.gouv.qc.ca. Viewed 6 March 2020. 7 Antoine Caya is recorded in the 1871 Canada census as a fifty-nine-yearold baker. Saint-Jean, Drummondville, 99. 8 Rose, What Is Gender History? 60, 67. Eliza’s official name was Marie-EllenÉlisa Caya. Her birth date is listed in the baptismal registry as 10 February 1844. www.mauricevallee.ca. Viewed 26 October 2018. As a minor, she required the formal permission of her parents to marry. Gagnon, Mariage et famille, 93–106. French-Canadian parents rarely went beyond the condition that the wedding be delayed for a few months. See Bouchard, Quelques arpents, 258–9; and Little, Crofters and Habitants, 127–8. 9 Verrier, La famille Trent, 27. 10 Charland-Rajotte, Drummondville, 23. 11 See Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 484; and Gagnon, Plaisir d’amour, 84–7. 12 Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 14–15. 13 Ibid., 308–9. 14 Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 484; Gagnon, Mariage et famille, 170–3; The Collective Clio, Quebec Women, 131–4. 15 Verrier, La famille Trent, 22–3. 16 The separation option was becoming increasingly common for rural French Canadians. Bouchard, Quelques Arpents, 261. 17 See Bradbury et al., “Property and Marriage.” Such an obligation was normally in lieu of the traditional dower that guaranteed a widow the benefit

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19 20 21 22 23 24 25

26 27

28

29

notes to PaGes 102–4

of a portion of the estate upon her husband’s death. Eliza did not renounce her dower right, however, which otherwise persisted under civil law until the new Civil Code was enacted in 1866. See Bradbury, Wife to Widow, 144–50. Verrier, La famille Trent, 60–4, Gagnon, Mariage et famille, 137. Quebec’s bishops strongly opposed intermarriages until the 1840s, when they reluctantly agreed to them with the proviso of Catholic baptism for the offspring and the teaching of the principles of the Catholic faith. Hudon, Prêtres et fidèles, 381. Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 486–7; Gossage, Families in Transition, 95–6. On the Church’s rather futile attempts to control the “noces,” see Gagnon, Mariage et famille, 193–8. See Gagnon, Mariage et famille, 130–8. On the standard Catholic wedding ceremony in Lower Canada, see 188–93. A small number of Protestant-Catholic marriages did take place in preindustrial Drummondville. Hughes, French Canada in Transition, 34. For a succinct account of the rise of Catholic ultramontanism in Quebec at that time, see Voisine, Histoire de l’Église Catholique, 39–54. On the complex relationship between French-Canadian wedding charivaris and Catholicism, see Greer, The Patriots and the People, 69–86. Joseph Boisvert was a justice of the peace and his son Joseph Domplait Boisvert owned a local store. Also in attendance were Antoine Caya, Trefflé Caya, and Ferdinand Caya. Marriage registry, St-Frédéric, Drummondville, 1 May 1864. My thanks to Denis Lambert for sending me a copy of this document. On the traditional post-wedding celebration, see Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 488–92. Tosh, A Man’s Place, 3. Hughes (French Canada in Transition, 33) notes that during its preindustrial era, the French-Canadian business and professional men of Drummondville (which he refers to as “Cantonville”) “occupied the leading positions in civic and parish institutions.” Noël (Family Life, 104) claims, mistakenly in this case, that diaries are of limited value for determining how spouses got along throughout their marriage. Only the seventh of the fourteen births took place within longer than a twenty-two-month interval, and the third and fourth births took place after only fifteen months each. Verrier, La famille Trent, 27. On the detailed advice to newly married couples concerning sexual intercourse in the early nineteenth century, see Gagnon, Plaisir d’amour, 88–91. On the natalist discourse in later-nineteenth-century Quebec, see Gauvreau, Gervais, and

