A visit to Whitefish Lake—A devoted Indian missionary—Mark and I go out after buffalo—Mark proves himself a brilliant hunter—Our camp visited by wolves—Muddy Bull's generosity—We reach home with full loads of meat.
The first or breaking-in trip for both men and dogs in the winter of 1865-66 was a three-hundred-mile run, and we lost no time between camps and posts. Although we had the roads to break, still the snow was not deep. Upon our return I took my wife over to Whitefish Lake to visit her parents and people, and we spent Sunday in Mr. Steinhauer's parish, where I learned more of the Cree language and acquired a clearer insight into the religious experience and life and language of these western people. As I have said before I will say here again, Mr. Steinhauer was an ideal missionary. He gave himself with entire devotion to his work. His best was always to the front, and God blessed his efforts. The cycles of eternity will reveal the good this faithful servant accomplished. It was always an inspiration to spend a few days on his mission.
Hurrying back to Victoria, we made a dash out to see where the camps were south and east of us, and finding some of these after a two days' run, we held a series of meetings with them, and shared in their shortage of provisions, for we found that the buffalo had gone far out and there had been considerable hardship in consequence. Moreover Blackfeet and southern Indians had made several successful raids, in which quite a number of horses had been stolen. There had been some reciprocity indulged in, too, by the wood and plain Crees, and these marauding parties had effectually driven the buffalo farther out. "But," said the old men, "cold weather is near, and the men will stay at home, and the buffalo will come into this north country"; a prophecy that we heartily hoped would prove true. We visited several camps and were cordially welcomed, our message being eagerly listened to. Many in these lodges heard for the first time the story of redemption.
It was on this trip that Mark and I, desiring to see for ourselves where the buffalo were, and if possible secure loads of meat to take home, started out bright and early one morning, and following a hunting trail, travelled fast plainward for the whole day. Just as night was setting in we met a small hunting party, and camping with them shared their hospitality, which, as their hunt had been a poor one, was very meagre fare indeed. But even poor meat is better than none, and as these Indians told us of buffalo which they had not disturbed because they were discouraged with poor guns and bad shooting, we went to sleep that night fully determined to have a trial of our luck on the morrow. Accordingly with the first peep of day we were off, and, continuing southward, about ten o'clock came to the edge of a large plain, away out in the centre of which we could see quite a herd of buffalo. Going to the last point of timber, we tied our dogs in the centre of a large bluff and started out on the plain. The buffalo were about five miles distant, but as we had to keep under cover behind hills and along valleys and small gullies—sometimes having to crawl at full length for a considerable distance, where it was impossible to go otherwise without being seen by the advance scouts of the wary herd—it was late in the afternoon when we came within four hundred yards of the nearest buffalo. Here Mark after carefully scanning the lay of the land said to me, "You had better stay here, and I will try and approach alone. You can watch the movement of the herd and follow up after I have shot." So I shoved up a small hummock of snow before me and quietly watched a fine sample of scouting. Centuries of heredity and years of practice were now in full play before my eager eyes. I was almost ravenous. Some poor meat eaten before daylight was all I had had to appease my hunger that day, and miles of travel in the sharp keen frosty air to where we left our dogs, and since then hours of running and walking and crawling to this point, had contributed to give me a tolerably keen appetite.
We wanted meat for urgent present need, and we wanted loads of it to take home, and now the whole matter looked exceedingly doubtful. Yonder were the lines of great bulls, some of them standing and others lying down, some feeding and others quietly chewing their cuds, but all on the alert. Beyond these huge sentinels and surrounded by them were the cows, the meat of which was the object of our quest.
Mark had but a smooth-bore single-barrelled flint-lock. No long distance shooting for him. He must get close. He must pass through the line of bulls. Could he do it? That was the question on my mind as I moved from side to side on my frozen snowy couch. With his white blanket belted around him, and the upper half covering his head and shoulders, Mark was steadily making towards the herd. Fortunately the day was calm, so that the danger of giving scent was small. For interminable periods, as it seemed to me, I lost sight of my companion, and then in a totally unexpected quarter he would reappear, but always nearer to our game. Now he was among the bulls, and I almost held my breath as I saw him push himself past a great big fellow where a blow from horn or hoof might be instant death to the brave hunter. But with consummate skill he made his way past the bull and was right in amongst the great black fellows and quite lost to sight.
Darkness was coming on fast, and the suspense to me as I lay watching became almost unbearable. Cold, anxiety, hunger, each was doing its work on brain and heart and stomach. But presently I saw the whole herd start, and there came in sight a puff of smoke, followed by the report of Mark's first shot, and away I went after the flying buffalo. As I ran I heard another report, and then I came suddenly upon a dead cow. Concluding that this was the result of Mark's first shot, and that in good time he would come back to this point, I set to work to skin the carcase, and was thus engaged when I heard Mark approaching. He was glad to see me, and I delighted at his return in safety. He had killed two cows. This one we were at was his first. Then as the buffalo bunched up and fled he had run to one side and, reloading, had continued running until the herd slowed up. He had then drawn in under cover and shot the second cow. I admired his pluck and skill and speed, and told him so, but he only quietly replied, "These cows are fat, John, and we will have better meat to-night than we had last night."
