mpmckibbon

A Hymn for Autumn

Here is a hymn I wrote for Autumn. It is the first hymn I created the music for with the help of my good friend, Harold Hellam. Harold arranged it for me. What a thrill to hear the congregation in our church sing it for the first time! Praise God for his many blessings.

Autumn Wears A Coat of Many Colours

Words by Mollie McKibbon

Music by Mollie McKibbon

Autumn wears a coat of many colours

Just like Joseph long ago:

Red and copper, gold and orange,

Everything in autumn glows.

God made all the colours of the rainbow,

Sky above and earth below;

Blue and purple, green and yellow,

Everything that lives and grows.

God made all his children like a rainbow,

Round and round the earth we go:

Eyes that sparkle, smiles that brighten.

It’s God’s love that makes us glow!

If you wish to use this hymn please contact me through this blog.

Adeline’s Journal: Summer 1813

Adeline’s Journal: A Fictional Account of a Young Woman’s Life During the War of 1812

Thistledown Farm Sunday, July 4, 1813

Dear Janetta,

Thank goodness for Sabbath. I am so fatigued today, my back hurts and my feet ache.

Father has fully recovered from his wound and is therefore now back at the fort, so the hay cutting has all been left to Henry, Mother, Evvy and me.

Elizabeth and William have been back at their farm since June, when William returned wounded from the attack on Sackett’s Harbour. Henry goes to their farm when he can, which hasn’t been too often, given the extra work we have here now.

William has been unable to work the land, so our crops are even more important as we will be sharing them. Providentially, we will probably have a double crop of hay this year, but it is good that Elizabeth has been able to put in a vegetable garden.

Of course, everybody has been faced with the same difficulties because of the war with the Americans. We are fortunate not to have lost family members, as some others have, not just to wounds but to grave illnesses. Arthur Randall had to return home from duty very ill with fever. He was thankfully, nursed back to health by his mother, but many others were not as blessed. Charles wrote me to say that two of his good friends in the troop died from dysentery and another is sick with mumps. Of course, the air at the barracks is often fetid in the heat. It must be unhealthy.

I am very relieved to know that Father and Charles have been mostly out on patrol along the St. Lawrence in the fresh air. Charles has a good friend in the Algonquian tribe, White Wolf who patrols with him. White Wolf ‘s family and tribe have not had these illnesses, but Charles once told me that measles have been known to be deadly in the past. It is very hard for little children, like our dear late Virginia, to fight off disease. Mother continues to mourn her passing every spring and no doubt every day.

My goodness, I am becoming most melancholy. On a cheerier note, Mr. Randall came by with Robert this morning to deliver a letter to mother from father and one to me from Charles. Charles has informed me that Father and he have spoken and Father now approves of our friendship. I am so happy that this is so. I am very fond of Charles and do enjoy every opportunity that we have together and every letter he sends me.

I was pleased to be able to talk to Robert and thank him for rescuing me from the battle in Ogdensburg. He insisted that it was what any soldier would have done for another, but I think he was being most modest. He said that he wasn’t sure who I was until he saw my strawberry blond braids. That was his description, Janetta. I’ve only ever thought of my hair as too dark to be blond and too pale to be auburn. I still wish my hair was black and curly like your’s. Ah well, I will simply have to put my hair up in rags each night forever to have any kind of ringlets. Evvy says I should use a curling iron, but frankly I don’t trust myself not to burn the hair off my head.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention, Robert’s drawings. He is quite an artist, you know. He was working away on a drawing this morning while he and his father waited for Mother to write a reply to Father’s letter. At first, he didn’t want me to see it, but I wheedled away at him until he showed it to me. It was the most exquisite drawing of a little chipmunk that lives in our woodpile. He said that I might keep it and so now it sits here on our desk. I will have to find some way to display it properly.

Always yours,

Adeline

Sunday, July 24,1813

Dear Janetta,

I am so happy I could burst! Today we had an unexpected visitor – Charles, himself. He had received special permission to call upon us with a big surprise. He has been given the rank of Sergeant and a pay raise comes with it. So now he is Sergeant Charles Houghton.

Charles arrived while I was in the henhouse and Evvy called me to come to the house. I must have looked quite a sight with my hair covered in hen feathers and straw, a grapevine basket over my arm filled with dirty eggs. I didn’t see Charles at first, as he had taken off his red jacket and was standing in the shadow of the little stone porch Father had made. I almost dropped the basket of eggs when he swooped me up in an embrace. I’m sure that I turned as red as his jacket.

“Charles!” I cried,”Everyone must be watching.”

“Oh, Adeline, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Charles stammered. “I am just so happy to see you, Sweetheart!”

Sweetheart? My head was buzzing with delighted confusion and my heart thudding like the fort drum. Had Charles just called me Sweetheart in front of my family who were surely within earshot?

Charles took the grapevine basket off my arm and set it down carefully and took both my filthy hands in his. His eyes, when I dared to look up, were shining and on his face was a tender, but tentative smile.

“Will you walk with me awhile, Adeline?”

“I really should wash and change, Charles, “ I pleaded. “I ‘m not fit to be seen.”

“ If you do not come with me just as you are, I shall surely die on the spot from anxiety.”