notes to PaGes 104–9

30

31

32

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

43 44

45

175

Gossage, La Fécondité, 49–55. On the question of whether the husband or wife played the major role in deciding on the number of births, see Gossage, Families in Transition, 174–6. McInnis, “The Population of Canada,” 392–6. Middle-class FrenchCanadian women had, nevertheless, begun to limit their pregnancies by the later nineteenth century. Gossage, Families in Transition, 141, 144–8, 152, 156–60, 170–6. The intervals for the last two births were seventeen and twenty-two months, respectively. Verrier (La famille Trent, 27) states that the last birth took place on March 1888, but the parish registry reveals that it was actually May 1888. My research on Quebec’s Winslow township found that during the 1860s and 1870s, the average spacing of births did not begin to increase until the age of forty for French-Canadian women. Little, Crofters and Habitants, 83. Not many more than half the children reached adulthood. See Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 315, 330; Bouchard, Quelques Arpents, 179–81; Gossage, Families in Transition, 152–4; and Little, Crofters and Habitants, 85–9. Verrier, La famille Trent, 27, 31; Société Historique de Drummondville, Famille Trent, folder 272. Gagnon, Mariage et famille, 134. Pregnancies were not even mentioned by most female diarists in the Victorian era. Hoffman and Taylor, Much to Be Done, 42–3. Marler, Marler, 45–50. Noël, Family Life, 196. Hewitt, “Diary, Autobiography,” 31. Quoted in Verrier, La famille Trent, 27. www.mauricevallee.ca. Viewed 26 October 2018. Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, Henry Trent to My Dear God Mother, 1 November 1865 (draft). High French-Canadian infant mortality may have been due largely to relatively short breast-feeding periods. See Little, Crofters and Habitants, 85–9. Her full name was Marie-Esther-Adélaïde-Georgianna. www.mauricevallee.ca. It is no longer assumed by historians that husbands were not present at the birth of their children during the nineteenth century. Noël, Family Life, 135–6. The pre-1876 parish registers are not online, but Henry’s name as attendee was recorded for only one of the seven baptisms that took place thereafter.

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notes to PaGes 109–13

46 Verrier, La famille Trent, 27. 47 Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 139; Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 326–8, 329. 48 Henry Trent to Dear Godmother, Wendover near Drummondville, 28 September 1864 (draft). 49 On this theme, see Crowley, “Rural Labour,” 32–6. 50 On the theme of women’s work on the farm, see Campbell, “I wish to keep,” 210–26; and Sandwell, Canada’s Rural Majority, 90–1. 51 Correspondence, 1839–61, Henry Trent to My Dear Sir, 4 April 1865[sic]. 52 Letters from his godmother, 1846–65, Henry Trent to My Dear God Mother, 1 November 1865 (draft). 53 Crowley, “Rural Labour,” 46. 54 The wage rate for female servants in rural Ontario during the first half of the nineteenth century was at most half that of male farm labourers. Crowley, “Rural Labour,” 25. 55 Errington, Wives and Mothers, 113. The $80 per year for girl domestics that was calculated for the central Quebec district in 1881 is clearly inflated. Female teachers earned only $92 per year in 1881. Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 251, 258. 56 At this time Quebec rural families had not yet joined the fertility transition. Gossage, Families in Transition, 173. 57 See Noël, Family Life, 84–5; and Errington, Wives and Mothers, 107–30. 58 Quebec farmers cut their next year’s supply of firewood between December and February. Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 80–1, 430–5. 59 MacFadyen, “Hewers of Wood,” 132–6, 139. The quotation is from page 132. Sandwell (Canada’s Rural Majority, 89) estimates that in southern Quebec and Ontario, about a fifth of a farmer’s waking hours were spent finding, chopping, and stacking the wood required to cook and heat the farmhouse. That estimate appears to be low as far as Trent was concerned. 60 G.L. Marler had originally owned the store. Marler, Marler, 37. 61 On this theme, see Noël, Family Life, 93–6. 62 Henry wrote on 12 December that “Mrs A. Caya lent us about 1/4 bushell of ashes for Eliza to make her soap with.” On the home production of soap in Quebec, see Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 84–5. 63 In 1871 Cooke owned a sawmill and a brick yard in Wendover, and he was building a steam-operated sawmill that would employ twelve men in Simpson. There were also much larger sawmills downstream on the St Francis. Canada manuscript census, 1871, Wendover and Simpson; Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 161, 163–4.