We were now on the southerly edge of the plain, and about eight miles from where we left our dogs early in the day. After brief deliberation it was decided that Mark should remain to butcher the cows and look up the nearest camping place, while I should cross the plains and bring back our dogs.
Taking my direction, I availed myself of buffalo trails in the snow as much as possible, and when I left one to cross country to another, I marked the spot as strongly as I could upon my memory, and took my bearings of the place as well as I could in the winter's darkness which surrounded me.
In a very short time I was at the bluff and found the dogs. Unfastening them I brought my train, with old Draffan still in the lead, and put them on my track, and then brought out Mark's train and shouted, "Marse, Draffan!" and away we went. Fortunately there was no wind, and though the night was dark Draffan's instinct and my memory as to where to cross from one buffalo path to another worked well. Once or twice I stopped the dogs and struck a match, and was delighted to find we were on a hard buffalo path. Thus we came at a good pace back to where the first cow was. But before we reached the spot Mark came looming up out of the darkness to meet us. The faithful fellow had been anxious; and now he thought it was his turn to tell me that I had done well in finding the dogs and returning them quick and straight.
We used the hide of the cow as a floor for our camp, and soon we had a cheerful fire and meat cooking and dogs fed; and though it was long past midnight before we finished our meal and were ready for bed, yet with light hearts we sang a hymn and knelt in prayer and thankfully rested.
We were now four days' journey from the Mission, but we had found the people and also the buffalo. We had loads of good cow meat to take home, where our supply was rapidly getting low, and as we turned under our blankets in that small bluff, with the canopy of the sky as our roof and the horizon as our walls, it might be cold, it certainly was isolated, and yet we were happy in the satisfaction of success. I, a Scotch-and-English-Canadian, and my Mountain Stony friend, I believe, did that early morning more than ever before appreciate the kingliness of God and the brotherhood of man.
When daylight came Mark went out to see how the meat of our second cow had fared, for prairie wolves and coyotes were in great numbers around us. Mark had built a great fire before he left, and I was lazily dozing beside it waiting for his return, when presently there was a great commotion amongst our dogs. Jumping up, I saw a monster wolf just across the fire. He was snapping and snarling at the dogs, who were barking at him with much vigor, but prudently not venturing to attack him. For this I was abundantly glad, as undoubtedly he had some distemper or he would not have thus come into our camp. I could have shot him, but I was afraid to do so lest in his death-struggles he might wound some of our dogs; so I went at him with firebrands, and after some effort was glad to see him continue his course through the bluff.
"I went at him with firebrands.""I went at him with firebrands."
When Mark returned he reported that some of the meat had been taken by the wolves, but that these had come to the animal just a little before him, and had not had time to take much. We then hurriedly ate our breakfast and drove over to where the meat was, took this on, and started for home. Notwithstanding our loads we made good time, and reached the outer camp of Indians about 9 p.m. We found that Muddy Bull, who had been away on the chase while we passed, had returned and, as usual with him, had made a great hunt. He generously supplemented our loads with tongues and backfats and bosses, so that when we left his camp that night we were well provisioned. Continuing our journey we passed several small campsen route, and stopping about 2 a.m., slept for a few hours and were away again by daylight. Pushing on, we reached home the third day of the return journey, bringing word of Indians and buffalo, which missionaries and traders and settlers were all delighted to hear.
A run to Edmonton—Mr. Hardisty and other Hudson's Bay Company officers spend New Year's with us—Sports and amusements—Our party sets out for Mountain House—I experience a "scare"—Intense cold—A cunning dog—Mishaps to a cariole—In the foot-hills—My first view of the Rockies—Hearty reception at Mountain House—Back to Victoria.
It was now the middle of December, and father arranged to spend a Sabbath in Edmonton before the winter holidays came on. I went as cariole driver, and Mark brought on the provision and baggage sled. A little more than a day and a half brought us to the fort, and while we were there Mr. Hardisty and party arrived from the Rocky Mountain House. This fort and trading-post had been abandoned by the Hudson's Bay Company for some years, but in the summer of 1865 it was decided to reopen it in order to draw the trade of the surrounding Indian tribes—Blackfeet and Bloods, Piegans and Sarcees—as also to keep these turbulent tribes as much as possible from collision with the wood and plain Crees, their hereditary foes.
Mr. Hardisty had been put in charge of this enterprise, and with a large complement of men and an ample outfit, had gone overland during the autumn to the site of the abandoned post. A temporary fort was built in the woods near by, and his men were now taking out timber and sawing lumber preparatory to the erection of permanent buildings during the next season. The old fort had been the scene of many a fight between the contending tribes, and as the Hudson's Bay Company invariably followed a "peace policy," not only between themselves and the various tribes, but also in preserving amity among the different races, they had given up the fort and in so doing lost a large portion of the southern trade. But now that the Crees had moved farther east, Victoria had become an important post, intermediate between Edmonton and Fort Pitt, and the reasonable conclusion presented itself that the Blackfeet and southern trade might now again be secured by rebuilding the Mountain Fort.
