From Rama to St. Paul—Mississippi steamers—Slaves—Pilot—Race.
Early in July, 1860, we started on our journey. I was then in my seventeenth year. We sailed from Collingwood on an American propeller, which brought us to Milwaukee, on Lake Michigan. Here we took a train through a part of Wisconsin to Lacrosse, on the Mississippi River, which place we reached about midnight, and immediately were transferred to a big Mississippi steamer.
Here everything was new—the style and build of the boat, long and broad and flat, made to run in very shallow water.
The manner of propelling this huge craft was a very large wheel, as wide as the boat, and fixed to the stern, and which in its revolutions fairly churned the waters in her wake.
The system of navigation was so different; the pilot steered the boat, not by his knowledge of the fixed channel, but by his experience of the lights and shadows on the water which by day or night indicated to him the deep and shallow parts.
Passengers and mails had no sooner been transferred, than tinkle! tinkle! went the bells, and our big steamer quivered from stem to stern, and then began to vibrate and shake as if in a fit of ague, and we were out in the stream and breasting the current of this mighty river.
Dancing was going on in the cabin of the boat when we went on board; but soon all was quiet except the noise of the engines and the splash of the paddles.
Next morning we were greeted with beautiful river scenery. Long stretches, majestic bends, terraced banks, abrupt cliffs, succeeded each other in grand array.
During the day we came to Lake Pepin, and here were joined to another big steamer. The two were fastened together side by side to run the length of the lake, and also to give the passengers of the other boat opportunity to come aboard ours, and be entertained by music and dancing.
The colored steward and waiters of our boat were a grand orchestra in themselves.
One big colored man was master of ceremonies. Above the din of machinery and splashing of huge paddles rose his voice in stentorian tones: "Right!" "Left!" "Promenade!" "Change partners!" "Swing partners!" And thus the fun went on that bright afternoon; while, like a pair of Siamese twins, our big stern-wheelers ploughed up the current of the "Big River," this being the literal translation of the word Mississippi.
Both boats had crowds of Southern people and their slaves as passengers; and if what we saw was the whole of slavery, these were having a good time. But, as the colored barber on our boat said to me, "This is the very bright side of it."
And then he asked me if we were not English. And when I told him we were Canadians, he wanted me to ask father to help some of these slaves to freedom. But it was not long after this when the mighty struggle took place which resulted in the freeing of all the slaves.
These were the days of steamboats on the Mississippi, which Mark Twain has immortalized.
From port to port the pilot reigned supreme. What a lordly fellow he was! As soon as the boat was tied to the bank the captain and mate took the reins, and they drove with a vengeance, putting off or taking on freight at the stopping-places, and taking in cordwood from the barge towed alongside in order to save time.
They made those "roust-abouts" jump. The captain would cuff, and the mate would kick, and the two would vie with each other in profanity, and thus they rushed things; and when ready, the pilot with quiet dignity would resume his throne.
When the channel narrowed our boats parted, and to change the excitement began a race.
Throw in the pitch pine-knots, fling in the chunks of bacon! Make steam! more steam! is the meaning of the ringing of bells and the messages which follow each other down from the pilot-house to the engine-room.
This time we seemed as yet to be about matched, when our rival pilot undertook to run between us and the bar, and in doing so ran his boat hard and fast in the sand.
We gave him a parting cheer and went on, reaching St. Paul some twenty-four hours ahead.
St. Paul, now a fine city, was then a mere village.
Across the plains—Mississippi to the Red—Pemmican—Mosquitoes—Dogs—Hunting—Flat boat—Hostile Indians.
We had reached the prairie country, woodland and plain intermixed.
We were now at the end of our steam transport service for this trip.
We did hope to catch the only steamer on the Red River of the North, but in this were disappointed.
The next question was how to reach the Red River. Hundreds of miles intervened.
We found on inquiry that there were two means of crossing the country in sight—one by stage-coach, the other by Red River cart.
A brigade of these latter having just then come in from the north, father and I went out to the camp where these carts were, and the sight of them soon made father determine not to travel with them. Our first sight of these Red River chariots was not favorable. I climbed into one, but did so carefully, fearing it would collapse with my weight. All the iron on it was a thin hoop on the hub, the whole thing being bound together with rawhide. "No, gentlemen, we were as yet too much 'tender-feet' to risk such vehicles."
Imagine mother and my sisters jogging hundreds of miles in those springless carts!
Father then went to interview the proprietors of the stage line, and concluded a bargain with them to take us from St. Paul to Georgetown, which place is on the Red River. Accordingly, one morning bright and early, and long before breakfast, we were rolling away up the eastern bank of the Mississippi—father, mother and sisters inside the coach, and myself up with the driver. Our pace was good, the country we were travelling through beautiful in its scenic properties.
We stopped for the first stage at St. Anthony's Falls. Here we had our breakfast.
If anyone that morning had said, "Just across yonder will stand one of the finest cities in America, and that before many years," all the pessimists in the party would have laughed at such a prophecy, but I verily believe, father would have said, "Yes, it is coming."
Our drive that day took us across the Mississippi to the village of St. Cloud, where father, learning that the steamer on the Red River would not come up to Georgetown for some time, concluded to stay over until the next coach, one week later.
In the meantime we made a tent, and hunted prairie chicken, and studied German, or rather Germans, for these made up the greater part of the population.
Taking the next coach the following week, we continued our journey. Soon we left settlement behind, the people of the stage-houses and stopping-places being the only inhabitants along the route.
Many of these were massacred in the Sioux rising which took place shortly afterwards.
Our stages ranged from twelve to twenty miles, and we averaged seventy miles per day.
A great part of the route was beautifully undulating, and fresh scenes were before us all the while.
MY DELIGHT WAS TO DRIVE THE FOUR-IN-HANDMY DELIGHT WAS TO DRIVE THE FOUR-IN-HAND
My delight was to drive the four-in-hand, and the good-natured drivers would give me many an opportunity to do so.
It seemed like living to hold those reins, and swing around those hills and bowl through those valleys at a brisk trot or quick gallop.
By and by we reached the beginning of the Red River. We were across the divide; we were coursing down the country northward.
Hitherto it had been "up north" with us, but now, for years, it would be "down north."