Mutely, I allowed Charles to hand in the basket of eggs to Evvy who was having a very hard time trying not to giggle.

We walked over to the well where there is a bench and I insisted on washing my hands. Before I could adequately dry them on my apron, Charles captured them again. He sat me down on the bench and then began to pace. My heart was thundering so hard in my chest, I was trembling.

“ I have thought over what I should say to you, a thousand times,” Charles said quietly, “but I can’t remember anything but this- I love you desperately, Adeline Price, and with your parent’s permission…”

Charles knelt on both knees before me.

“With your parent’s permission,” he repeated, “ I am putting my heart and future into your hands. Will you honour me by becoming my wife?”

Janetta, I truly thought my heart had stopped. I must have been in shock, because suddenly Charles squeezed my hands and said, in the most boyish voice, “You can take your time to answer, Adeline. I don’t expect…”

I didn’t allow the dear man to finish, Janetta. I leaned in to him and kissed him and answered, “ Certainly, I will marry you, Charles. I can’t imagine a life with any other.”

At this point, Mother, Henry, and Evvy who had been watching from the porch, rushed over to embrace us both and celebrate our betrothal.

I still cannot believe it, Janetta, but at the end of August, I will marry Sergeant Charles Houghton and begin the rest of my life.

Happily,

Adeline

Monday, August 9, 1813

Dear Janetta,

This summer is going by so swiftly, that I have had barely time to think. We are pickling beans as soon as we pick them and what we don’t pickle we dry. Charles and I haven’t seen each other since he proposed, but we keep in touch with letters back and forth. We have decided to be married quietly with no celebration, because of the instability of wartime. Father and Mother would prefer us to wait until after the conflict is resolved, but Charles and I don’t want a long betrothal. We have received permission from Lt. Colonel MacDonell to be married. It will be at the blue church with only my family and Charles’ best friend, John, as witnesses. Afterward, we will travel back to Thistledown Farm for a family dinner and then Charles and I will spend a night at William and Elizabeth’s cabin alone.

We can not live at the unfinished fort barracks so Father is giving us a piece of property close to Johnstown as a wedding gift. Our cabin will be built there by Father, Henry, Charles, and the Randalls whenever they have an opportunity. I expect I will have to live at home for a while as the cabin is not likely to be finished by autumn. It would be wonderful to think that there will be no further attacks from our southern neighbours, but it isn’t likely so I expect there will be little time for building.

I have visited the property with Mr. Randall so that I could choose a pretty aspect for our home and show him where I would like the hen house and pig sty to be. We will have five acres, partly treed and three acres of rolling meadow. There is a creek running through it and a small blueberry bog. We won’t have a barn right away, but Mr. Randall has promised me a lean-to stable for our horse and space for a cow. Now I am glad that I spent time making linens and a quilt for our bed. Mother has promised us ticks and mattress. Evvy and I are gathering down for the ticks. The kitchen will take more time, as we need an iron kettle, spoons and bread pans, not to forget crockery and utensils.

I despaired of a wedding dress, until Mother promised that she would makeover her maroon silk gown, and she thinks there is enough material for her to make a short cape as well.

With much excitement,

Adeline

Hymn for a Troubled Heart

Hymn for a Troubled Heart

I wrote this hymn recently while I was ill, thinking of those who were and sadly, still are chronically or gravely ill.

You Are

Words © Mollie Pearce McKibbon 2013

6 5 6 4 Chorus 8 8 8 8

In the hours of pain, Lord,

I become aware

When it’s hard to breathe, Lord,

You are my air.

Chorus:

You are my blanket in the cold,

My warm embrace as I grow old.

In the deep darkness of the night,

You are my joy; you are my light.

In the hours of fear, Lord,

I will be secure.

When it hurts to hope, Lord,

You are my cure.

In the hours of grief, Lord,

I know I am blessed.

When my heart is numb, Lord,

You are my rest.

Do you think this needs another verse? Please give me your opinion. I will greatly appreciate the help.

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Thank you for your response. ✨

Two Summer Poems

Here are two poems that I wrote for summer. I know that the season is on its last legs but we need to pause and appreciate all its beauties until the last moment.

Summer Breeze

© Mollie Pearce McKibbon

Summer breeze is a dancer

of exquisite grace.

Her skirts billow on the window sill,

twirling to a waltz,

lifting and swirling to an unheard score,

performing shadow ballet

across a sunlit floor.

Cantata

© Mollie Pearce McKibbon

And the sun comes

Suddenly

through the trees –

a blessing of warmth

upon grass and leaf,

curling up dripping boughs,

lifting insects

from their secret purposes,

calling forth creepers

brooding beneath stones,

inspiring humble croakers

to choruses and arias

after the rain.

Two Crafts I’ve Been Doing

We’re on holiday now and while fighting off bronchitis (cough, cough, cough) I’ve been experimenting with some crafts. I bought some washers and made pendants, which turned out not too badly. Each one gets better. I also began having some fun making a clothespeg doll which, I’m happy to say, turned out rather well. You can be the judge.

Who Has the Car Keys?

I was poking around in my office and found the following article I wrote for publication when my oldest was learning to drive. I thought that because lots of parents are going through the same experience this summer, my experience might sound familiar. Please bear in mind that this was written about 20 years ago.

Who Has the Car Keys?