Mr. Hardisty and Messrs. McAnley and MacDonald returned with us to spend the holidays at Victoria, father having promised to go to the Mountain Fort directly after New Year's day, for the two-fold purpose of meeting the Mountain Stonies, who were expected there then, and also of marrying Mr. McAuley to Miss Brazeau, the daughter of the second officer in charge of the fort.
On our return trip to Victoria, in company with the Hudson's Bay officers, we did not camp, but leaving Edmonton in the evening we journeyed all night, reaching Victoria early next morning. As I had father in my cariole, and the rest of the party were comparatively light, the run of between ninety and a hundred miles was a hard one for my team. But old Draffan and his driver did not come in last by any means.
Readers of "FOREST, LAKE AND PRAIRIE" will remember that in the autumn of 1862 Gladstone and I began this place. In loneliness sublime our leather lodge stood on the north bank of the big Saskatchewan. Little more than three years have passed, and this is now the rendezvous of several large camps of Indians. Wood and plain Crees and wood Stonies have frequented the spot. A colony of some twenty-five families of English half-breeds have settled beside us. The Hudson's Bay Company have established a post alongside the Mission. The Mission party has been augmented by the arrival of father and mother, and part of the family from Norway House, and of my brother and sister from Ontario. I have taken unto me a wife, and we are no more alone at Victoria.
The holidays of 1865-66 were full of pleasurable excitement. Religious services and literary entertainments and concerts occupied the evenings, and out-door games, such as football, snowshoe and dog-train races and foot races, were provided for the day. Thus the fun and enjoyment were kept up. Then came watch-night with its solemnity and New Year's day as the culmination of our feasting and innocent frolic.
The second day of January, 1866, found us driving our dog-teams westward for the Mountain House. Again I had father and the cariole as far as Edmonton, and from that point we had the Chief Factor of the Saskatchewan District, William Christie, Esq., as one of our company.
The distance between Edmonton and the Mountain House is 180 miles. We left the fort about four o'clock one dark morning, our train comprising in all nine sleds. I had a load of baggage, a portion of which gave me quite a start. As I jumped on the sled while going down a gentle slope, there seemed to be a living, moving object lashed in my load, for it moved under my moccasined feet. Instantly I sprang into the snow, and then it flashed upon me that it was a bag of mashed potatoes which a friend was sending to the Mountain House and which had not yet frozen. I laughed at my scare, but at five o'clock on a dark stormy morning in a narrow winding forest path, a very little will startle one. The cold was intense, a keen cutting wind making us keep a sharp lookout for frostbites. The road was drifted and very heavy, so that when night came on we were glad enough to make camp, which we pitched in a spruce grove at the eastern base of the Woodpecker Hills.
Pile on the logs as we would, still the cold was bound to assert itself, and our clothing alternately steamed and froze as we turned before that fire. The Chief Factor and father, who had been constrained to sit in one position in their coffin-like carioles since five o'clock in the morning, were now making up for it by indulging in lively anecdote and joke and repartee. Pemmican and hot tea went a long way towards heating the internal man, and the great fire did something for our extremities. But the cold was omnipresent. In great chunks, in morsels, in atoms, it was all about us. You could reach out and grasp it. You could shiver in your clothes and feel it. You could almost smell it and see it, and you could hear it plainly enough as with might and force it strained the very earth and made the forest monarchs crack as if these were so many ends to its lash.
Hours before daybreak we were climbing the hills and crossing the ice-bound creeks and lakes, and those of us who had loads or carioles to drive were "running with patience" (at times) "the race set before us." The bridegroom-elect being the shortest-legged of the party, and I doubt not the shortest-winded also, generally brought up the rear. Even if he started out ahead, or in the middle of the procession, before many miles were passed he fell behind. The law of gravitation was doing its work. From the rear at frequent intervals would come the shout to Pat (his leading dog), "Marse!" uttered with a strong Scotch accent.
Pat was a big white dog with a short bobtail. He also had a peculiar twist of the head and a squint of the eye which gave him a wise, knowing appearance. If he had lived in these latter days, and become possessed of eye-glasses, doubtless he would have been given a degree! The shrewd fellow seemed to know that his master was on an important mission, and the dignity of leading a train the owner and driver of which was on his way to be married, was fully apparent to "His Dogness." His demeanoren routeand around camp was simply taking. Pat and his master gave us endless fun on that trip. When these would come up, which was generally after camp was made, the Chief Factor, the Chairman of the Hudson's Bay Missions, and the rest of our party became all attention, and Pat and his master were the centre of joke and fun. Their account of the morning's or afternoon's run (I say their, for Pat would by nod and look confirm his master's recital) was sure to "bring the house down." We were unanimously thankful during the days and nights of that very cold trip for the stimulating presence of Pat and our short-limbed bridegroom-elect.
During our second afternoon's run, while making through a rough country, we came to an exceedingly sidling place in the trail. Having sent my own load past and helped father over it, I thought I would wait and see what our rearguard was doing. After some time I heard "Marse, Pat!" coming from the little Scot's big lungs (for have you not noticed that Nature in the nice balance of her equity generally gives the little man a big pair of lungs), and soon Pat hove in sight, his tongue protruding, and the breath from his big mouth making little clouds of frozen vapor in the sharp cold air. The cunning old dog was making the appearance of doing it all, but all the while I could see that his traces were slack.