notes to PaGes 114–20

177

64 See, for example, Ulrich, The Widwife’s Tale, 90. 65 According to Provencher (Les quatres saisons, 27), “Lors des grandes boucheries de décembre, on prévoit toujours le ‘morceau du voisin.’” 66 Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 172. On the important role of work bees in nineteenth-century rural Ontario, see Wilson, “Reciprocal Work Bees.” 67 On this theme, see Craig, Backwoods Consumers. My thanks to Denis Lambert for the soil information provided by his father, Germain Lambert, who was the farm’s manager in the mid-twentieth century. Personal communication, 26 November 2019. 68 Buckwheat was never sown before June due to its sensitivity to frost. Provencher, Les quatres saisons, 109. 69 For the official report of 1874 condemning the abuse of the St Francis fishery, see Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 177–9. 70 Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 220. There is a sharp contrast between the number of days devoted to haying that are estimated in O’Mara, “The Seasonal Round,” 107, and in Sandwell, Canada’s Rural Majority, 98. 71 Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 222. 72 On the many steps required for this time-consuming process, see Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 339–47. 73 This was still less than a third of what adult male and female labourers in the district earned annually, according to the 1881 census. Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 251. 74 Crowley, “Rural Labour,” 35. 75 Crowley states that such dependency had become associated with rural poverty; “Rural Labour,” 58. 76 See Little, “Ox and Horse Power,” 63. 77 Full-time rural labourers (engagées), on the other hand, were generally unmarried men who lived in the household of their employer. See Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 162–6. 78 Inwood and Wagg, “The Survival of Handloom Weaving,” 352. It appears likely that the flannel was made by a handloom weaver rather than in a factory, for Henry simply states that they paid the money to Côté’s clerk who was to give it to Mme Côté. 79 High wine is distilled from low wine and used in the manufacture of spirits such as whiskey and vodka. Malcolm Tatum, “What Is High Wine?” www.wisegeek.com. Viewed 12 September 2020. 80 On that day, the curé was normally followed by a couple of church wardens to collect the donations. Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 460–1.

178

notes to PaGes 120–4

81 Verrier, La famille Trent, 30. Like his father, Henry had been plagued with timber thieves on the Acton lots. See diary entry for 1 February 1866. 82 Drummond and neighbouring Arthabaska were the province’s two top counties in terms of supplying hemlock bark. Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 171–2. On the large-scale exploitation of hemlock for its bark, see Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 241–2. 83 Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 224–5. 84 On this theme, see Sandwell, Canada’s Rural Majority, 16–17. 85 According to Kesteman et al., 125 acres was generally the limit that could be cultivated in the Eastern Townships by a household with three or four adults and one or two farm workers. Kesteman, Southam, and Saint-Pierre, Histoire des Cantons de l’Est, 289. 86 The price was $600, at eight percent interest. Verrier, La famille Trent, 30n19. 87 The county averages are from the 1870–71 Canada Census Reports. 88 McInnis, “Marketable Surpluses,” 43. 89 Butter and cheese factories did not open in the Quebec-Centre district until the 1880s, and factory butter was only four percent of the total produced as late as 1891. Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 146. 90 Lewis and McInnis (“Agricultural Output,” A-10) estimate that the average adult consumption of butter in Lower Canada in 1852 was thirty pounds, and Atack and Bateman (To Their Own Soil, 159–60) estimate that percapita consumption in the northeastern United States in 1861 was twentyfive pounds of butter and five pounds of cheese. On the role of butter production for farm women, see Sandwell, The Rural Majority, 92–3. 91 It has been estimated that the average household consumption of wool and wool-blended cloth in eighteenth-century Pennsylvania was slightly over fifty yards, but that state had a warmer climate than Quebec. Inwood and Wagg, “The Survival of Handloom Weaving,” 349, 354. 92 Canada manuscript census, 1871, Wendover and Simpson, Quebec. In 1931, Quebec farmers reported burning twenty-four cords of wood, a figure that MacFadyen claims had not changed much since 1871, but the Trent house was considerably larger than those of most farmers. MacFadyen, “Hewers of Wood,” 150. See also Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 432. 93 On the origins of the agricultural revolution in the Drummond County area and beyond, see Blouin, “La mécanisation.” 94 Letters from sister, 1851–82, Henry to Dear Sister (copy), 8 February 1873.