©Mollie Pearce McKibbon

I remember my oldest child bouncing up and down in glee in the first set of wheels we ever gave him – the walker. Oh yes, I know they are no longer considered safe, but in those days of ignorant bliss they seemed like a good idea. We were eager for our firstborn to do everything for the first time. We wanted him to be a paragon of babyhood. We chortled in delight when he smiled his first smile; boasted when he said his first word, and burst with pride at his very first step. What did we know?

He loved the walker. Suddenly, he could keep up with us, even overtake us and lead the way. A gleam came into his eyes. Like Toad from Wind in the Willows , he had discovered speed!

Of course, he had his upsets and collisions. Our toes suffered and so did the furniture. Squashed toes and scratches didn’t daunt him. He was King of the Road.

There was another drawback to all this newfound mobility. We couldn’t always keep up to him and he was able to reach places he couldn’t reach before. We had to head him off many times and soon our good breakables went up on higher shelves. He didn’t mind, He kept on motoring. We were exhausted.

By Child Number Two, we had figured out that we needn’t be in a hurry to see smiling, talking or walking. We decided we could wait until Child Number Two was at least eighteen or even twenty-nine. He, however, had a different time table. He smiled immediately, and started pulling himself up on the furniture by seven months and was walking on his own, albeit somewhat tipsily, by ten months. He seemed to go from the walker to the two wheeler in the blink of an eye. No older brother was going to outpace him!

By Child Number Three, we wondered if playpens made out of steel girders were the answer. Child Number Four, our only daughter, smiled sweetly at us and said, “Eat my dust!” We still are.

Now we are discovering the results of all those firsts. The first smile leads to the first love. The first word leads to the first date. The first step leads directly to Drivers’ Ed.

The campaign starts in third grade and gets going in earnest by grade nine. By grade ten, the boys have figured out that all the girls in their own age group are interested in older boys with cars. Therefore, they come to the conclusion that they need a car so that they can be one of the older boys in grade eleven.

It’s amazing how many ways driving can be fit into any parent/child conversation.

“Mom, may I have another glass of milk? You know, when I get my license you will never have to run out of milk because I’ll just hop into the car for you and go to the store.”

“Any time you and Dad, want to go on a holiday, I’ll be able to help drive.”

And on and on.

O the disgrace of the teenage non-driver! Being seen in the back seat of the family car is like admitting to still sleeping with a teddy bear. At sixteen, it just isn’t done.

Mothers and fathers remember about being sixteen or seventeen and having a car. There are hazards involved. Gasoline prices. Auto insurance. Drag races. Drive-in movies.

My first thought was that I had enough grey hairs to pluck as it was. I still had anxiety attacks when our oldest rode his bike to the corner store. How would I make it through ten weeks of Drivers’ Ed?

It hasn’t been easy. I find that now my own driving is under constant scrutiny. I haven’t lost a passenger, I’ve just gained a backseat driver. My car is now “Our Car”. I don’t back up properly and I can’t park worth a darn. On the other hand, there is one positive result of Drivers’ Ed. I pray a lot more.

Child Number One is about four weeks from his license and Child Number Two is already beginning to drop references to front wheel drive into casual conversation. With his past record, he will probably hand us his license on his sixteenth birthday. I’m locking up Child Number Three and Child Number Four until we turn eighty. By then, I’ll be used to grey hair and, besides, by then like Miss Daisy, I’ll be needing a chauffeur.

Back to the present: it might soothe those suffering parents out there to know that all my children have their full licenses now and are responsible adult drivers. Whew!

Wisdom

This Sunday will be the fortieth anniversary of when I first became a mother. I was excited and terrified all at the same time. The idea of being responsible for the safekeeping of a little body was thrilling and daunting. What if I did something terribly wrong and that little person was damaged in some way? I said a lot of prayers. I felt so protective every time I felt that little earthquake move .

Yes, our baby boy was born one hot July day on my mother’s birthday. She was so excited to become a grandmother that she had forgotten it was her special day. I told her, “Mom, this is the biggest present I could ever give you. Please don’t expect one every year!”

Our eldest and my mother celebrated their birthdays together every year until she passed away at 92, five years ago. She so loved being a grandmother and then eventually a great-grandmother, because one day our eldest son and his wife made me a grandmother too. What a joy that has been! Now we have three grandchildren, two from my eldest and one from his younger brother. Like every other grandparent, we think our grandchildren are the smartest and the most handsome in the whole world.

And then one day, I stopped and thought – Oh my, being a grandmother means I should be wise. Little grandchildren need to have wise grandparents. My hair is threaded through with grey now, my ears need hearing aids, and I often forget where my glasses (purse, address book, or keys) are so I guess that means I am older. But wiser?

If I am so wise now, why do I feel sometimes like the child who was always the new girl at school? Why do I feel surprised when I see this older lady looking back at me in the mirror? When my dear husband pays me a compliment I feel like I’m the 22 year old he married, but as I told my grandchildren, I know I creak and squeak now when I get out of my chair.

Our oldest once asked his dad (though he will no doubt deny it now) how old he was before he knew everything. Wow! Now that was a compliment. Of course, my husband modestly protested that he was still waiting for that day to arrive. Wisdom might be knowing that you still have much to learn.