Soon dogs and sled were on the sidling road down the hill, and over went the cariole and down the slope rolled its contents. Pat and his companions felt the load lighten, and just then remembered that they were far behind, and in vain my friend shouted "Whoa, Pat, whoa!" On went the train, and now I came upon the scene. The bridegroom-elect shouted, "Catch those dogs, John! I say, John, stop those dogs!" Laughing as I ran, I caught and pulled Pat up, righted the cariole and held the train while the little Celt gathered up the fragments, which I saw largely consisted of presents from Edmonton friends to the marriage supper, now nearly two days nearer in view than when we started.
Nicely cut roasts of beef and pork, bottles of wine, and sundry parcels lay around in sweet confusion. It took some time to gather them up and pack them in place in that parchment-sided, primitive vehicle; and all this time his owner was discoursing on Pat's good qualities—"were it not for his big load he would take the lead," etc. After a time everything was adjusted again, and on we went, camping that night among the rolling hills west of Blindman's River.
Another "stingo" night and away long before day. Roads heavy, snow deep, day so cloudy and stormy that the promised view of the Rockies failed to realize. There were some of us in the party who had travelled far and wide in the North-West for from five to fifteen years, and as yet had not seen the mountains. We were now looking keenly for the first glimpse of them, but the third night came, and still because of cloud and storm we had not beheld them.
Our camp that night was made on the wooded summit of a foot-hill. We were climbing the world fast. If it had been moonlight or clear daylight we would have looked upon a sea of mountains, but darkness and storm and smoke were our portion instead. The smoke from our camp-fire found no vacuum in the overhanging atmosphere, but on the contrary was pressed to the ground about our camp. In fact the conditions were such that I think of that "hill summit camp" as one of the more disagreeable experiences of my frontier life. Gladly we left it while hours of the long night were still unspent, and as daylight came we were ascending another big foot-hill, from the summit of which I first beheld the glorious old Rockies.
Spellbound and in rapture I gazed upon the sublime spectacle before me. How supremely beyond my largest imaginings those lofty ranges stood revealed to the delighted senses. The clouds had disappeared, and in clear, distinct outline hundreds of snow-clad peaks stood out as if cut by a mighty diamond upon the dimly lighted morning sky. The beauty of the scene intensely moved me. The majesty and power apparent were most satisfying to my soul. The God who made these made me also: I felt exultant in the thought. But now the morning sun had clearly risen, and as I looked the highest peaks were illumined as by electric touch, and scores of great beacon-fires seemed to have sprung into instantaneous being. And the great picture quickly grew. Snow-clad summit and glacier glint and granite wall and forest growth speedily became transformed as with the touches of a million brushes. Halos of light, radiant and grandly bright, spread themselves upon the mighty canvas. In rapture I beheld and worshipped. I had seen a glimpse of the glory of the Eternal, and still I lived. As I reluctantly left the scene and ran to catch up with our party over the foot-hills and across the wide valley beyond, I was elated above measure. What matter the cost in travel and cold and extreme hardship, I had seen the mountains, and the sight would be a perennial blessing in my life.
When I came up to our party they were already descending the sloping bank of the Saskatchewan. Miles of this, and then an almost perpendicular jump or slide, and we were on the ice of the river, following up which for a couple of miles we reached the temporary fort.
It was early morn, but up went the flag, and the little metropolis was all excitement in consequence of our arrival. The Chief Factor in those days was supreme in his own district. And what a district! From below the junction of the two Saskatchewans it stretched to the Columbia, and from the forty-ninth parallel it extended to the north tributaries of the Peace River. Father's field was still larger, in that it stretched eastward down to below Oxford House and close to Hudson Bay.
No wonder the roughly built but strongly made fort wasen fetewhen such ecclesiastical and commercial dignity came suddenly upon it. Our welcome was hearty, and that of our "rearguard" doubly so. We were fortunate in meeting here numbers of Mountain Stonies and Blackfeet, hardy, muscular mountaineers and wild plain Indians, both comparatively new types to me.
The temporary fort was built on a low flat near the river. The permanent new fort was to be placed on a higher bench. I found that the site of Mountain Fort was about sixty miles from the real base of the mountains and on the north bank of the North Saskatchewan.
We spent a Sabbath at the fort. Father held services for both whites and Indians. In due time the marriage was solemnized, and the wedding supper eaten, and we began our return journey. As the cold had intensified there was no loitering by the way, and early the third day we were back at Edmonton. Sixty miles per day was not bad travelling in such hard weather. The last night we left camp about midnight. I wrapped father in his cariole and kept it right side up until we stopped for breakfast. The next day we started for Victoria, and camping once, arrived there early the second day, right glad to be at home once more.
Home occupations—A course of lectures—Mark and Jimmie as raconteurs—Mark's success as a deer-killer—A buffalo chase on a dog-sled—Our first child is born—Chickens at eight shillings apiece!