These waters flowed into Hudson's Bay.
Presently we were on the great flat plain, which largely constitutes the valley of the Red River.
At the stopping-place, on the edge of this flat country, the stage people were about to leave the coach and hitch on to a broad-tired, springless wagon, but father simply put his foot down and we went on with our coach.
Talk about mosquitoes! They were there by the million. Such a night as we put in on the Breckinridge flats!
The stopping-place was unique of its kind—a dugout with a ridge-pole and small poles leaned against this on two sides, with earth and sods placed over these poles, and some canvas hung at either end. The night was hot, the dugout, because of the cook-stove, hotter still, and the mosquitoes in countless numbers.
Mother and my sisters were in misery; indeed, we all were, but we comforted each other with the thought that it was for one night only, and that respite would come in the morning.
My bed was under the table on the mud floor. My companion for the night was the proprietor of this "one-roomed mud hotel." The next morning the driver for that day said to me, "Now, young man, make a good square meal, for to-night we will reach Georgetown, and you will have only dogs and pemmican to cat." I asked him what pemmican was, but he could not tell me. All he could do was to talk about it.
All day we drove over this great flat plain—rich soil, long grass; the only break was the fringing of timber along the river.
We had dinner and then supper, and again the driver would admonish us to partake heartily of bacon and bread, for to-night, said he, "we reach the land of pemmican."
My curiosity was greatly excited as to what pemmican might be.
Late in the evening we reached Georgetown. Here we were on the banks of the Red River, and at the end of our stage journey, where we hoped to find a steamer to take us down to Fort Garry. Georgetown was situated a little north of the junction of Buffalo Creek with the Red River. The town consisted of one dwelling house and a storehouse, both belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company.
Here, though not yet in the Hudson's Bay country, we were already in touch with this great company whose posts reached far on to the Arctic and dotted the country from Labrador to the Pacific coast.
The gentleman in charge, a Mr. Murray, learning of our destination, with the usual courtesy of the Hudson's Bay Company's officers, welcomed us heartily, and gave up his room to our family, while he took up quarters with me in our tent, which we speedily pitched near the bank of the river.
That night, before we went to sleep, I inquired of Mr. Murray if he knew anything about pemmican, and with a laugh he replied, "Yes, my boy, I was made acquainted with pemmican many years ago, and will be pleased to introduce you to some in the morning." I would fain have inquired about dogs, but my kind friend was already snoring. I could not sleep so soon. This strange, wild, new country we had travelled through for days, these Indian, and buffalo, and frontier stories I had listened to at the stopping-places, and heard from the drivers as we travelled—though born on the frontier yet all this was new to me. Such illimitable plains, such rich soil, such rank grass—there was a bigness about all this, and I could not help but speculate upon its future.
With the early morn we were up, and using the Red River as our wash-dish, were soon ready to investigate our new surroundings.
The first thing was pemmican. Mr. Murray took me to the storehouse, and here, sure enough, was pemmican in quantity. Cords of black and hairy bags were piled along the walls of the store. These bags were hard, and solid, and heavy. One which had been cut into was lying on the floor. Someone had taken an axe and chopped right through hair and hide and pemmican, and here it was spread before me. My friend stooped and took some and began to eat, and said to me, "Help yourself," but though I had not eaten since supper yesterday, and we had driven a long way after that, still the dirty floor, the hairy bag, the mixture of the whole, almost turned my stomach, and I merely said, "Thank you, sir." Ah! but soon I did relish pemmican, and for years it became my staple food.
It was a wonderful provision of Providence for the aboriginal man and the pioneer of every class.
For days we waited for the steamer; not a word reached us from anywhere. In the meantime, father and I hunted and fished; we shot duck and prairie chicken, and caught perch and pickerel and catfish and mud-turtles, and explored the country for miles, though we were cautioned about Indians, a war-party of whom one might strike anywhere and any time.
The Red River was a sort of dividing line between the Ojibways and the Sioux, the former to the east and the latter to the west of this long liquid line of natural division.
By and by the steamer came, and, to our great disappointment, the captain said he could not run her back down as the water was too low.
This captain was not of the kind of pioneer men who laugh at impossibilities.
The next thing was to load a flat-bottomed barge and float her down.
We were allowed to erect our tent on a portion of the deck of the scow, and soon we were moving down stream, having as motive power human muscle applied to four long sweeps.
Day and night, with change of men, our scow kept on down this slow-currented and tortuous stream. The only stop was to take on wood for our cooking stove. Here I learned to like pemmican.
From Georgetown on the Red to Norway House on the Nelson—Old Fort Garry—Governor MacTavish—York boats—Indian gamblers—Welcome by H. B. Co. people.
I think it was the sixth day out from Georgetown that we again entered Canada. Late in the evening of the eighth day we rounded the point at the mouth of the Assiniboine, and landed at Fort Garry.
It was raining hard, and mud was plentiful.
I climbed the banks and saw the walls and bastions of the fort, and looked out northward on the plains and saw one house.
Where that house stood, now stands the city of Winnipeg.
Fortunately for us a brigade of York boats was then loading to descend the rivers and lakes, and cross the many portages to York Factory on Hudson's Bay.
Father lost no time in securing a passage in one of these, which was to start the next morning. In the meantime, Governor MacTavish invited father and mother and sisters to quarters in his own home for the night.
My work was to transfer our luggage to the York boat, and then stay and look after it, for it was evident that our new crew were pretty well drunk.
Near dark we heard a strange noise up the Red, and one of the boatmen said, "Indians coming!" And sure enough a regular fleet of wild Red Lake Ojibways hove in sight, and, singing and paddling in time, came ashore right beside us. Painted and feathered, and strangely costumed, these were real specimens of North American Indians.
As was customary, the Hudson's Bay Company served them out a "regale" of rum, and very soon the night was made hideous with the noise of their drunken bout.
I had a big time keeping them out of our boat, but here my acquaintance with their language served me in good turn.
I HAD A BIG TIME KEEPING THEM OUT OF OUR BOATI HAD A BIG TIME KEEPING THEM OUT OF OUR BOAT
Until near morning I kept my vigil in the bow of our boat, and then our steersman woke up, and was sufficiently sobered to relieve me, and I took his blanket and slept a short time.