It is said wisdom comes from experience. Perhaps that is true. I know that if I have a pill (and I do) that is too large to swallow, apple sauce will send it down gently without me gagging. I know the signs of seasonal change because I’ve seen a lot of seasons and besides, my arthritis never lies. I know that the smell of a newborn, freshly washed, is the sweetest smell on earth and, conversely, a heavy diaper is not so pleasant. I know that sometimes a child will have a temper tantrum and then fall asleep in your arms. I know how hard it is to get grocery shopping done when a child is tired and balky and I sympathize with the mother. I know enough to answer some questions and leave other answers for moms and dads. I know how hard it is to be a preteen, trying to leave childhood behind and be recognized as a full-sized person. I know that seventeen is even harder when you are so anxious to be getting on with LIFE and you are stuck in a awkward gawky body that never seems to do what you want it to do. Does this make me wise? Gee, I hope so. It is all I have to give. So far. I’m still learning.

Forty years ago, a tiny baby boy set me on a journey of adventure I never could have imagined. All his siblings look up to him, not always in agreement, but with respect as the oldest in our family. He is a responsible adult with his own children, a sweet wife, and a home. He is thoughtful, honorable and caring. We are very proud of him, as all parents should be of their children, and we cherish fond memories of his childhood years. Someday he will be the patriarch of the family clan. And you know what? One day our grandson will ask his father the same question. “Dad, how old were you when you knew everything?” What do you think his answer will be?

Happy Birthday, Son and God bless you.

Love always, Mom.

Adeline’s Journal – May 22 to June 16, 1813

A fictional journal of a young woman of Upper Canada during the War of 1812.

The Story up to this date: Adeline Price is a young woman of 17 who lives with her parents, her younger sister, Eveline and her brother, Henry, on a farm north of Prescott, in what is now Ontario. Her older brother William is married to Elizabeth and living on a corner portion of the Price property. When war is declared, her father and brother join the ranks of the volunteers. Adeline is being courted by a corporal in the English army who is stationed at Fort Wellington. While checking on her brother’s property, Adeline is abducted by spies and is taken by force across the St. Lawrence River to Ogdensburgh where she is put into custody by Major Forsyth. She is handed over to the civil authority, Sheriff York, who sends her to stay at Widow Fenton’s boarding house. Her story continues as she writes in her diary which she addresses to her friend, Janetta, whom she left back in England.

Sunday,May22,1813 A sunny day

Dear Janetta,

My mother’s herb garden is sprouting and her rose bush is covered with new buds. Spring would be so very pleasant were it not for the annoying black flies and mosquitoes. We women have veils on our bonnets, but how the poor men must suffer! Father and Henry are doing their best to get our oats, wheat and potatoes planted. They come in all bitten up.

Where was I in my Ogdensburgh adventure? That’s how I think of it now – as adventure, now that I am safe at home, but it was terrifying at the time, believe me. Oh yes, Widow Fenton’s boarding house was where I stopped last time. I was thoroughly miserable there and began to fall ill. Sheriff York, a true gentleman in these unfortunate times, came to check on me the second evening and was concerned about the cough I had developed. He sent for the army physician. I don’t remember much about the examination except that he felt my forehead, listened to my chest through his stethescope and then proceeded to bleed me. His diagnosis was that I was suffering from ague. He told Widow Fenton to put more blankets on my bed and feed me hot broth. Widow Fenton complained that she wasn’t being paid enough to nurse me too, but she did what she was told. Her reluctant efforts did little to help.

One of the other boarders, a sweet spirited Quaker woman, fixed me a mustard poultice for my chest and changed it twice during the night. I awoke the next morning to thunderous canon fire. Widow Fenton rushed into my room screaming that the town was being invaded by “redcoats” and I must dress and leave her house immediately.

“I will not have an enemy spy under my roof or on my premises!” she shouted. “Leave now!”

I dressed as quickly as I could in the only clothes I had. My Father’s heavy barn coat was still damp, but I pushed on his hat and wrapped the woolen scarf around the hood. There was blowing snow which stung my face as Widow Fenton shoved me out into the street. I heard the bar fall across her door behind me. I was locked out and I could hear the Quaker woman vehemently protesting that it was too dangerous for anyone to be out on the street, to no avail.

I stood on the front stoop for a moment, in shock from my rude awakening. As I tried to decide just where to go, our brave men under the command of Lt. Colonel Red George Macdonell, were coming up the street toward some American soldiers who seemed to be in some disarray. Thinking our troops were just doing their usual morning drills on or near the river, they had not bothered to pay further attention, until the army was marching up the streets of Ogdensburgh towards Fort La Presentation. I shrank back in between Widow Fenton’s house and the building next door, for fear of being caught in the crossfire.

Suddenly, I felt myself being roughly grabbed from behind.

“Fancy meeting you here,” growled a gruff voice behind me. I recognized Bourke’s drawl and tried to wrestle out of his grasp.

“Oh no, ya don’t gurl! “he said as he pushed his musket into my back. “Yer ma good luck charm in this little dustup.”

Bourke proceeded to shove me into the lean-to beside Widow Fenton’s house. He followed after me, loaded his rife and handed the musket to me to load. I wanted nothing to do with helping him kill brave Canadian soldiers. I dropped his musket as if it were molten metal, but Bourke menaced me with his loaded rifle so I proceeded to obey him.

