Robert Mullen (1849-1936) : Born in Ottawa Valley

1871 Ontario Census partial Map


Robert Mullen, Herb's grandfather, was born in Horton Township in Renfrew County in 1849. He was the son of John and Eliza Mullen both from Ireland. Robert was our first Mullen descendant to be born in Canada. He married a gal named Mary Scobie who's father had immigrated from Scotland.

Horton Township resides along the Ottawa River in what's known as the Ottawa Valley. The Ottawa River area is the place where both Herb's and Alice's families settled. Alice's family, the Morrison's settling in Lower Canada (the Quebec side) in Bristol and the Mullen's in Upper Canada (Ontario) across the river on the west side in Horton. The Ottawa River was busy in those days with lumber rafts lumber being the primary trade.

Horton Township sits approximately in the middle between Pembroke and Bytown if you paddle up the river. Bytown? that was the name of Ottawa before it became Canada's capital city.

Memories of Robert Mullen & Mary Scobie

Photo: Robert Mullen and Mary Scobie circa 1915

As told by Herb's cousin Harold S. Mullens

The earliest memory I have of my grandfather and grandmother would be about 1923 or 1924 when I was about 3 or 4 years old.

My grandfather (Robert Mullen) was always revered with a good of respect by all who kew him, and was known as an honest, God-fearing man. He was alos known as a very hard working man, being a very physically strong man, of which he was very proud.

My grandfather would entertain us with stories of his days in the logging camps where he spent a great deal of his time in his early days, being employed as a cook. The main diet at taht time was, pork, baked beans, bread and raisin pie. The men slept in what was known as a "camboose" which was a log building with an opening in the roof for the smoke to escape. The men slept around an open fire in the centre of the room.

In those daysthis part of the country was covered with white pine. It was cut down in the lumber camps, "squared" with broad-axes, formed into cribs" then into great rafts and floated to Quebec City where it was loaded onto ships and shipped to many parts of the world. My Grandfather made at least one trip to Quebec City on those rafts of lumber.

Recollection of Robert Mullen and Mary Scobie

Photo: Elizabeth (1908-1976) and Loretta (1910- )Mullin circa 1930

As told by Herb's cousin Loretta Leavoy (Mullin)

When I was quite young, my father took my sister and me to visit my grandparents were they lived at Haley's Station. We went by train from Braeside (where we lived) To Haley Station.

I remember of a man, who drove a team of horses and a high topped buggy called "The Stage", meeting the train and drove us to our grandparents farm. I remeber they lived in a log house, and my Uncle Dan and Uncle Henry was there.

I don't think my grandmother had very good health. My grandfather was a very kind man witha very white beard.

Elizabeth and I who sang together at home and at Sunday School, told our grandmother we knew some songs. So on Sunday afternoon, everyone put aside what they were doing and and listened to us. I know they enjoyed the singing and praised us and everyone seemed so happy.
This is a very nice memory I have of my grandparents.

Robert Mullen (1849-1936): The Journey to Quebec City

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.

Anne Bradstreet (1612 - 1672)


Once the spring thaw came, the rafts were released. Robert Mullen made a journey at least once on one of these rafts. These men were called Log Drivers; only the most experienced loggers were sent on this trek. Hundreds of these cribs would be bound together to form giant rafts measuring thousands of feet long. The log drivers made sure the raft didn't get stuck on the narrowing edges of the river or stuck on rocks.

Rafts were floated down the Ottawa River to Quebec City; the journey taking 2 months. Small huts were on the raft for the men to sleep. Once at Quebec City, the wood was loaded onto ships and sent back to Europe.

Robert Mullen: Working through the Winter

Hard work spotlights the character of people: some turn up their sleeves, some turn up their noses, and some don't turn up at all.

Sam Ewing

At the end of the harvest on the farms, the young pioneers like Robert Mullen would head out to the work camps. It was not uncommon for boys as young as 12 years old to become loggers at the end of August. The older folks would stay on the farm and take care of the winter chores. A team of 25 loggers would chop down over 2000 giant pines in one season.