The big open fire-places in the Mission house were delightful spots beside which to spend a few hours after a trip such as we had just concluded; but such was the extent of our moving circuit, and such our circumstances, that we could spare but very few hours at home. Many camps must be visited and many mouths must be fed. Mark and I and a lad named Jimmie Horn were kept pretty constantly on the move, now bringing in loads of fresh meat, and the next trip loads of dried provisions wherewith to make pemmican for summer use. We generally managed to keep Sunday in some Indian camp or at the Mission. If the former, the whole day was one continuous series of meetings. I would go from one chief's tent to that of another, and the respective followers would crowd the lodges while I did my best to tell the pagan and barbarous people the old, old story of Jesus and His love.
Many a night, at the close of a long day's run, I would give informal lectures on civilization and education, telling my eager listeners what Christianity was doing for man in other parts of the world; and all this time I was learning the language and studying the people. Old men and painted and feathered warriors and the youth of these camps crowded the lodges in which I made my temporary home. There was no rest while in Indian camps, and not until we were in our own seven-by-eight-foot hole in the snow, with wood cut and carried and piled at hand and dogs fed, would I sit down to rest both mind and body, and be free for a time from the inquisitive and eager listening and questionings of these people to whom we were sent. Then Mark and Jimmie would take their turn. Jimmie was a lad of nimble legs, but of much nimbler tongue. Had he not come from the famous Red River? He had even visited old Fort Garry, and he would fairly take Mark's breath as he drew from the range of his wide experience.
Mark would tell of the mountains, and grizzlies and panthers and avalanches, and encounters with the enemy, till Jimmie's eyes would bulge with excitement. I would look on and listen and rest. Then before retiring Mark would lead in prayer in his mother-tongue, which neither Jimmie nor myself could understand, though we always said "Amen."
During short intervals at the Mission Mark made several hunting excursions, and killed some moose and deer. One night he came home and reported one moose killed and another wounded. Early next morning we went out and killed the wounded moose and brought the meat of both home. Another time he killed two deer, and brought back word that the forest was so dense the meat would have to be packed to the river some miles above. Accordingly he and I took our dogs and drove up the river opposite to where the deer lay. Fastening the dogs, we struck into the forest, and coming across fresh tracks of more deer, we went after these and killed two more. It was midnight before we had packed the meat of the four deer to the place where our dogs and sleds were. Hard work it was, but the venison was good, and our larder was handsomely replenished.
All that winter the wood Cree camps were from one hundred to one hundred and fifty miles distant from the Mission. The buffalo kept out south of these camps, and sometimes were a long distance from them. But now that there was a regularly established post beside the Mission, trading parties and settlers and Indians kept passing to and fro, giving us comparatively good roads, and thus enabling us to travel quickly. Once well loaded with either dried provisions or fresh meat, we lost no time on the road.
It was on one of the trips we made at this time that we were stopping for the day in Ka-kake's camp, which was situated beside a pound for catching buffalo, when, hearing of another cluster of lodges some ten or twelve miles distant, I made a run over to see the people, and while coming back the same afternoon I ran across a fine herd of buffalo. As my leader was obedient to the word, I thought "now is my chance to run that herd over to the pound." I had no load whatever on the sled, so I gripped the ground-lashing with both hands and feet, and sent the dogs after the herd, or rather to one side of it. My dogs went into the hunt most heartily, and sometimes brought me dangerously near to the flying mass. Then I would get them under control again, and on we went from side to side, but always nearing the point of timber where the pound was. Presently we came within the lines of "dumb-watchers," and now these helped us, and I kept looking, when I could spare a glance, to see some move in camp. But as the lodges were behind the bluff, and the Indians did not look for buffalo at the time, no one saw us until it was too late to prepare and run the herd into the pound; so, after bringing the buffalo close up to camp, I had the bitterness of seeing them break through the "head sentinels" and dash away.
But what a ride I had that afternoon, my big dogs jumping together, and with long leaps making the sled leap also. It required a firm grip to stay on that narrow sled, and also dexterous poising to keep right side up. Down hills, across valleys, over knolls, jumping the rough frozen snow where thousands of buffalo had rooted and tramped only a few days before, certainly that was a toboggan ride with a race against a herd of buffalo thrown in; and the only disappointment was that after bringing the bunch to the pound, the Indians were not there to receive them.
When Ka-kake came in that evening he loudly lamented that we had not been seen in time, for, said he, "It would have given a name to this part of the country and to my camp, and men would have pointed to this as the place where John brought buffalo into the pound with his dog-train."
One day in February, 1866, while I was at home, my mother, coming down stairs, congratulated me on the birth of a daughter, and when I knew that mother and child were well I mentally and consciously made a step forward in being. It was as God would have it. We gave our first-born the good old Scotch name of Flora, which also belonged to my youngest sister.
About the middle of March father made another pastoral visit to Edmonton, and as we remained over for Monday, I went out to St. Albert, the Roman Catholic Mission north of Edmonton, to find, if I could, some domestic chickens, as mother had often expressed a strong desire for some. It took me all day to drive about twenty-five miles and find the chickens and buy them, the latter two enterprises being the most difficult of the three. At last I purchased three birds, two hens and a cock, paying for them eight shillings each—six dollars to start a poultry farm in our part of the country!