notes to PaGes 124–7

179

95 Ibid., Henry to J.A. Dimmock (copy), Wendover, 9 May 1871. 96 Ibid., H. Trent to Dear Pidcock (copy), 21 March 1872. 97 Ibid., Henry to Dear Companion d’Voyage [Brown] (copy), Drummondville, 21 March 1872. 98 Ibid., Henry to Dear Sister (copy), 8 February 1873. 99 Verrier, La famille Trent, 27. 100 J.A. Dimmock to Henry Trent, 13 March 1873. Copy kindly provided by Denis Lambert. 101 Ulrich, The Midwife’s Tale, 221. 102 Correspondence 1837–, Henry Trent to Dear Sister, Drummondville, 8–9 February 1873, 23 February 1873, 13 March 1872 [sic], and undated pages. 103 Letters from sister, 1851–82, Henry to Dear Sister (copy), 8 February 1873. 104 Verrier, La famille Trent, 30. 105 Henry wrote in his diary on 25 December 1897: “Got letters from Annette and George with Comax papers.” Two days later he forwarded the papers to W. Watts, the MPP, but without apparent result. 106 H. Trent to J.A. Dimmock, 29 September 1873 (copy). Copy kindly provided by Denis Lambert. 107 J.A. Dimmock to Dear Trent, Ely, 6 October 1873. Copy kindly provided by Denis Lambert. 108 Dunae, Gentlemen Emigrants, 48–9; Verrier, La famille Trent, 29. 109 Canada manuscript census, 1881, Wendover and Simpson, Quebec. The move may have been made in 1874, for Henry wrote in his diary (12 February 1883) that Hillaire Charpentier of Grantham had paid him the $200 owing on a mortgage dated 1874. 110 McCord Museum, P022/P2,3, Henry Trent, Actes notariés, Drummond County registry office deed, 22 August 1882. Henry’s diary entry for 19 February 1883 records that he paid off his debt of $59.60 for the lumber used to construct the buildings. 111 Gossage, Families in Transition, 152. The parish register does not mention the cause of the two deaths. 112 Statement of Henry Trent for Bradstreet Company, Drummondville, 26 April 1883; addendum dated 2 May 1883. Copy kindly provided by Denis Lambert. 113 Charland-Rajotte, Drummondville, 44–5, 68–9; Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 183–4, 199. 114 Statement of Henry Trent.

180

notes to PaGes 128–33

115 Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to Dear Henry, May 1882. Maria had a special attachment to Annette, writing when she was younger: “I so often think of my dear little niece[;] she is as dear to me, as my own.” Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to My dear Henry, no date. 116 Henry wrote on 9 February that he had seen Trefflé, “and got the agreement from him between the farmer Charpentier and myself.” And he wrote on 26 March that he had paid Charpentier $4.25 for his share of straw and $4.05 for lentil seed to be sown on the farm, adding “this is our share of the farm.” 117 Henry also wrote on 28 March that “Treffly and Ejemy [Effemé] called evening.” 118 The winter snowfall in the St Lawrence valley is rarely less than seven feet (approximately four metres). Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 400. 119 On the challenges created by snowstorms on another eastern Canadian railway, see Cruickshank, “Forest, Stream and … Snowstorms?” 120 On this theme, see Craig, Backwoods Consumers, chapter 9. 121 Lloyd Alter, “Is Wood Harvested in a Waning Moon (Moon Wood) Better for Building?” treehugger.com. Viewed 5 March 2020. 122 A small convent had been opened in Drummondville in 1875. The village girls were taught separately from the boarders but had to attend Mass twice each Sunday accompanied by the nuns. Charland-Rajotte, Drummondville, 126–9. 123 Two daughters did work in the Drummondville post office before they married, but they lived in town when the family was on the farm, and presumably supported themselves as opposed to contributing to the family. Ulrich (The Midwife’s Tale, 81) notes that Martha Ballad’s sister gave birth to six daughters before a son was born, making it difficult for her husband to establish a farm and forcing the family to send the daughters out to work. 124 On the role of older siblings, see Davidoff, “Kinship as a Categorical Concept,” 414. 125 Bibliothèque et Archives nationale du Québec, Collection numérique, Registres de l’état civil, Saint-Frédéric-de-Drummondville, 1876–1915. Entries for 1885–87 are missing.