The tall Red and White Pines would be cut down by hand using axes and crosscut saws. Then, after the trees were de-limbed and scribed, Timber Squarers would “square up” the logs using broad axes. The squared “sticks” as they were often referred to, would then be dragged out of the bush by horses or oxen to the river's edge.

From here, the squared timbers were loaded on top of saw log cribs and fastened down to form large rafts. When the snow and ice melted, the small dams and the floodgates that had been built where opened to release the rafts down the river

Robert Mullen: Cookin' in the Camboose

You don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces - just good food from fresh ingredients.
Julia Child (1912 - )

Robert Mullen, Herb's grandfather worked as a cook at the logging camp in his early days circa 1869. Robert was responsible for keeping the work team of approximately 25 men nourished; the main diet at the time was pork, baked beans, lard, bread and raisin pie. These commodities were often supplied and purchased from the surrounding Ottawa Valley pioneers.

These camps had a "camboose" that was the name for the cabin made from round logs. Every 3 or 4 years the the "camboose" was moved when the last giant red and white pines had been cut down in the area.

The men would sleep in the camboose outfitted with bunk beds and a large table with chairs for the meals. In the middle, there was a fire that burned constantly in an open sandpit in the center of the room that kept the men warm, A hole in the roof of the cabin was used to let the smoke escape. The firepit was also used to cook the meals.

The Ballad of "The Shantyman's Life'

Songs and music were often used for entertainnment after a hard day's work. This is a ballad circa 1880 similar to those sung in the logging camp that Robert Mullen and the loggers would sing.

The Shantyman's Life

The Shantyman's life is a worrisome one
Though some call it free from care,
It's the ringing of the ax from morning til night,
In the middle of the forest fair.
While life in the shanties bleak and cold,
While the wintery winds do blow.
As soon as the morning star does appear
Off to the woods we must go....

All you jolly fellows, come listen to my song;
It's all about the pinery boys and how they got along.
They're the jolliest lot of fellows, so merrily and fine,
They will spend the pleasant winter months in cutting down the pine.

Some would leave their friends and homes, and others they love dear,
And into the lonesome pine woods their pathway they do steer.
Into the lonesome pine woods all winter to remain,
A'waiting for the springtime to return again.

Springtime comes, oh, glad will be its day!
Some return to home and friends, while others go astray.
The sawyers and the choppers, they lay their timber low.
The swampers and the teamsters they haul it to and fro.

Next comes the loaders before the break of day.
Load up your sleighs, five thousand feet to the river, haste away.
Noon time rolls around, our foremen loudly screams,
"Lay down your tools, me boys, and we'll haste to pork and beans."
We arrive at the shanty, the splashing then begins,
The banging of the water pails, the rattling of the tins.
In the middle of the splashing, our cook for dinner does cry.
We all arise and go, for we hate to lose our pie.

Dinner being over, we into our shanty go.
We all fill up our pipes and smoke 'til everything looks blue.
"It's time for the wood, me boys," our foreman he does say.
We all gather up our hats and caps, to the woods we haste away.

We all go with a welcome heart and a well contented mind
For the winter winds blow cold among the waving pines.
The ringing of saws and axes until the sun goes down.
"Lay down your tools, me boys, for the shanties we are bound."

We arrive at the shanties with cold and wet feet,
Take off our overboots and packs, the supper we must eat.
Supper being ready, we all arise and go
For it ain't the style of lumberjack to lose his hash, you know.
At three o'clock in the morning, our bold cook loudly shouts,
"Roll out, roll out, you teamsters, it time that you are out."
The teamsters they get up in a fright and manful wail:
"Where is my boots? Oh, where's my pack? My rubbers have gone astray.
"They other men they then get up, their packs they cannot find
And they lay it to the teamsters, and they curse them 'til they're blind.

Springtime comes, Oh, glad will be the day!
Lay down your tools, me boys, and we'll haste to break away.
The floating ice is over, and business now destroyed.
And all the able-bodied men are wanted on the Pelican drive.

With jam-pikes and peaveys those able men do go
Up all those wild and dreary streams to risk their lives you know.
On cold and frosty mornings they shiver with the cold,
So much ice upon their jam-pikes, they scarcely them can hold.

It's Nothin' but Mittens

Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love.