Wild-duck eggs were very good in their place, but unfortunately for cooking purposes these were generally some way on in the process of incubation before we obtained them, and mother with her eastern ideas did long for a few fresh eggs occasionally.
I was quite proud of my purchase, but was rather taken aback when at the supper table that evening the august Chief Factor inquired of me what I had paid for those chickens, and when I told him eight shillings each, he pooh-poohed the whole thing; and while I was not prepared for such criticism, I could but answer that this was largely a matter of sentiment, that I had often been where if I had it I would have given all that to hear a cock crow. The old gentleman gave me up as incorrigible. However, to the credit of humanity it must be said that we are not all Peters. The crow of a cock or the tinkling of a cow-bell often have been as sweetest music in the ear of a poor lost traveller.
David and I visit Lac la Biche—High-priced seed wheat—Our party sets out for Pigeon Lake—Old Joseph—Paul Chian—Samson—Our larder depleted—We organize a hunt—Precarious living—Old Paul proves himself a skilful guide—Samson tells of a tragic murder by Blackfeet—We move cautiously—Broiled owlets as a delicacy—I shoot an elk—Little Paul's flint-lock hangs fire—Samson's brilliant hunting feats—Feasting on antlers.
Just before the winter was breaking up, my brother David and myself made a trip to Lac la Biche to try if we could procure some seed wheat. The Roman Catholic priest was the only person who had any to dispose of, and we traded a few bushels from him, giving him pemmican pound for pound. Very dear wheat that, costing us, independent of freight, at least ten cents per pound, besides a two hundred mile tramp to get it. But we needed it, and it was good grain. The reader will notice that here was wheat grown eight hundred miles west of the Red River, and one hundred miles north of the North Saskatchewan!
The spring was now upon us, the Indians were coming in in large numbers, and the time was at hand for our going back to Pigeon Lake in accordance with our promise to the Crees and Stonies. Therefore our small party, consisting of my wife and young child, an elderly widow and her boy of some seven or eight years, and Mark and myself, bade the rest of the Mission party good-bye, and crossing the Saskatchewan just before the ice broke up, turned our faces westward on the southern trail. As food was limited, and our means of transport by no means large, we hunted on our way as much as possible, saving what dried provisions we had for future use. Ducks and rabbits formed the principal part of our fare. In due time we were at the end of the cart-road, and then packing the rest of the way we came to the new Mission, and found some Indians there already waiting for us.
Among these were old Joseph and Paul Chian, the latter a French half-breed, but a staunch Protestant. The readers of "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE" will remember Joseph as a consistent Sabbatarian and a really plucky fellow. Paul but now comes on the scene of our narrative. He was a true man, and having embraced Christianity and espoused Protestantism, was invaluable to me. These and others heartily welcomed us, and our daily meetings were seasons of blessing.
Camp after camp came in, mountain and wood Stonies and Crees—pagans and Christians—ours was a truly cosmopolitan gathering. Gambling and conjuring, heathen feasts and our own singing and preaching and praying were interchanging exercises of day and night. When I was not holding meetings or attending councils I was hunting or fishing, or trying to garden; but as to the latter, our means were limited and seeds few.
Among the wood Crees who came to us for the first time was one called Samson. He was old Paul's son-in-law, and he and I became fast friends from the first. There was an instinctive understanding between us.
By the middle of May our nomadic congregation was scattering to the four winds. We had done what we could in sowing the seeds of truth and righteousness, as we understood it, though we were but babes ourselves in this great matter. All we could do was to leave our disappearing congregation to the Lord.
In the meantime, as provisions were low, we concluded to pitch away on a hunting expedition, some six or seven lodges accompanying us on the trip. In our party were old Paul and Samson. As ours was what might be called a wood-hunt, it would not be practicable to go in large parties, for the reason that the food supply would be a difficulty. Drying some fish to start with, we left the lake and struck eastward across Battle River, below where our present Mission is situated. Though we were constantly on guard, day and night, yet we did not apprehend that the enemy were near, knowing that the buffalo were far out on the plains and that this was not the usual season for war parties.
Our living for the first week or two was very precarious. We had with us my first cow, one I had traded from old Joseph. As there was no one left at the lake, we had to take her along with us; but as she gave no milk she was only a care and burden to the party. Rabbits, ducks, geese, owls, hawks, bear, beaver, badger, porcupine, skunk—there was certain variety in our bill of fare, but there was no certain quantity of it. Sometimes we were filled, and oftentimes we were empty, not knowing when or how we should get our next meal. Our mode of transport was on horseback or on foot. As yet there were no cart or waggon roads in or out of the Pigeon Lake country. Old Paul, who was an invalid and could move only with difficulty because of some spinal trouble, but who knew that part of the country as other men knew their quarter-sections, sat on his horse and led the way. Part of our able-bodied hunters scouted along the line of march, while the others struck out on either hand in search of game. Our whole camp, as to food supply, was communistic—we shared alike.