Chapter Five 1 Henry had invested fifty dollars in shares. Receipt from Drummondville Bridge Company, 2 July 1885. Document kindly provided by Denis Lambert.

notes to PaGes 133–41

181

2 Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 214, 217. 3 Joseph Ena Girouard, n.p., no. 3111, 8 May 1889. Copy kindly provided by Denis Lambert. 4 The average life expectancy when those who died before the age of ten are included was estimated at forty-two in 1861 and fifty-two in 1901. Bourbeau and Légaré, Évolution de la mortalité, 31. 5 Sandwell, Canada’s Rural Majority, 15. 6 The standard practice in Canada was for the parents to donate the family farm to a son rather than delaying the transfer until death. See Gagan, “The Indivisibility of Land;” and Bouchard and de Pourbaix, “Individual and Family Life Courses.” 7 Bellavance, Roy, and Rousseau, Histoire du Centre-du-Québec, 217, 324–8. The French-Canadian population of Salem had increased from 1 in 1860 to 2,000 in 1880. Most were originally from the Rimouski area of the lower St Lawrence. Roby, Les Franco-Américains, 22, 63. According to one contemporary in 1882, most of the French-speaking population had been recruited by two men, though this most likely applied to the factory workers rather than the liberal professionals. Ramirez, On the Move, 115. 8 www.mauricevallee.ca. Viewed 26 October 2018. Heneretta had still been living at home in 1891. Canada manuscript census, 1891, Wendover and Simpson. 9 On the nurturing father in Upper Canada, see Errington, Wives and Mothers, 66, 73. 10 What were referred to as “bottes sauvages” were commonly worn by French-Canadian farmers. Provencher, Les quatre saisons, 430. 11 In rural Quebec, children began helping with chores by the time they were seven or eight years old. Provencher, Les quatres saisons, 72–3. 12 Terry Crowley states that unpublished diaries and account books from nineteenth-century Ontario show that farm wives were consulted about such major purchases as horses or cream separators, “but they seldom mention women’s involvement in decisions about what crops to plant or other aspects of economic management.” Crowley, “Rural Labour,” 67. 13 The Family Herald and Weekly Star, subtitled “Canada’s National Farm Magazine,” was published by the Montreal Star. Family Herald and Weekly Star Fonds. 14 In the spring of 1866, Henry had “Tapped two or three soft maples to get some sap for Eliza’s vinagar” (7 April), but the sugar shanty that he had laboriously built in 1846 obviously remained abandoned, for he had to purchase the family’s maple sugar that year (18 April).

182

notes to PaGes 141–50

15 On Canadian women’s farm work, see Sandwell, Canada’s Rural Majority, 88–91. 16 American shad are a migratory fish that spawn from the St Lawrence to the St John’s River in Florida. In the St Lawrence they spawn from early May to early July. Maltais et al., “Spawning Dynamics,” 591. 17 Kesteman, Southam, and Saint-Pierre, Histoire des Cantons de l’Est, 316–19. 18 On courtship spaces in English Canada during this period, see Ward, Courtship, Love, and Marriage, 68–71, 76–80. 19 On this theme, see Tosh, A Man’s Place, 152–4. 20 1901 Canada manuscript census report, Wendover and Simpson. 21 Verrier, La famille Trent, 65–7. 22 Canada manuscript census report, 1901, Drummondville. The donation was drafted on 10 October, and Maggie married on 7 November of the same year. Verrier (La famille Trent, 31) is mistaken in claiming that she married in 1898. My thanks to Jean David for this information. 23 Verrier (La famille Trent, 31) claims that before attending university, Robin was enrolled in the Nicolet seminary; however, he was attending classes in Saint-Hyacinthe in 1903 and 1904. Miscellaneous Correspondence, 1885–1905, R. Trent to Ma chère Maman, St Hyacinthe, 19 September 1903; Robin Trent to Mon cher Norris, St. Hyacinthe, November 1904. 24 Provencher (Les quatre saisons, 484–5) states that French-Canadian daughters were pushed into marriage, but an inheriting son who delayed marriage was considered to have certain advantages from the perspective of the parents. 25 The estate was expropriated by the province to become the Parc des Voltigeurs in honour of the regiment that had helped to establish Drummondville, and the house was finally restored at a cost of $250,000 in 1970. Verrier, La famille Trent, 33–6, 45. 26 Ulrich, The Midwife’s Tale, 220. 27 See Tosh, A Man’s Place, 61. 28 Cole, The Journey of Life, 91, 127.