Early in the day we made our start for Norway House. This we trusted was our last transfer.
Our craft was an agreeable change to the clumsy barge. This was more like a bateau built and used on our eastern lakes, but lighter and stronger, capable of standing a good sea, and making good time under sail. The boat was manned with eight men and a steersman. One of the eight was the bowman.
With our eight big oars keeping stroke, we swept around the point and again took the Red for Lake Winnipeg and beyond. Our quarters in the open boat were small, and, for our party, crowded, but we hoped to reach our destination in a few days.
We had but four hundred miles more to make to what was to be our new home.
We were now passing through the old Red River settlement, St. John's, St. Boniface, Kildonan, the homes of the people on either bank, many of these making one think that these folk literally believed in the old saw, "Man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long." Here, as everywhere in the North-West, the influence of the great herds of buffalo on the plain, and big shoals of fish in the lakes and rivers, was detrimental to the permanent prosperity of a people. You cannot really civilize a hunter or a fisherman until you wean him from these modes of making a livelihood.
We passed Stone Fort and Archdeacon Cowley's Mission, where for a lifetime this venerable servant of God labored for the good of men; then on to the mouth of the Red, which we camped at the second day. We had many delays coming through the settlements, but now were fairly off.
Up to this time father and I had not let our crew know that we understood the Ojibway, or, as it was termed here, the Salteaux.
Often had we been much amused at the remarks some of these men had made about us, but seeing a muskrat near the boat, I forgot all caution and shouted in Indian to a man with a gun to shoot it. The man let the muskrat go because of his wonder at my use of the language. "Te wa," said he, "this fellow speaks as ourselves;" and then we became great friends.
Here for the first time in my life I found myself amongst Indian gamblers.
Whenever we were wind-bound, some of the various crews (for there were a number of boats) would form gambling circles, and with drum and song play "odd or even," or something similar.
Here the man most gifted with mind-reading power would invariably come off the winner.
Our men seemed passionately fond of this kind of gambling, and it was one of the habits the missionary had to contend against, for to the Indian there was associated with this the supernatural and heathenish, and often these gambling circles would break up for the time with a stabbing or shooting scrape.
Sometimes wind-bound, sometimes sailing, sometimes pulling, merely calling at Berens River post, where some ten or twelve years later Rev. E. R. Young began a mission, and presently we had gone the greater part of the length of Lake Winnipeg, had entered one of the outward and sea-bound branches of the Nelson, had crossed the island-dotted and picturesque Play-green Lake, had come down the Jack River, and on the tenth day from Fort Garry, pulled up at Norway House, and met a very kind welcome from the Hudson's Bay Factor and his lady, and indeed from everybody.
We were still two miles from Rossville. Our new friends manned a boat and took us over. Here we found the Rev. Robt. Brooking and family; and as no news had preceded us, we brought them word of their being relieved. Great was their joy, and ours was not a little, for we had now reached our objective point for the present. Here was our home, and here were we to work and labor, each according to his ability.
New mission—The people—School—Invest in pups—Dog-driving—Foot-ball—Beautiful aurora.
Rossville is beautifully situated on a rocky promontory which stretches out into the lake. All around are coves, and bays, and islands, and rivers. The water is living and good, the fish are of first quality, and in the season fowl of many kinds were plentiful. Canoe and boat in summer, dog-train in winter—these were the means of transport.
The only horse in the country belonged to the Mission, had been brought there by James Evans, and was now very old. We used him to plough our garden, and sometimes haul a little wood, but he was really a "superannuate."
The Indians were of the Cree nation, and spoke a dialect of that language, known as the Swampy Cree.
As there is a strong affinity between the Ojibway and the Cree, I began very soon to pick it up. As Peter Jacobs had told me, these Indians were the best we had ever seen—more teachable, more honest, more willing to work, more respectful than any we had as yet come across.
Their occupation was, in summer, boating for the Hudson's Bay Company and free traders, and in winter, hunting.
There were no better, no hardier tripmen in the whole Hudson's Bay country than these Norway House Indians.
Between Lake Winnipeg and York Factory there are very many portages, and across these all the imports and exports for this part of the country must be carried on men's backs, and across some these big boats must be hauled. No men did the work more quickly or willingly than the men from our Mission at Rossville.
When we went to them their great drawback was the rum traffic. This was a part of the trade, but I am glad to say that soon after this time of which I write, the Hudson's Bay Company gave up dealing in liquor among the Indians.
This was greatly to their credit.
No wonder the Indian drank, for almost all white men with whom he came in contact did so; and even some of our own missionaries, greatly to my surprise, had brought into this Indian country those Old Country ideas of the use of stimulants.
But father soon inaugurated a newrégime, and many of the Hudson's Bay people respected him for it, and helped him in his efforts against this truly accursed traffic.
In a few days Mr. Brooking and family left on their long journey to Ontario, and we settled down to home-life at Rossville.
My work was teaching, and I had my hands full, for my daily average was about eighty.
I had no trouble, the two years I taught at Norway House, to gather scholars. They came from the mainland and from the islands and from the fort, by canoe and dog-train.
My scholars were faithful in their attendance, but the responsibility was a heavy one for me, a mere boy. However, I was fresh from being taught and from learning, and I went to work enthusiastically, and was very much encouraged by the appreciation of the people.
After school hours I either took my gun and went partridge-hunting, or went and set my net for white-fish, to help make our pot boil.
On Saturdays I took one of my boys with me in my canoe, and we would paddle off down the lake or up the river, hunting ducks and other fowl.
When winter came—which it does very early out there—I got some traps and set them for foxes.
Many a winter morning I rose at four o'clock, harnessed my dogs and drove miles and back in visiting my traps, reaching home and having breakfast before daylight, as it was necessary, for a part of the winter, to begin school as soon as it was good daylight.
Soon after we arrived I invested in four pups. I paid the mission interpreter, Mr. Sinclair, £2 sterling for the pups on condition that he fed them until they were one year old.
In the meantime, for the first winter, Mr. Sinclair kindly lent me some of his dogs. Everybody had dogs, and my pups promised to make a good train when they grew.