“Yer’ve caused me considerable trouble, yer have. Don’t think yer gonna go runnin’ back tellin’ tales! “

A shot came whizzing past his ear, and he turned quickly to fire his rifle. It was then or never, I decided, as I lowered the loaded pistol and fired at his leg when his back was turned. With a sharp cry of surprise, he slumped to the floor of the lean-to, his leg bleeding profusely, and I lunged past him out into the street. I ran towards the Canadians calling,”Help, please help me!”

I wasn’t sure anyone could hear me in the noise and confusion, or see me in all the smoke, but someone in a green militia coat grabbed me by the arm just as a musket ball hit my leg. How it stung!

“I think I’ve been hit in my leg,” I cried out. The soldier looked down at it briefly and shrugged,

“Ain’t too bad, Boy. Just keep going. Here’s some musket balls.”

He pushed three lead balls into my hands and kept on going. He thinks I’m in the militia too, I thought in shock. I was caught up in a nightmare and all I truly wanted to do was sit down on the snowy street and cry like a baby, but I loaded one ball into the barrel as my father had taught and prayed no one would notice I hadn’t any powder. Stumbling up the street after the rest of the soldiers, my eyes tried to recognize a face through the smoke. Father, William, the Randall brothers, or Charles must be somewhere in the melee.

Suddenly we halted. Ahead of Red George’s men was a cannon, manned by some American soldiers and one of the men behind the cannon was Sheriff York. The Americans were attempting to load and fire the cannon, but something was wrong and it seemed to misfire. A number of Americans were felled by Canadian rifles, the rest retreated at a run to the safety of the fort until the only man standing by the cannon was Sheriff York.

Remembering his kindness towards me, I pleaded,”O please don’t shoot him,” under my breath and as if he had heard me, Red George, ordered a momentary ceasefire, while they took him prisoner. Later, I heard someone say that Red George said Sheriff York was much too brave to kill.

Suddenly, I felt faint. I looked down at my leg and realized I had left a thin trail of red all the way up the street. I began to sway on my feet, heard someone shout, ” Hey Boy, “. Someone carried me to safety. When I revived with the help of a sip of whisky, I was inside a home, warming by a blazing hearth and my father and Charles were hovering over me.

” It’s all right, Adeline, you’re safe now. It’s almost all over. “

My father was holding my hand while a kind American woman bathed my bleeding leg. The bullet had hit me but had not hit bone and all that was wrong was a small chunk of skin was missing. She poured a bit of the whisky over it and bound the wound with a thick wad of bandage.

I sobbed when I saw my dear father and Charles. Then I noticed the bandage around my father’s head. He had been hit by a rifle butt and was quite woozy, but otherwise he said he was just fine. Charles assured me that the fort had surrendered and that Forsyth had fled with his remaining men. They were being pursued by the Algonquins through the bush. Charles also said that many American field guns, rifles, ammunition and other army stores had been confiscated and prisoners taken. He told Father and me that he had been ordered to escort us back home across the frozen river in a sled. The army would follow with more wounded and the captured prisoners as soon as Red George had questioned the townsmen of Ogdensburgh. Later, we were told that Red George had met with the town officials and had promised them no further raids as long as they took no direct part in the war.

So that was my adventure in Ogdensburgh. I spent the next months recovering from the wound in my leg and pneumonia in my chest. Our doctor said I was very lucky not to have lost one of my toes to frostbite. I told Father, William and Charles all about my abduction, but no one has seen or heard from Darnell or Seamus O’Meara since and I have no idea what finally happened to Bourke. I suppose I shall never know.

One question I wondered about Charles answered. It was Robert Randall who saw me fall and carried me to safety. I must thank him when next I see him. Charles also told me that he wanted to speak to my father as soon as possible, as he had something very important to discuss with him. I wonder what that could be.

Lovingly, Adeline.

Sunday,June6,1813 Raining

DearJanetta,

Govenor Prevost, was at first angry and then very elated when he heard of the success of Lt. Colonel MacDonell’s raid on Ogdensburg. He, of course, according to rumour, took full credit for the plan (which Charles says he totally tried to squelch before leaving for the safer haven of Fort Henry). Flush with the success of that victory, he ordered the army to attack Sackett’s Harbour. Unfortunately, that attack did not turn out so well. Many of our men were killed or badly injured. Charles, thank the Good Lord, returned intact, but William suffered a wound in his upper arm from which he is recovering. Thank goodness, he didn’t have to have his arm amputated, unlike a number of his fellow soldiers. He is recovering and now has something to celebrate as Elizabeth is once more expecting a child. We are all very happy and looking forward to it’s birth before this Christmas.

Hopefully, Adeline

Adeline’s Journal -April 17-May 12, 1813

Adeline’s Journal is a fictional account of a young woman’s experiences during the War of !812 in Upper Canada.

Sunday, April 17, 1813 My 17th Birthday

Dear Janetta, Today I turned 17. Mother and Father gave me a present of my great-grandmother’s dresser set. It is the loveliest set I have ever seen. It is silver with mother-of-pearl inserts in the mirror back and the brush. I have put it in my chest with my household linens which I am slowing adding to. I wish I were more adept at sewing like my sister, Evvy. She gave me a present of two pillow cases embroidered with violets. Henry gave me a new quill pen he had made. Elizabeth and William gave me some lovely lavender-filled silk pouches to put amongst my clothing.