Conclusion 1 Gélinas, “La Mauricie des Abénaquis.” 2 See Greenwood, Legacies of Fear. 3 See Little, Ethno-Cultural Transition.

notes to PaGes 150–3 4 5 6 7 8

9 10

11 12 13 14

15

16 17 18

183

Letters from sister, 1851–82, Maria to Henry, Wendover, 15 February 186_. Ibid., Maria to Henry, Tuesday. Cannadine, Ornamentalism, 10. See Tosh, A Man’s Place, 4, 27, 34–42. For the impact of evangelical religion, see Davidoff and Hall, Family Fortunes; and Griffen, “Reconstructing Masculinity.” For examples of domesticity within mid-nineteenth-century Anglican (and not evangelical) families in the Eastern Townships, see Vansittart, ed., Lifelines: The Stacey Letters; Little, ed., Love Strong as Death; and Little, “The Fireside Kingdom.” Frances, “The Deconstruction of the Male?” 639–40. See also Mintz and Kellogg, Domestic Revolutions, 43–65. Tosh, A Man’s Place, 97, 99–100; Greven, The Protestant Temperament. A household was “child-centred” when the needs of the children determined much of its domestic activity. Tosh, A Man’s Place, 28. See also Errington, Wives and Mothers, 72–3. Ritchie, “‘Cartographies of Silence,’” 22. See also Huskins and Boudreau, “Daily Allowances,” 107. Campbell, “I wish to keep,” 47. Motz, “Folk Expression, of Time and Place,” 134, 138. On rural diaries and the weather, see Campbell, “I wish to keep,” 6. Unlike the nineteenth-century rural diarist examined by Daniel Samson, Henry’s moods as expressed by his writing were not much affected by the weather. Samson, “Weather and Emotion.” Noël argues that the main value of the diaries she examined was that they showed “the extent to which an individual was immersed in a dense network of family, neighbours, and kin,” and her major conclusion is that family life “was not located in the narrow private world of the domestic sphere but in a much broader social space.” Noël, Family Life, 4, 13, 191–2, 228–35. And Campbell (“I wish to keep,” 170) states that “Above all, the modern reader will be struck by the sheer number of people encompassed within the circumference of a woman’s social circle.” On taverns and sociability, see Roberts, In Mixed Company. See Noël, Family Life, 58. Carter, “Accounting for Time.” See also her “An Economy of Words.” Similarly, Anne-Marie Millman argues, in her examination of diaries written by seven Victorian men and women of letters, that they reflect “an attitude towards life fundamentally economic in nature.” Millman, The Victorian Diary, 25.

184

notes to PaGes 153–5

19 Holman and Kristofferson, ed., More of a Man, 6–7. Similarly, Thomas Augst argues that the main purpose of diaries written by young male clerks in the northeastern United States during the nineteenth century was to keep an account of their moral and spiritual development. Augst, The Clerk’s Tale, 22–3. For two different kinds of religious accounting in Canadian men’s diaries, see Little, ed., “Death in the Lower St. John River Valley” and Little, “The Mental World of Ralph Merry.” 20 The practical use of these entries was limited by the fact that the exact values of his cumulative debts and credits were recorded only sporadically. In fact, Henry occasionally kept separate account books for that purpose. Those for 1857, 1861, 1862, and 1881 are in the archives of the McCord Museum. 21 See Bunkers and Huff, “Issues in Studying Women’s Diaries,” 7, 11–12. 22 On this point, see McCurdy, “‘Your Affectionate Brother,’” 516. 23 See Stearns and Stearns, Anger: The Struggle for Emotional Control. 24 In making this point, Roper is critiquing Joan Scott in particular. Roper, “Slipping Out of View,” 60, 67. See also Rose, What Is Gender History? 107–8. For one example of a rural diary that refers to family and emotions as well as the weather and community, see Schuurs, “George Easton’s Diary.” And for an analysis of the varying degrees of subjectivity in four nineteenth-century French-Canadian female diaries, see Baudoin, “Stratégies énonciatives.” 25 On nineteenth-century British diaries as bequests, see Steinitz, Time, Space, and Gender, 93–5. 26 Carter, The Small Details, 25.