All my boy pupils were great "dog-drivers." Many a Saturday morning, bright and early, my boys would rendezvous at the Mission, and we would start with staked wood-sleighs across the lake or up the river to the nearest dry wood bluff.
This, in my time, was three or four miles away, and what a string we would make—twenty-five or thirty boys of us, each with three or four dogs, all these hitched tandem; bells ringing, boys shouting, whips cracking, dogs yelping—away we would fly as fast as we could drive. What cared we for cold or storm!
When we reached the wood we would race as to who could chop and split and load first. What shouting and laughter and fun! and, when all were loaded, back across the ice as fast as we could go, all running.
Then we would pile our wood at the schoolhouse or church, and, again agreeing to meet at the mission house in the afternoon, away home to their dinner my boys would drive, and by and by turn up, this time with flat sleds or toboggans; and now we would race across to the Hudson's Bay Company's fort, every man for himself, and when we got there we would challenge the Company's employees to a game of foot-ball, for this was the national game of the North-West, and my boys were hard to beat.
Then back home by moon or Northern Light, making this ice-bound land like day. Ah! those were great times for the cultivation of wind and muscle and speed—and better, sympathy and trust.
Father, when home, held an English service at the fort once a week, and the largest room available was always full. Then we organized a literary society, which met weekly at the fort. Thus many a night we drove to and fro with our quick-moving dogs.
At times we were surrounded by the "Aurora." Sometimes they seemed to touch us. One could hear the swish of the quick movement through the crisp, frosty atmosphere. What halos of many-colored light they would envelop us in! Forest and rock, ice and snow, would become radiant as with heavenly glory. One would for the time almost forget the intense cold.
No wonder the Indian calls these wonderful phenomena "The Dancers," and says they are "the spirits of the departed." After all, who knows? I do not.
First real winter trip—Start—Extreme fatigue—Conceit all gone—Cramps—Change—Will-power—Find myself—Am as capable as others—Oxford House—Jackson's Bay.
During our first winter I accompanied father on a trip to Jackson's Bay and Oxford House. This is about 180 miles almost due north of Norway House, making a trip of 360 miles.
Our manner of starting out on the trip was as follows: William Bundle, father's hired man, went ahead on snow-shoes, for there was no track; then came John Sinclair, the interpreter, with his dogs hitched to a cariole, which is a toboggan with parchment sides and partly covered in, in which father rode, and on the tail of which some of the necessary outfit was tightly lashed; then came my train of dogs and sleigh, on which was lashed the load, consisting of fish for dogs and pemmican and food for men; kettles, axe, bedding—in short, everything for the trip; then myself on snow-shoes, bringing up the rear.
MY FIRST WINTER TRIPMY FIRST WINTER TRIP
Now, the driver of a dog-sleigh must do all the holding back going down hill; must right the sleigh when it upsets; keep it from upsetting along sidehills, and often push up hills; and, besides all this, urge and drive the dogs, and do all he can to make good time.
This was my first real winter trip with dogs, and I very soon found it to be no sinecure, but, on the contrary, desperately hard work.
Many a time that first day I wished myself back at the Mission.
The hauling of wood, the racing across to the fort—all that had been as child's play; this was earnest work, and tough at that.
The big load would cause my sleigh to upset; my snow-shoes would likewise cause me to upset. The dogs began to think—indeed, soon knew—I was a "tenderfoot," and they played on me.
Yonder was William, making a bee-line for the north, and stepping as if he were going to reach the pole, and that very soon, and Mr. Sinclair was close behind him; and I, oh! where was I, but far behind? Both spirit and flesh began to weaken.
Then we stopped on an island and made a fire; that is, father and the men had the fire about made when I came up. Father looked mischievous. I had bothered him to let me go on this trip.
However, the tea and pemmican made me feel better for a while, and away we went for the second spell, between islands, across portages, down forest-fringed rivers and bluffs casting sombre shadows. On my companions seemed to fly, while I dragged behind. Oh, how heavy those snow-shoes! Oh, how lazy those dogs! Oh, how often that old sleigh did upset! My! I was almost in a frenzy with mortification at my failure to be what I had presumed to think I was. But I did not seem to have enough spirit left to get into a frenzy about anything.
When are they going to camp? Why don't they camp? These were questions I kept repeating to myself. We were going down a river. It was now late. I would expect to find them camped around the next point, but, alas! yonder they were disappearing around another point. Often I wished I had not come, but I was in for it, and dragged wearily on, legs aching, back aching, almost soul aching.
Finally they did camp. I heard the axes ringing, and I came up at last.
They had climbed the bank and gone into the forest. I pushed my sleigh up and unharnessed my dogs, and had just got the collar off the last one in time to hear father say, "Hurry, John, and carry up the wood." Oh, dear! I felt more like having someone carry me, but there was no help for it.
Carrying ten and twelve foot logs, and you on snow-shoes, is no fun when you are an adept, but for a novice it is simply purgatory. At least I could not just then imagine anything worse than my condition was.
By great dint of effort get the log on to your shoulder and then step out; snow deep and loose; bushes and limbs of trees, and your own limbs also all conspiring, and that successfully, to trip and bother. Many a fall is inevitable, and there are a great many logs to be carried in, for the nights are long and cold.
William felled the trees and cut them into lengths, and I grunted and grumbled under their weight in to the pile beside the camp.
At last I took off my snow-shoes and waded in the deep snow.
Father and his interpreter, in the meanwhile, were making camp, which was no small job. First, they went to work, each with a snowshoe as a shovel, to clear the snow away for a space about twelve feet square, down to the ground or moss; the snow forming the walls of our camp. These walls were then lined with pine boughs, and the bottom was floored with the same material; then the fire was made on the side away from the wind. This would occupy the whole length of one side; except in the case of a snow-storm, there would be no covering overhead.
If the snow was falling thick some small poles would be stuck in the snow-bank at the back of the camp, with a covering of canvas or blankets, which would form the temporary roof of the camp.
At last we were done; that is, the camp was made, the wood was carried, the fire was blazing.
Then the sleighs must be untied and what you wanted for that time taken from them, and then carefully must you re-wrap and re-tie your sleigh, and sometimes even make a staging on which to hang it to keep it and its contents from your dogs.