Lao-Tzu (604 BC - 531 BC)

I always remember getting a christmas gift from Alice. Knitted mittens, knitted slippers, knitted socks, a knitted toque, and one year a knitted vest. I can't say I was excited about her gifts amongst the great new ones I got like the Barbie camper. I have just begun to appreciate her gift.

Alice wasn't the little old lady type. She wasn't sweet, flighty or fragile. She was tough and smart and would let you have it when you needed it, boy, do I know about that. She was a do what needed to be done kind of lady.

She knitted gifts for about 28 people in our family every year. She lived on a small pension which meant a tight budget. She could have easily made the excuse not to give because of money but she didn't. She knew that mitts wouldn't outshine our great new toys but she gave them anyhow. Year after year she took the time and always sent them.

Perhaps, when she was knitting she thought of each of us. They were her token that said "I love you" without expectation. Alice's love was knitted into the mittens.

Alice's Romance

Imagination was given man to compensate for what he is not, and a sense of humor to console him for what he is.

Author Unknown

After Herb passed away, Alice was left on her own. Sometime in the 8o's I recall a gentlemen talked about who was smitten of Alice in her later years. It's true.

I never met him but Alice would tell about his advances and their intended dates. When she'd come to visit we would ask her in teasing voices, "Grandma, how's your boyfriend"? She would scold us and say she didn't have any intention of serious pursuit and that she only had him on her line.

Because his love for her so ardent and he was a tad dim witted, he remained persistent even when he was mocked or snubbed by her. Alice didn't introduce him to us, I suspect, because he was an embarassing sort due to his lack of social skills. It most likely stemmed from him having spent his life in bacherlorhood. As well as, residing with his mother until she passed away in his mid- 50's.

This poor suitor wore his heart on his sleeve but that wasn't enough to win her over. He was lacking in most things as he was small and slight but always well dressed. Through hardwork he had made a meager nest egg that he kept squirreled away under his mattress in his apartment. He was just rather plain, talentless and dull except for his bow tie and his misguided passion for Alice. He would rustle the bills out of his sack to dote on her without second thought; to win her affection. He wasn't jovial but mousy and his lack of common sense about women was a source humour for her to share with us.

She was older and wiser to fall for this romance, but I think she enjoyed having the chance to feel young again. I'm not sure how it came to an end but I never heard about Willie Terd anymore.

What's in the Closet?

If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.

George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)

Ever seen a skeleton? I remember seeing one when I was 5. A doctor a couple doors down had one. I never knew people could have such amazing things in their houses. It was in his study that you walked past to get out to their backyard. Where I was always challenged to find him a four leaf clover. I never did even hours after looking.

The skeleton was scary but I still had to keep going back to look at it. At first I was spooked. Then I'd run past and take a quick look. Then stand at the doorway looking at it but not so close because it might grab me.

At that moment everything you believe changes. You realize people have interesting out of the ordinary bits whether it's contained within the walls of their home or it's within them.

A bit of scandal here or there, tragedy, determination it's ...our story; our skeleton. The quirky, unusual, tragic and inspiring.

If you're still breathing you don't have much to worry about.

Why?

We can't change the past but it gives us a sense of who we are. It's the common bond. When extended family slips away; resources are lost for old and the young.

Perhaps, it's because we don't think we need family like we used to. It's work and effort. Easier to let go and let the boat drift away than thinking we're the only one willing to hold on. Easier to focus on our differences and what hasn't been given. I've done that too.

Yesterday took pride in the virtues: Trust, Determination, Honesty. Today values in Production: Independence, Autonomy, and Efficency.

The goal of this blog is to pick up the pieces left behind and make something of common meaning to the family. An importance of each other that moves past the quirks, squabbles, and grudges. To take pride in accomplishments that have been and tears that have been shed.

Yesterday gives us the the determination that it's worth it and to forge on.

The family web site works for our today so that tomorrow our frailties will be overlooked with love and friendship.

Herb + Alice = 59

No two people - no mere father and mother - as I have often said, are enough to provide emotional security for a child. He needs to feel himself one in a world of kinfolk, persons of variety in age and temperament, and yet allied to himself by an indissoluble bond which he cannot break if he could, for nature has welded him into it before he was born.
Pearl S. Buck