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Index

Abenaki First Nation, 24–5, 44, 150, 162n15 Acton township, Qc, 19, 36–7, 39, 46–7, 50, 113, 120, 122 alcohol, consumption of, 34, 40, 62, 66, 70, 80, 83–4, 86, 90–1, 94–5, 98, 100, 105–6, 108, 120–1, 128, 131, 144, 153 Arnett, Jeffrey, 45 baptism, 106, 109 bee, building, 110, 115 Begbie, Matthew, 58 birth rates, 104, 175n29–31 Blaksley, Harry, 76 Blodgett, Harriet, 4 Boisvert, Joseph, 35, 100, 103, 175n25 boy culture, 22–3, 44. See also childhood, history of Brack, Robert, 32, 36, 38 bride ship, 62, 75 British American Land Company, 1, 16 Burt, George, 59, 73, 86–8, 92–5 Burt, Thomas, 57–60, 73, 93–4

Burt, Thomas Jr, 57, 59, 66, 73, 82, 87, 90, 92–5 Campbell, Gail, 4, 152 Cannadine, David, 60, 151 Cariboo gold mines, 73, 87, 90 Carter, Kathryn, 4, 153 Catholic Church, and marriage, 101 Caya, Antoine (and wife), 100–1, 105–7, 113, 125, 128, 130, 133 Caya, Ferdinand, 113 Caya, Trefflé (and wife), 100, 103–5, 108–9, 120, 144 childbirth, 106–9 childhood, history of, 21 Chinook dialect, 78–80, 89 Christmas, 106, 120, 139, 143–4 Civil War, US, 56–7 Clay, Richard, 55, 57, 59–60, 94, 168n45 Cole, Thomas R., 148–9 Columbia(n) Emigration Society, 59, 62, 169n72 Comox, Bc, 74–5, 97, 124–5 Comox (Sae-luth) First Nation, 75–6

200

Index

Cooke, J. Valentine, 113, 177n63 courtship, 100–1 Cowichan valley, Bc, 79 culture of sensibility, 27 diaries: materiality of, 6–10; motivation for, 10–11; the nature and study of, 4–6, 11, 13, 98, 152–4; shipboard, 60–1 Dimmock, J.A., 59, 110, 125 Dix, Thomas, 59, 73, 89–90, 92, 94–5 Domaine Trent. See house, Trent domestic patriarchy, 148, 152 Douglas, Governor James, 74 Drummond, Lewis Thomas, 36–7, 46 Drummondville, Qc, development of, 17, 41, 53, 100, 121, 127, 133–4, 150 economic exchange, rural, 113–15, 129–30 Ely inheritance, 51 emerging adulthood, 45–6 Errington, Jane, 112 Esquimalt, Bc, 82 Falkland Islands, 69–70 fatherhood, 106–7. See also domestic patriarchy Female Middle-Class Emigration Society, 62, 169n72 ferry, foot passenger, 82–6, 93 firewood, 107, 111–13, 117, 119–21, 123, 135–41, 144, 146–7 First Nations, 74, 77–9, 88–9; attitudes toward, 79–80, 89;

economy of, 90, 96–7. See also Abenaki, Comox, Lekwiltok, Pentlach fishing: St Francis River, 23, 25, 29, 40, 109–10, 115, 141–2; Vancouver Island, 88–9 Francis, Martin, 152 Garrett, Rev. John, 59–60, 62 Gill, Joseph, 24–5 Goldstream Creek, Bc, 89, 91–2 Gulf Islands, Bc, 75, 79. See also Lamalcha Bay gum stick, 77–8, 172n27 harvest, 41. See also production, agricultural Hassam, Andrew, 61 health: Eliza’s, 106–8, 127, 139; Henry’s, 62–3, 75, 99, 105, 120, 131, 136, 138, 140, 143–7 hemlock bark, 121, 128 Heriot, Lieutenant-Colonel Frederick George, 17, 27, 162n21 Hogan, Patrick, and family, 53–4, 57–8, 98–9, 106, 109–11 Hogg, Robert, 151 Holman, Andrew, 153 house, Trent, 17, 19, 105, 107, 139, 145, 148, 150–1, 154 Hudson’s Bay Company, the, 33–4 hunting and trapping: in Lower Canada / Quebec, 22–4, 26, 41, 109, 118, 123, 135–8, 147, 151; on Vancouver Island, 76–7, 81–2, 89 hygiene, 62–3, 66–8, 95–6, 105, 117 infant mortality, 47–50