Many a time when provisions were short, and our dogs were very hungry, I have had to hang up not only all eatables, but the sleighs and harness also, for these were largely bound and made of leather and rawhide, and the hungry dogs would eat all of this if they had the chance.
Now comes supper, and while this is cooking we stand our frozen white-fish around the fire in order to thaw them, before we feed them to the dogs.
These we feed at night only; the poor fellows must go the twenty-four hours on one meal.
The ration at this time is six white-fish to each train of four dogs.
Each driver takes his dogs apart and stands whip in hand to prevent them robbing one another.
Supper and dogs fed, those who smoke light their pipes, and we dry our moccasins and duffils if these need it, and accounts of old trips and camp storms, etc., are in vogue.
Our fire is a big one, but our room is a big one also, being all out of doors, and while your face and front are burning, your back is freezing, and you turn around every little while to equalize things.
While all this is going on, my legs, unused to the snow-shoes' strain and the long tramp, are every little while causing me great pain by taking cramps. I do not say anything about this, but I think a lot. I know father understands the case, but except a twinkle of his eye he gives no sign that he thinks of it.
Presently we make up our beds, and sing a hymn, and have prayer.
We lie down as we travelled, except our belts—coats and caps all on—and in order to keep warm, we should lie perfectly still. The least move will let the cold in.
But how was I to remain still when my legs refused to remain quiet. Every little while a cramp would take hold and the pain would be dreadful, but with desperation I would strive to keep still, for I was sleeping with father. I could not sleep, and when my legs ceased to pain, and I was about to fall asleep, father lit a match, looked at his watch, and said, "Hurrah, boys, it is time to get up."
There was no help for it, and up we got.
The extreme cold and the dire necessity there was to brace up kept me alive that morning.
It was now about three o'clock, and we made a slight breakfast on pemmican and tea, had a short prayer, and tied on our bedding and camp outfit and harnessed our dogs—and mind you, this lashing and tying of sleds, and catching and harnessing of dogs, was hard on the fingers, and often very trying to the temper, for those cunning dogs would hide away in the bush, and sometimes we had to catch and tie the worst ones up before we made any move towards a start, or else they would run away.
It was now about four o'clock or a little after, and we retraced our track to the river and again turned our faces northward.
My companions seemed to leave me almost at once.
The narrow winding river, with its forest-clad banks, was dark and very cold and dreary. My legs were stiff, and my feet were already sore with the snow-shoe strings. My dogs were indifferent to my urging. They knew I would not run out of the trail to get at them with my whip. I verily believe each dog thought he had a soft thing in having this "tenderfoot" as a driver.
Many a time that cold, dark winter's morning I wished I was at home or in Ontario.
I became sleepy. Even my slow-going dogs would leave me, and I would make a desperate effort to come up again, and thus the hours passed and we kept the river. After a long time, a terrible time to me, the day sky began to appear. Slowly the morning dawned, the cold intensified. I was in misery. I began to wonder where my friends would stop for breakfast.
Presently we came to a large lake. Out a mile or two, I could discern an island. Oh! thought I, there is where they will stop. They were near it already, and I began to hope for transient help and rest. Again I looked, and straight past it William took his course, and away yonder, like a faint streak of blue, was a point he was making for.
How my hopes were dashed, and it seemed for a little I would have to give up.
I was now a considerable distance behind my dogs, when, all of a sudden, a feeling took hold of me, and I began to reason in this wise to myself. What is the matter with you? You are strong, you are capable. What are you doing behind here, ready to give up? Come! be a man. And I stepped out briskly—I began to run on those snow-shoes. I came up to those lazy dogs, and gave them such a shout they thought a small cyclone had struck them. Soon I was up opposite the island, and I ran away to its shore, broke a long dry pole, and after my dogs I went, and brought it down alongside of them with another shout, and made them bound off; then picking up the pieces of broken pole, I let them fly at those dogs, and away we went. Presently I was in a glow, and the stiffness in my limbs was gone, and soon I came up to my companions, and said, "Where are you going to have breakfast?" And they said, "Across yonder," pointing to the blue streak in the distance. "Well, then," said I, "why don't you travel faster, and let us get there?" William looked at me, and father turned round in his cariole to see if I was in earnest, and from thenceforth, on that trip as ever since, I was all right.
I had found the secret. I had the capability to become a pioneer and frontiersman, and now I knew this a complete change came over me and has remained with me ever since.
No more whining and dragging behind after that. My place was at the front, and in all the tripping and hardship and travel of the years I have kept there.
When we stopped for breakfast, father smiled upon me in a kind, new way. I had come up in his estimation. I overheard William say to Mr. Sinclair, "John is all right, he has found his legs."
Across Lake Winnipegoosis, over the portages, through the forests, up and down rivers, steadily we kept on our course.
At one of our encampments we made a "cache" of some fish and some pemmican.
This was for our return journey.
The manner of our doing so was to rake away the embers and coals from where we had the fire during the night and morning, and then dig a hole in the thawed ground, and put our provisions in this hole; then cover with a few sticks, and put the earth back, until the place was full; then make a small fire just over the spot, and in going away kick some snow into the fire-place. This would soon freeze hard, and the ashes and embers would destroy the scent, and thus the cunning wolverine would not find our "cache."
We saw tracks of moose and cariboo; also a few foxes, and hundreds of white partridge.
At the southerly end of Oxford Lake we found a single camp of Indians, and stopped with them for the night.
They feasted us on young beaver, which was an agreeable change from pemmican.
There were seventeen of us in that camp for the night. It was circular, and may have been twelve feet in diameter. On the ground we lay, with our feet to the fire.
During the night I felt my foot very hot, and springing up, found that my part of the blanket was burned through, and my duffil sock was on fire.
This was another "tenderfoot" experience.
These people were Christians, and delighted to see father and listen to his counsel and exhortation.
The next day we reached Jackson's Bay, where we received from Mr. and Mrs. Stringfellow, the missionary and his wife, a very hearty welcome.
If Norway House, with its one mail in six months and its small community of English-speaking people, is thought out of the world, where would you place Jackson Mission? This little man and his good wife (and for a good part of the year many of the Indians away from the mission) and the Hudson's Bay Company's post, with its small company, are fifteen miles distant in winter, and, I should judge, twice that in summer.