My favourite gift of all was from Charles. He came to visit me and presented me with a dainty silver locket engraved with my initials, A. P. He wasn’t able to stay very long as he is on sentry duty tonight, but he squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek when we were alone at the door before he left.

Happily, Adeline.

May 12, 1813

Dear Janetta, Apart from a light dusting of snow at the beginning of this month, May has been lovely. The yard in front of our home is full of yellow wild flowers and there are lovely violets and trilliums under the apple trees. The apple trees themselves are full of blossoms and busy with bees. Mother says we should have a bumper crop of mackintosh apples this year.

I will resume the story of my kidnapping as the house is now quiet and I have finished writing my letter to Grandmother Price. Goodness knows if she shall ever receive it with the way the Americans are watching the St. Lawrence river traffic. Our “friends” in Ogdensburgh have been complaining about how their army being nearby is more of a threat to them than protection. Most of the troops have moved elsewhere. Some to Sacketts Harbour.

To renew my tale of woe: I woke up on the American side of the river in the wee hours of the morning after a fitful slumber full of terrifying dreams. I wondered just how I could manage an escape. The snow was piling up around the cabin and a fierce cold wind was blowing. Harry’s wife was up already cooking eggs and bacon for the company. Just as I was about to explain to her who I really was and why I was bound, in came Darnell and Seamus, stamping the snow off their boots and brushing off their coats.

“I need to use the privy,” I told Seamus and so he brought me my father’s coat and escorted me outside to the lean-to behind the cabin. I considered making a run for it , but realized that I could get more than lost in the blowing snow. Besides, where would I run?

Later, I struggled to get my breakfast down. Harry’s wife was a good cook but , in my agitation I had no appetite. I knew that I would need strength for whatever lay ahead of me, so I made myself swallow it all down.

The storm had abated after breakfast, so it was decided that we would excuse ourselves from the hospitality of Harry and his wife and continue on to Ogdensburgh. There we would meet up with Bourke. Darnell sat me up on Bourke’s horse, who seemed none the worse for the swim we had had the night before. Bourke had evidently taken Darnell’s horse the night before. Darnell and Seamus led the horses out to the main road where they mounted and we rode on towards Ogdensburgh. Once again I was forced to endure strange arms around me. It was slow going through the drifts. Every now and then Darnell or Seamus was forced to dismount and coax the horses through the deeper snow. Mostly we rode in silence, Darnell or Seamus only remarking only remarking to each other when they spotted game streaking through the forest on either side of the trail. I was very uncomfortable and very distressed, but determined not to show it. I told myself that William and my father, perhaps even Charles, would be searching for me and soon I would be rescued. I told myself that, but little believed it. How heartened I would have been to know that our brave soldiers were at that very moment planning to raid Ogdensburgh. It was not on my behalf, to be sure, but in retribution for all the raids that Forsyth and his rifles had made on our side to the river.

The O’Mearas had taken the gag off me, but I was still bound. After a long slogging ride we arrived in Ogdensburgh. It is a large settlement with many stone and brick buildings and a well-established port. I saw the large stone building that housed Mr. Parrish’s store where Father and I had bought dry goods for Mother and a pair of boots for Henry just last year.

Across the St. Lawrence River I could see the fortifications of Fort Wellington and the few little homes that had grown up around it as the town of Prescott. My heart swelled with longing for home. I almost cried out and would have, but for a quick jab in the ribs from Darnell.

“Don’t go making a fuss, you hear Missy,” he hissed in my ear. I just nodded. We rode through the town to Fort La Presentation which was being repaired and reconstructed. Bourke, whom I soon learned was Cpl. Bourke of Forsyth’s Rifles, met us at the gate and escorted us into Major Forsyth’s office. It could hardly be called an office, as it consisted of a camp cot, plain deal table, a chair and a rough hewn bench. I was ordered to sit on the bench.

Major Forsyth (I assumed) was sitting behind the desk, looking over some maps. His eyes reminded me of those of a fox, darting from the maps to myself and then to my three kidnappers.

“Who is this lad and why is he here?” he demanded.

“Tis the complication I spoke of, sir. Tis a girl in fact we caught aspyin’ on us. We had no choice but ta bring her.”

“You’ve answered only part of my question , Bourke. Her name is?”

At this point, I stood up and answered for myself. I was not afraid of this impudent soldier. “My name is Miss Adeline Price and I was kidnapped yesterday from my brother’s farm in Upper Canada. I demand to be returned to my own country at once!”

My heart was thundering in my chest and I could hear my voice trembling, but I did not cry. The man behind the table stared at me coldly, and instructed Darnell O’Meara to remove me from his office immediately and keep me under control. Darnell approached me to do that but I pulled away from him and marched to Major Forsyth’s desk.

“I demand to see the civil authorities and to be retuned to my home right away! You have no right to hold me against my will.”

“I have every right to hold you. You have been accused of spying, Mr. O’Meara carry out my order!”