Index Ishiguro, Laura, 90

201

Mintz, Stephen, 12 Motz, Marilyn, 153

journals. See diaries Kristofferson, Robert, 153 Kuper Island, Bc. See Lamalcha Bay labour, shipboard strike, 64–5. See also servants / hired help Lamalcha Bay, Bc, 82, 84–5 Lekwiltok (Eucletaw) First Nation, 76 Lent, 129, 140 life course, human, 12 London, England, 55–9 MacFadyen, Josh, 112 McKutchen, J., 75 manliness/masculinity, 5, 55–6, 97, 153 Manoir Trent. See house, Trent maple sugar, 24–6 Marler, George Leonard, 37, 48, 105, 112, 114 marriage: age at, 101; ceremony, 102–3; contract, 102; inventory, 102; mixed, 102–3 Marshall, William, 51–2 meals: home, 111, 120, 136, 137, 139, 140; shipboard, 61–3, 66, 68–70, 95–6 mental illness. See Trent, George Norris Menzies, Major, 23, 28 microhistory, 12–13 Millar, Robert J., 53–4, 58 Min Min, 75, 78, 171n19

neighbours, relationship with, 35, 99–100, 111, 114–16, 141–2 Nicolet, College de, 37–9, 142, 144 Nussbaum, Felicity, 13 Odanak, 24 paternity suit, 51–3 Pentlach First Nation, 75 Perry, Adele, 83 Pidcock, Reginald Heber, 76–8, 80–2, 124 pigeons, passenger, 23, 162n9 Port Stanley. See Falkland Islands production: agricultural, 41, 113–16, 119–23, 144; household, 113, 123–4, 130; lumber/pickets/rails), 121, 123, 130–1, 139, 141. See also hemlock bark Provencher, Jean, 115 railway transportation, 129 Rebellion of 1837, 17 Redfern, Charles, 61–2, 65–7, 71 religiosity, 104, 127–8. See also Lent Ritchie, Joanne, 151 Robb, James, 75, 78, 80–1, 124 Robins, John, 22, 30, 40 Robins, Robin, 53 Robins, William, 22, 39, 47, 49–50, 98 Roper, Michael, 5, 154 Rotundo, Anthony, 23, 44 Roughing It in the Bush, 78

202

Index

St Francis River, Qc, 19; crossing of, 22, 50, 99, 106, 108–9, 113, 121, 130; flooding of, 99, 115 St Francis, Qc, village of. See Odanak St Paul’s School, 16 Salem, Ma, 133, 143–5, 182n7 San Francisco, ca, 95 self-improvement, 26–31, 90–1 servants / hired help, 33, 42–3, 47–9, 111–14, 116–120, 122, 124, 128, 141. See also Brack, Robert and Hogan, Patrick) Simoneau, Antoine, 26 Siwash, 78–9 Smith, A.G., 59, 73, 90, 93 social class, 5–6 Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge (sPck), 57 Steinitz, Rebecca, 3, 98 tamarack, 41–2 Tomo Antoine, 84–5, 172n44 Topaze, the, 84, 85 Tosh, John, 52, 103, 148, 152 Trent, Annette (Antoinette, Dorothy), 106–8, 121–2, 127–8, 133, 138–9, 141–6 Trent, Francesca, 124, 134, 143–4, 146 Trent, Frederick (Freddie), 127, 137–41, 143, 145–7 Trent, George Norris, 1, 14–15, 17, 19–20, 32, 34–7, 46–7, 50–1, 150–1, 154

Trent, Georgianna (George), 108, 121, 127–8, 133, 139, 142–4, 146 Trent, Henriette (Heneretta), 109, 121, 127, 133, 140, 143–4 Trent, Margaret (Maggie), 124, 135–6, 138, 140, 143, 145–7 Trent, Maria, 14–15, 38–9, 46–51, 54, 127–8, 144, 150–1 Trent, Marie-Anne (Minnie), 135–9, 143, 147 Trent, Norris, 136–44, 147 Trent, Robert Julien (Robin), 133, 138–41, 143, 147 Trent, Victoria (Lilly), 124, 134, 143–4, 146–7 Tynemouth, the, description of, 57–8, 61 Ulrich, Laurel Thatcher, 6, 125, 148 Victoria, Bc: Chinese in, 73–4, 91; labour conditions in, 89–91; landscape of, 74–5 Voltigeurs, 17, 19 Watts, Robert Nugent, 35–6 Wendover township, Qc, 17–19 Whymper, Frederick, 57–9, 61, 63–5, 67, 69–70, 73, 88, 92, 94–5 Whymper, Josiah Wood, 60 youth, 46