Why, Norway House is on the front compared with this!
We spent Saturday and part of Sunday here. Mr. Stringfellow went with us to the fort, and father held a service in the evening. His address, which was in English, Mr. Sinclair afterwards gave almost verbatim to those who understood only Cree, which seemed to me a remarkable feat of memory, seeing he had not taken other than mental notes.
We returned on Monday to Jackson's Bay, and left on Tuesday for Norway House; found our "cache" all right, and reached home on Friday afternoon, averaging forty-five miles per day, which, considering there had been a good deal of storm and our down track in many places could not be seen, was very fair time.
Enlarging church—Winter camp—How evenings are spent—My boys—Spring—The first goose, etc.
Some time after this father determined to enlarge the church, and the Hudson's Bay Company offered to send their carpenters to do the work, if the missionary and Indians got out the timber and lumber.
The Indians went into this work heartily. The first thing was to chop and hew the timber and saw-logs, and haul all these to some lake or river, from which it might be rafted to the Mission.
Some good timber was found on an island in Play-green Lake, about twenty miles away. To this place we went by dog-train and on snowshoes, father and the men chopping and hewing the timber, and myself and my school-boys hauling this out to the shore and piling it ready for rafting in the summer.
We were several days at this work—men, boys and dogs, all busy as we could be. The woods fairly rang with chopping and shouting.
An Easterner would hardly credit the strength of a good big train of dogs, helped by a stout boy.
Then, when the load is out, the return trip is made on the jump, there being no time lost by the way.
My boys and I had the roads to make, as well as the timber to haul.
Our open camp was a unique sight at night. Big fires stretched along the centre, a brush floor down both sides, fish thawing, fish boiling, fish roasting, fish frying.
Our pemmican we saved for breakfast and dinner; it did not require time to cook. Then fish is more digestible, therefore better for supper. Men and boys sitting and standing, some cooking, some mending moccasins, others drying them—all good-natured and happy.
Behind all this, but still in the light of the fire, are the dogs. These are of all breeds and of all colors; some lounging, some snarling, some fighting—all waiting, perforce of necessity, for their supper, which is being thawed at the fire.
After supper the dogs are fed, and then the woods would echo with hearty singing.
Father was a good singer, and between us we taught these people many new songs and hymns.
Then father would open their eyes and minds by describing some Eastern lands and scenes; and thus the shorter evenings of slowly approaching spring would pass quickly, and all would stretch out to sleep, for all were tired.
A few weeks after this there was great excitement in the village. The first goose of the season had been seen. To men who have been living for the most part on fish during the winter months, the coming of the geese from the south is a welcome change. Presently from all over the village the boys are imitating the wild goose's call, and the old hunters are getting their decoy heads ready. As for the bodies, they can make them out of logs near or at the place they may select for a hunting-ground.
Father and I went several times to places near by. We would go Friday evening and come home Saturday evening. Father was an ardent sportsman and a good shot.
I will never forget my first goose. I broke his wing, and he came down on the ice, and started to run out on the lake. I had a single-barrelled muzzle-loading gun, and I loaded it before starting after the big fellow. When he saw me coming he spurted, with legs and wing. He made good time, and I ran and doubled, and after a long chase came close enough to shoot him again, and stopped him.
The Hudson's Bay factor and clerks went a long distance and were away some weeks on the goose hunt.
Opening of Navigation—Sturgeon fishing—Rafting timber—Sawing lumber.
About the last of May the ice went off the lake, and navigation was open. We made up another bee to go to raft our timber down. Father sent William and I one day ahead of the party, in order that we might set nets for sturgeon, which we did; and when father and men came up next day, we had fourteen large sturgeon to begin with. While white-fish is the staple food in that north country, these sturgeon come in at seasons as an extra luxury; indeed, they are the beef and bacon of the northern Indian. Sturgeon oil is both lard and butter for these people, and blessed is the wife and mother who has many vessels full of it.
We made a big raft of our timber, and both wind and current favoring us, we soon had it hauled out and piled up on the beach near the church. The sawing of the timber was gone into by the Indians in turn, each doing his share. This we carefully piled, to season, and in the autumn the Hudson's Bay Company, as per offer and promise, sent their carpenters, and the enlargement went on. There was great rejoicing and a grand reopening when the work was finished.
Summer transport—Voyageurs—Norway House—The meeting place of many brigades—Missionary work intensified.
As the summer months are few in that northern climate, the need to push transport matter is imperative.
Norway House was the first depot post in the interior, coming from York Factory on the Hudson's Bay. Here were wintered the most of the "green hands," those men who had been brought out by the ship the previous summer, and from this point these men were distributed to the various districts in the farther interior.
To Norway House, in the early summer, came the brigade of boats from the Mackenzie River, the Athabasca, and English River, and Cumberland districts.
Down from the west, the Saskatchewan and Swan River districts, came the "Braroes" (I give the word as it was pronounced), the men from the great plains. Down from the south, the Red River Brigade added their quota to these fleets of inland transport.
For all these Norway House was the common centre. At those times the old fort wasen fete. The river banks were lined far up and down with boats and tents. The smoke of many campfires hung over the place. The prattle of many tongues in different languages was heard. English and French, and Norwegian and Ojibway, or Salteaux, and Chippewayan, and Caughnawaga and Cree—these were most common at these gatherings, but through and over all the Cree dominated and was most generally understood and spoken.
Here were the Governor and chief factors and chief traders and clerks of various grades in the service of this honorable Company. Here were the steersmen and bowsmen and middlemen, the hardy voyageurs whose strength of brain and muscle, and whose wonderful pluck and daring, as well as prudence, made possible the import and export traffic in vast regions which would have seemed to other men impossible and inaccessible. Some of these men would leave their distant inland posts on snow-shoes, and reaching what was the frontier post to them in their sublime isolation, would then take to the boats with the first break of navigation; then, descending rivers and running rapids and portaging falls, they would finally reach York Factory, and unloading and reloading, would turn and retrace their course, and only arrive at the frontier post of their own district at the beginning of winter. Then with snow-shoes and dog-train they would travel to their own homes. The toil and hardship of such a life is beyond the conception of most minds, and yet these men endured all this uncomplainingly and without a murmur, in their loyalty to the honorable Company they served.