Weather permitting and provisions allowing it, we generally held two services in the day. In the early morn, while the dew was on the grass, we sang our hymns and knelt together in prayer. And in the evening in camp, when the hunters had come in and our horses were picketed or driven close and hobbled, again we met. I would read a few verses and comment on them, and with hymn and prayer we closed the day. And old Paul, life-long warrior and scout and hunter, what delightful sites he chose for our camp! Security, utility and beauty were sure to harmonize in his selection. Beside rippling stream or glistening lakelet, with growing grass and budding flowers and leafy foliage, with Mother Nature's breath full and fragrant of early summer, how like hallowed sanctuaries those camping spots were! Verily God blessed us as we journeyed, and souls were born again.
Samson and I were inseparable in those days. I wanted to be the friend of all, but I could not help being his friend. We became brothers in the regular native style, and cemented a bond which continues unto this day.
Soon after we crossed the Battle River, one beautiful morning, bright and early, Samson and old Paul's son, whom we called "little Paul," and myself left our camp to come slowly on, while we set out on a scouting and hunting trip in advance. Steadily we jogged over hill and plain, through a lovely park-like country, Samson quietly regaling us with hunting and war exploits. On the brow of a mossy knoll, which still showed the travois markings which proved it to have been an old Blackfoot trail, Samson paused, and pointing to a spot just in front of us, said: "Right here one of the bravest of our men was slain. Crowds were in ambush for him, and, knowing the man, did not give him the slightest chance to resist. He was a Mountain Stony and an old friend of mine. He was one of that kind who know no fear. Men or beasts, it was all the same. Here he died, and the Blackfeet say that while they killed him he smiled upon them. He was one of those who listened to the first praying men." As we rode along past the spot where the brave man had died, one could not help but grip his gun and keep a sharp look-out, for the same conditions still governed this whole country.
As we had set out without a mouthful of provision, and now had ridden some hours, I began to feel hungry. Fortunately about noon we came athwart an owl's nest, one of the largest kind, and though it was up in the top of a tall tree, we could see that the owlets were large. Little Paul climbed the tree and brought them down. There was one apiece, and in a very little time they were roasting on willow "broiling sticks" before a quick fire. The birds were fat and juicy, and most agreeably eased the pangs of hunger, after which we proceeded with better spirits. Our course was straight out toward the big plains. We did not see any game, nor did we stop to hunt, as Samson desired to travel a certain distance in order to determine if possible the presence or non-presence of hostile camps.
Late in the evening we camped in a secluded spot. Little Paul drew the load from his flintlock, and putting in small charges of powder and shot, killed some rabbits, which we roasted for our supper. Tethering our horses close, little Paul and I stood guard the first part of the night. After midnight Samson went on guard while we slept, and with the first peep of day he woke us; but before we were fairly astir he said, "If we do not meet during the day, we will meet at this place to-night," and he was away. Little Paul and I saddled up and started out on our own line. We rode quietly, listening intently for a shot from Samson's gun. Presently as the sun was freshly gilding the hills, making millions of crystal dew-drops to reflect his rays, I caught sight of something over the brow of a knoll at the edge of some timber. We cautiously scouted for a closer view, and there before us were two large buck elk feeding on the browse and leaves.
"Now, John, this is your chance," whispered my companion, and alighting from our horses we fastened them and crawled towards the elk. When we could see them plainly, we found that one was much larger than the other, and little Paul said to me, "You fire at the big fellow, and I will take the other." We were now at the end of our cover, and rising up I let drive at the larger of the two. But when little Paul attempted to shoot, his treacherous old flint-lock hung fire, and both man and beast had moved before it went off. Both elk jumped into the thicket, and reloading we rushed in after them. We soon came upon mine, still standing, but badly hurt. I let him have another shot, and this finished him. The other was gone on the jump through the woods.
My companion and I straightened the dead elk for skinning, and then went for our horses. Having done this we began to skin and cut up our game, of course keeping watch all the time. Samson's blood-curdling facts, related so recently, made us more than ordinarily watchful, for we knew that our three shots fired in quick succession would be heard a long way in the clear morning air.
"Rising up I let drive at the larger of the two.""Rising up I let drive at the larger of the two."
We had scarcely got started at the work of skinning the elk, when the uneasiness of our horses indicated some movement in sight. We seized our guns and sprang to see what it was, when to our delight Samson rode up. "Well, what luck?" he asked. We showed him our "kill," and told him of the other elk. He said he had killed a large jumping deer, but that hearing our shots he had galloped to see what was the matter. "And now I am here," he added, "I will leave my horse with you and go on the track of the elk." Saying which, away he sprang into the thicket on the trail of the flying beast.
We were not half through with our task when we heard a shot, and presently Samson was back with us to report the death of the other elk. "Now," said he, "the carcase is about half way from here to where my deer lies. Let us pack this one over to his comrade, and then have our breakfast, after which we can cache the meat of the three animals and take the hides and part of the meat and strike back to camp."
As he was the captain of our hunt this was done. We had breakfast on elk horn and bits of tripe and the marrow of the shank bones. Then we made a temporary staging in the shade and packed our meat on it, taking care to secure it against the tireless wolverine. We also covered the meat with boughs laden with fresh leaves, and then with a hide on each saddle and a supply of meat we started back and found our people camped not far from where we had fared so sumptuously the day before on broiled owlets.