Darnell grabbed at my arms, but instead I stood up straighter and stalked into the hallway. How could I be a spy when I was simply trying to protect my brother’s property. The whole situation was a nightmare.

Shortly, Bourke and Seamus O’Meara emerged from Fortsyth’s office looking grim.

“Well, what are we to do with her?”asked Darnell while he yanked me rudely to my feet.

“We’re to take her to Sheriff York for now,” replied Seamus, “at least until the magistrate can sentence her.”

“I’m not a criminal,” I protested. “I am a kidnap victim and you will all have to answer for whatever happens to me. My father and brother will see to it.”

Without regard to my protests, I was taken to the Sheriff York. He was dismayed to discover that I, a young Canadian woman, was to be held in custody. He stated that it was not his job to hold military prisoners, especially a young woman, in his lock-up. He had other security matters on his mind. Instead he sent me with a deputy to the next-door neighbour’s home where he knew I could be provided with a bed and some meals. I was to stay with a Widow Fenton who ran a boarding house.

I knew from the moment I stepped inside her home, that Widow Fenton did not appreciate my presence. I was given a chilly attic room and just one blanket. Her meals were adequate, but not tasty. They consisted mainly of some kind of stew to which she added ingredients daily. I spent my first night in her home shivering and crying myself to sleep.

I must stop writing now as Mother has begun preparing dinner and she needs my help. I’m trying to improve my culinary skills, but my best efforts seem to be boiling the kettle and setting a pleasant table.

I do hope I receive another letter from you, Janetta. I wonder if you have married.

Lovingly, Adeline

Post Script: Mr. Randall has delivered a letter to me from Charles. He wrote that he have recovered from a bout of influenza that has laid many soldiers low. That is one of the worst problems of barracks life – so many illnesses get passed around. Adeline.

Adeline’s Journal April 4, 1813

silohuette of Ada Mae — a fictional journal of a young woman during the War of 1812

The story this far:

Adeline and her family live north of Johnstown on farm land her father inherited from his older brother. William, Adeline, Evaline and Henry are the children of Edmond and Charlotte Price. William is married to Elizabeth and has a piece of his father’s acreage which he has built on. William and his father are in the militia and must report to Fort Wellington in Prescott. The women and younger children have to learn to manage the farm themselves. John Price taught his daughters to load and shoot a musket after Adeline saved her younger brother from a cougar. Adeline is being courted by a Corporal Charles Houghton, and two neigbour’s sons, Robert and Arthur. Henry and Adeline have been watching out for their brother’s farm, when one day her brother returns home with the news that he has seen smoke coming from the chimney of the cabin on William’s property. Henry and Adeline agree to investigate.

Sunday, April 4, 1813

Dear Janetta,

It is the Sabbath day and I have just finished a bowl of Mother’s delicious potato soup with one of Elizabeth’s wonderful sourdough biscuits. The house is quiet now as Father is napping and Mother is writing letters. Henry, Evvy and Elizabeth are visiting the Randals.

I am sitting under the eaves, at the desk that Father made for Evvy and I, in the half of the loft that she and I share. Mother has me bundled up like a caterpillar in a warm quilt and she also tucked a hot brick under my feet. It is so hot, I almost burnt my toes until I pushed it under my chair. Honestly, you would think I was recovering from the plague instead of near pneumonia, I have been so coddled since returning from the other side of the river. I still have nightmares and wake up poor Evvy with my muttering and moaning.

I must tell you my Ogdensburgh adventure. Henry and I went to check on William’s and Elizabeth’s cabin where Henry had seen smoke. Mother insisted that we go warmly dressed, so I put on Father’s warmest trousers over my petticoat and his barn coat with the squirrel collar and hood as well as a woolen cap. This was all covered with a long woolen scarf and I did not resemble myself so much as a lumberman from the backwoods. I could hardly move for the layers. We rode Rosey and Blinky, our old plow horses, up to the road to Prescott and turned north towards the piece of land that Father gave William (thirty good acres – five that William has already cleared).

As we reached the bottom of William’s land, we turned off the road toward the cabin. Before approaching the cabin, we agreed to part and meet back at the road after checking on the property. First, I would skirt the cabin and see if anything had been disturbed. If there were any suggestion of intruders we would go and fetch Mr. Randal.

I felt a bit nervous about approaching the cabin, but could see no smoke from the chimney, so I walked cautiously around the perimeter and peered into the barn. For a moment it seemed that my heart stopped beating. There in the stalls, that should have been empty, were three strange horses, – a bay, a roan and a grey. I recognized the roan and the bay. They were the O’Meara’s horses. I didn’t know the grey mare.

I ducked down behind the woodpile and tried to think why the O’Meara’s would have broken into William’s cabin. Were they in the very act of thievery? What should I do? Had they gone out hunting in the bush? What if they met up with Henry? My heart was pounding and my head was aching with indecision. Who was the third person? I was thankful that it wasn’t Robert or Arthur. I knew all their horses. What scheme were the O’Meara’s up to?

As I knelt behind the wood, torn between running to the woods to warn Henry or confronting the O’Mearas, a stranger stepped out of the cabin, talking to someone over his shoulder.

“Ah’ll get saddled. You bring the maps we made and we’ll make tracks for the river crossing.”