What an object-lesson they were and have been to me!
These gatherings were periods of great responsibilities and also of intense anxiety to the missionary stationed at Norway House.
These were the days of temptation to the people. Rum and evil association were rife during these days.
Then there came within the range of his influence men who had seldom been at service and many who had not had the opportunity of attending a regular preaching service for a long time. To say the right word to those who in a few days would scatter, who in a few weeks would be located at widely distant posts, but who now gathered in the mission church and eagerly listened to the preached Gospel—truly this was a great responsibility for the missionary.
Then the men of our own mission would now be starting with their brigade of boats for the summer's transport work. To counsel with these, to arrange the work of the class-leader and local preacher, to readmonish as to Sabbath observance and general deportment—all this kept the missionary busy and anxious.
Father was instant in season and out of it. Both among Indians and white men, his influence was very apparent and became widespread in its effect for good.
Canoe trip to Oxford—Serious accident.
In the autumn of 1861, father and Mr. Sinclair and William made a canoe trip to Oxford House. On the return journey they had an accident in the upsetting of their canoe in a rapid. It was in the early morning, and father had his heavy coat on and was otherwise handicapped for such a time. But faithful William swam to the over-turned canoe, and then pushed it end on to father, at the same saying, "Keep up, master. I am coming!" and when near with the canoe, "Now, master, take hold. Hold hard, master!" and these two thus passed through the rapid, and swinging into an eddy at its foot were saved. Mr. Sinclair swam ashore at once, being in light working costume.
THE UPSETTHE UPSET
They lost most of their outfit, including my gun, which father had taken along.
That same fall, William was bitten on the point of the finger by a jack-fish he was taking out of the net. He caught cold in the wound and inflammation set in, and though father and mother did all they could to help him, mortification followed and he died.
Night and day father was with the poor fellow, and we all mourned for him, for his was a noble heart and he was one of God's heroes.
Establish a fishery—Breaking dogs—Dog-driving, etc.
This was just at the beginning of the fall fishing, and as the Indians were scattered for miles in every direction, my school was broken up, and my father sent me to establish a fishery.
So with a young Indian as my companion we went into camp across the lake, and went to work setting our nets and making our stagings on which to hang the fish, as all fish caught before the ice makes are hung up on stagings.
You put up good stout posts, on which you lay logs, and across these you place strong poles about two and a half feet apart; then you cut good straight willows about an inch in thickness and three feet long. You sharpen one end of these, and, punching a hole in the tail of the fish, you string the fish on the willows, ten to a stick, and with a forked pole you lift these to the staging, hanging them across between the poles; and there they hang, and dry, and freeze, until you haul them away to your storehouse.
After ice makes, the fish freeze almost as soon as you take them out of the water, and are piled away without hanging.
When the fish are plentiful you visit your nets two and three times in the night, in order to relieve them of the great weight and strain of so many fish.
Overhauling the nets, taking care of the fish, mending and drying your nets—all this keeps you busy almost all the time. In taking whitefish out of the net, one uses teeth and hands. You catch the fish in your hand, lift it to your mouth, and, taking hold of its head with your teeth, you press down its length with both hands meeting, and thus force the fish from the net without straining your net. When the fish is loose from the net, you give a swing with your head, and thus toss the fish into the boat behind you or away out on the ice beside you.
All of this, except mending the nets in the tent, is desperately cold work. The ice makes on your sleeves and clothing. Your hands would freeze were it not that you keep them in the water as much as possible.
In my time hundreds of thousands of whitefish were thus taken every year for winter use, the principal food for men and dogs being fish.
When the lakes and rivers are frozen over, you take a long rope, about a quarter of an inch in thickness, and pass it under the ice to the length of your net. To do this you take a long dry pole, and fasten your rope at one end of this; then you cut holes in the ice the length of your pole apart in the direction you want to set your net; you then pass this pole under the ice using a forked stick to push it along, and in this way bring your line out at the far end of where your net will be when set. One pulls the rope and the other sets the net, carefully letting floats and stones go as these should in order that the net hang right.
My man and I put up about two thousand white-fish, besides a number of jack-fish. These were hauled home by dog-train.
My four pups which I bought from Mr. Sinclair over a year since were now fine big dogs, but as wild as wolves. I had put up a square of logs for a dog-house, and by feeding, and coaxing, and decoying with old dogs, I finally succeeded in getting them into it. Then I would catch one at a time, and hitch him with some old and trained dogs. Father would go with me, and fight off the other three while I secured the one I was breaking in, and by and by, I had the whole four broken, and they turned out splendid fellows to pull and go. Very few, if any, trains could leave me in the race, and when I loaded them with two hundred hung fish, they would keep me on the dead run to follow.
I was very proud of my first train of dogs, and also of my success in breaking them.
Many a flying trip I gave father or mother and my sisters over to the fort or out among the Indians. Sometimes I went with father to visit Indian camps, and also to the Hudson's Bay shanties away up Jack River, where their men were taking out timber and wood for the fort. What cared we for the cold! Father was well wrapped in the cariole, and I, having to run and keep the swinging cariole right side up, had not time to get cold.
Winter trip to Oxford—Extreme cold—Quick travelling.
During this second winter father sent me down to Oxford House. I had quite a load for the Rev. Mr. Stringfellow. One item was several cakes of frozen cream which mother sent to Mrs. Stringfellow. We had a cow; they had none. We happened to strike the very coldest part of the winter for our trip. There were four of us in the party—two Indians returning to Jackson's Bay, my man and myself. I was the only one of the party not badly frozen. When we reached the Bay, my companions were spotted with frost-bites—great black sears on forehead and cheeks and chin. I do not know how I escaped, except that I had been living better and my blood was younger and warmer. When we reached Mr. Stringfellow's in the morning, the thermometer registered 56° below zero. We had camped the night before on an island in Oxford Lake, and started out at three o'clock, and one can imagine what it must have been about daylight that morning with heavy snow-shoeing, making progress slow.
Mr. Stringfellow asked me to accompany him to the fort. His man hitched up his dogs, tucked him into the cariole, and started to lead the way; but the dogs went off so slowly I concluded to stay for some time before I followed, so I sat and chatted with Mrs. Stringfellow. When I did start, my dogs soon brought me up, and I went flying past, and reached the fort a long time before Mr. Stringfellow. He said when he arrived that he would be afraid to ride behind such dogs.
On the way back, my young Indian and I made the return trip in three days, averaging sixty miles per day.
Mother and baby's upset—My humiliation.
In the meantime there came to our house a baby brother. We named him George. My sisters were delighted with this new playfellow. When he was about two or three months old, I undertook to take mother and baby over to the fort for a ride and short visit. Father helped us to start, holding my leader until all was ready. The trail went down a considerable hill, and then turned sharply for a straight line to the portage between us and the fort Away we went, but in turning the curve I lost my balance, and over went the cariole, and out spilled mother and the babe into the snow. My heart was in my mouth. What if either or both should be hurt! What if father should have seen the accident! In a very short time I had the cariole turned right side up, and mother and baby seated and tucked in, and off we went, no one hurt, and father had not seen the upset. But a lot of my conceit as a skilful driver was gone, and I learned a lesson for the future; but, oh! those dogs were quick and speedy, and anyone driving them had to look sharp.
I LOSE MY BALANCE--AND SOME CONCEITI LOSE MY BALANCE—AND SOME CONCEIT
All of this fishing and dog-driving and travelling was just so much practice and experience for the years to come in farther and far more difficult fields. I did not know this at the time, but so it has turned out.
From Norway House to the great plains—Portaging—Pulling and poling against the strong current—Tracking.
As the missions on the Saskatchewan were under father's chairmanship, he concluded to visit them during the summer of 1862, and to take me along. He arranged for me to go as far as Fort Carlton on the Saskatchewan by boat, and he, at the invitation of the Hudson's Bay officers, went with them to Red River, and then rode on horseback across the plains to the same point.
Bidding mother and sisters and little brother and many friends good-bye, behold me, then, taking passage in one of a fleet of boats, the destination of which was the Saskatchewan country.
Our route was up the Jack River, across the Play-green Lake to Lake Winnipeg, and then across the northern end of Lake Winnipeg to the mouth of the Saskatchewan River, and on up this rapid river to our objective point.
There were nine, and in some cases ten, men in each boat. There were perhaps a dozen passengers scattered through the fleet. I was alone in my boat, but nearly always at meal times and at night the fleet was together.
Favoring winds and fine weather in two or three days brought us to the mouth of the Saskatchewan.
Here are the Grand Rapids. They are about three miles long. Up the first two miles the boats are pulled and poled and tracked; then comes the tug-of-war. Everything must be taken out of the boat and carried across the portage. Then the pulling of the boats across comes next. This is done on skids and rollers, and all by man's strength alone.
The ordinary load is two pieces. These pieces average one hundred pounds each. The man carries one piece on his back, sustained by a strap on his forehead; then upon this the other piece is placed. This leans up against his neck and head and acts as a brace; and away trots the man, with his two hundred pounds, on a run across the portage. Mosquitoes and "bull-dogs," and mud, valley and hill, it is all the same a necessity; he must "get there."
Some men carried three pieces each trip, and thus got through more quickly.
The whole matter was slavish, and in the long run costly; for, after all, there is no greater wealth in this world than humanity, if properly handled.
The second day, in the evening, we were across and loaded up, all ready for a new start, which we made early next morning. Still the current was rapid and our progress was slow. Now poling, now pulling, then with a line out tracking, slowly we worked up the big Saskatchewan. Crossing Cedar Lake, we entered the steady current of this mighty river.
Here we were overhauled one evening by a couple of big inland canoes, manned by Iroquois Indians, conveying Governor Dallas, who had succeeded Sir George Simpson as Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and who was now, in company with Chief Factor William Christie, as escort, on his way to visit the posts of the Company in the far north and west.
These big birch-bark canoes formed a great contrast to our heavier and clumsier boats. They were manned by stalwart fellows, who knew well how to swing a paddle and handle their frail barque in either lake-storm or river-rapid. With grace and speed and regular dip of paddles, keeping time to their canoe-song, they hove in sight and came to land beside us, and we camped together for the night.
Up and away they went early next morning to ascend the tributaries of the Saskatchewan which flow from the north country; then to make the "long portage," which would bring them to the head-waters of the great Mackenzie system; then up the Peace to the foot of the mountains, and from thence to return by the same route; while the dignitaries they have conveyed thus far will now turn southwards across long stretches of woodland prairie, and on horseback and with pack-saddles, will again come out on the Saskatchewan, at Edmonton.
With a cheer from our crews, and a song from their lips as they bent to their paddles, they left us; but their coming and going had given us a unique experience, and a still further insight into the ways and means of transport and government which obtained in this great territory.
For days our progress was very slow. Our men had to ply their oars incessantly.
Many times in one day we crossed and recrossed the river, to take advantage of the weaker currents. From the break of day until the stars began to twinkle at night, only stopping for meals, our men kept at it, as if they were machines and not flesh and blood.
The sweltering heat, the numberless mosquitoes—who can begin to describe them? But if these hardworked men can endure them, how much more we, who are but passengers, and have just now nothing else to do but endure. For myself, I now and then relieved one of the men at the oar, or took the sweep and steered the boat for hours, letting my steersman help his men.
By and by we came to where there was a beach along the shore, and then our men gladly took to tracking instead of the oar. Four men would hitch themselves with their carrying-straps to the end of a long rope, and walk and run along the shore for miles, thus pulling their boat up the stream at a rapid rate. Then the other four would take the collars and our progress become faster. Sometimes we came to extra currents or rapids; then the rope was doubled, and all hands went on shore to pull and strain past the difficulty. Occasionally two crews had to come to each other's help, and take one boat at a time up the rapids, and though our men welcomed this as compared with the monotonous pull, pull at the oars, yet it was very hard work.
Along miles of rocky beach, then up and over steep-cut banks, now ankle or knee-deep in mud and quicksands, then up to the armpits in crossing snags and channels, and mouths of tributary streams; then, "All aboard," and once more bend to the oars, to cross over to better tracking on the other side of the river: thus in constant hardship did our faithful crews slowly work their way up this mighty river.