“Shouldn’t we wait ’til dusk? Less chances of being seen then.” Darnell O’Meara came out of the cabin, his flintlock in one hand and a leather saddle bag in the other.

“Nah, Ah want to make tracks. We’ll keep to the bush as soon as we can.”

My head was spinning with shock. If the O’Mearas were just smuggling to hide their true activities what were they really doing? Then it came over me suddenly, with horror. The O’Meara’s were spies. It was obvious the other person was an American. Now I was truly in a bad dilemma. What should I do?

“Hey, there’s someone behind the woodpile,” shouted Darnell.

I ran for the trees, but in all my layers was no match for the fleet-footed American who tacked me around the legs and brought me crashing to the ground.

“Who the hell are you, boy?” he shouted as he snatched the hood and hat off my head.

“I know who it is,” said Darnell. “T’is no boy, but Price’s sister, Adeline, a real spitfire!”

“A troublemaker, huh? Well, we ‘ll see how much trouble she gives us bound and gagged,”said the American.

And that is how I found myself bound and gagged seated in front of the American, up on the big grey. My face was stinging from the snow, my hair was wet and there was snow down the back of my neck. At least they had used my own scarf to gag me, but my hands were tied with a leather harness William had left hanging in his barn. I was helpless and furious, but very glad that Henry had not been at the place we’d agreed to meet. Blinky had obviously wandered off, probably back to our barn.

It was a very long uncomfortable ride to the river. I ignored the O’Meara brothers, They were beneath content.

Eventually, we left the road and travelled into the dense woods on a path that the O’Meara brothers had surely taken before. When we arrived at the bank of the St. Lawrence River, it was late afternoon, nearly dusk. We were several miles west of Fort Wellington. the river was almost completely frozen. There was a small, partially obscured shed and two canoes on the shore. the three men tethered the horses and shoved me into the shed. There was barely room to sit. I perched on an over-turned barrel and mulled over my situation. I was not about to show how truly frightened I was. The door of the shed suddenly opened, almost pushing me from my perch. A hand grabbed my bonds and I was dragged from the shed and set back up on the grey mare.

It was now dark, but a full moon lit up the icy surface of the river. The lights of Ogdensburgh were little sparks flickering on the other side of the river. Muttering softly to the horses, the men proceeded across the ice on foot, carefully one after another. Sometimes the ice seemed to crack where the surface had warmed at bit and melted in the sun, refreezing when the temperature dropped. I was nervous on the grey as I was terrified the ice would crack open beneath his hooves and I would be drowned. No one would ever know what had happened to me. Then I shook myself free of such imaginations and concentrated on keeping warm. There was a wind blowing a sharp icy spray of snow that stung my cheeks. My feet were numb in my leather boots.

Our progress was slow, but steady and silent, except for the occasional curse when the ice made a particularly loud cracking noise. It seemed we were all jumpy. A few feet from shore, the ice was thinning and it gave way under the weight of the grey. I didn’t even have time to scream and my gag prevented it anyhow. Down we plunged into the numbing St. Lawrence. I don’t know how, but I managed to hold onto the grey’s pommel and reins and somehow the horse was able to swim to shore. There she struggle up the bank and I was plucked off her back shivering and dripping. I was prodded up the embankment. My clothes were sodden and felt like they were freezing to my body. My boots iced up more and more with each step. Finally, we reached a small log home, where the door was opened quickly and I was pushed right in.

Bourke seemed to be in command, as he told the O’Meara’s to look after the horses, especially the shuddering grey.

“Hey,who’s this here lad?” asked a harsh voiced man with a foul smelling pipe in his teeth. “Ya never told me about no lad.”

“It’s the O’Meara’s sister. There’s been a change in plan, Harry. She overheard us talkin’ so her she is.”

“If she’s their sister, why is she all trussed up?” asked Harry suspiciously.

“She don’t agree with their politic, is why. She’s a bloody royalist,” said the American. “She’ll need warmin’ up after her swim in the river.”

“Oh my heavens, Harry, don’t keep her standing and shivering there. Come here, girl. I’ll take care of you.”

Harry with the pipe had a wife who clucked sympathetically and bustled me off behind a thick cloth curtain to change out of my wet clothes. She gave me a drink of sweet brandy to drink. I gagged on the fire of it as it burned down my throat. She untied my hands and helped me out of my father’s wet coat, his trousers and my icy petticoat. I wanted to tell her the true nature of my abduction, but my teeth were chattering. She rubbed me down with a rough towel and brought me one of her own woolen robes to slip into. Then she sat me down in front of the warm hearth with a bowl of hot stew.

The American, Bourke, I heard his name mentioned, didn’t stay long enough to eat.

“I’m going ahead to Ogdensburgh ta meet with the Major. The O’Meara’s will stay with the horses in the stable. They will be takin’ their sister ta the Major tomorrow. Just keep her hands tied and bed her on the cot near the hearth. Then she won’t make no trouble.”

Harry’s wife put some food in a satchel for Bourke and he left. After I had eaten my fill, Mrs. Harry apologized and re-tied my hands, tucking me into bed on the hearthside cot. She muttered to her husband about how she didn’t approve of my treatment, but go no satisfactory agreement from him. I did not sleep well.

The candle is guttering down and dusk has come. I will finish this another day soon.

Lovingly, Adeline

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