The next day, while our camp moved steadily out, little Paul led a party of one from each lodge to bring in the meat from our cache. Samson went the other way on foot into a dense hill of timber which was situate west of us, and in the evening after we had camped he came in with the nose of a moose and some other titbits on his back. We were now beginning to live! The next day I went with Samson for the meat of the moose. We found this in a forest on the bank of a beautiful fresh-water lake. We lunched beside the carcase, and when we were through our meal Samson said, "You do not need me to take the meat home. I will take a turn through the timber." The result was that in the evening he brought in another moose nose, this time that of a big buck. Both moose and elk were in the season when their antlers were growing and were covered by a kind of plush or velvet which was considered very good eating. We would cut the antlers from the head and throw them into the fire, when the plush would singe off and each antler point split open in the process of cooking. The portion which split open, and all the skin covering on the antler, were thought good food.
It seemed passing strange that the enormous antlers of both moose and elk should be of but a few months' growth. Nevertheless this was a fact, as on this trip I saw the horns or antlers in various stages of growth, and later on in complete condition.
Samson and I go on a moose hunt—Samson's clever tracking—He comes up with the moose and tries a shot—No bullet in the gun—Two dejected hunters return to the camp—We have better luck next time—Roses make a thorny path—We disturb a band of wolves—Samson stampedes them with his riding-whip—"Firing Stony" and I go hunting—I bring down a noble elk—Novel method of fishing.
One day I went with Samson on a moose hunt. We set out early in the morning, walking fast, and sometimes running for awhile. About ten o'clock, after hours of tramping through dense forest and wading through many swamps, we came upon the track of a big buck moose. Samson looked at the hoof-prints, and also at the ends of brush which had been bitten off by the huge fellow as he fed by the way. Finally he said, "Let us sit down for a little while, and let me think." I watched him as he lit his pipe and slowly puffed and thought out his plan of campaign. At last he rose and said, "That moose may be close to us. You stop right here, for should I miss him or only wound him, he is bound to run right past here. If so, you will have a good shot; so you stay here and wait for me." I therefore sat down at the root of a stout tree and waited and listened.
Presently a fine large jumping deer came within two rods of me, and stood giving a long startled look around. I was strongly tempted to fire at the handsome creature, but refrained for fear of disturbing our larger game. Then the deer trotted on into the thicket, and I continued to wait. By and by Samson came back, and bidding me follow him, once more we took up the track. We strode along for perhaps an hour, when Samson remarked, "There, we will not follow the track any longer. He is resting, and I think he is in the centre of that clump of trees" (pointing to a dense body of timber not far from us). "See, his track passes straight on to the windward of that spot, and he will make a circle and come back close to his own track. I think he is there now. Let us go with the wind from here, and come around and meet his track."
This we accordingly did, and sure enough, as we came in on our circle, which was opposite to that of the moose, we presently met his track. The canny fellow was outwitted and we had but to follow him to his lair, which we proceeded to do with great caution. As we approached the clump of trees close to the westward fringe of which his outgoing track passed, we were moving on tiptoe, I stepping very carefully in Samson's steps as he bent and wriggled around and through amongst the twigs and brush.
Soon we came to where he had first lain down. Here was his bed. Samson looked troubled for a moment, and whispered, "He may have fled." Then he looked and said, "No, he is only moving his bed," and with renewed caution we moved on slowly and carefully. Presently we heard him cough as if a leaf had stuck in his throat. The brush was very close, and now we could hear him breathe, and Samson signed for me to step ahead and shoot him. But I considered that we had been out nearly all day, and as we wanted the meat badly, I did not want to take any chances on myself. So I signed back, "You shoot him." Samson thereupon stepped ahead and fired, and I jumped beside him. We heard the crash of the huge animal making from us, and sprang forward in his track; but to our surprise there was no blood to be seen. On we ran until we came to where I had sat and waited so long and patiently. Samson saw that the moose had passed within three yards of this place, and as there was still no sign of blood on his track we were forced to the conclusion that there could not have been a ball in Samson's gun. This might occur but once in a lifetime, yet it was the only way of explaining the case in hand. He could not miss him, the moose was so close and offered so large a target.
Very much disappointed, we turned our steps homeward. It was dark before we reached the tents. We had gone far, the day had been long, and we had not eaten anything since early morn. But optimistic old Paul said, "The best of hunters often come home like you have. We are not starving, there is plenty in camp, let us be thankful." We could not but be cheered by the old man's words, but even to this day, though thirty years have gone since then, I repent me that I had not taken that shot.
About this time my cow presented me with a fine calf, and from thence on we had milk as part of our provender. Of course the calf could not keep up when we moved camp, so an old widow woman, Maria, made a travois, and the calf was placed on it and thus was moved from camp to camp.
One day Samson and I set off on horseback to reconnoitre the country down east of where we had been hunting, in order to assure ourselves that the enemy was not in the vicinity. We rode all day, and towards evening, when about to make camp, Samson killed a jumping deer. Next morning we shot a cow elk, and I found her calf, so we concluded that with these we had about all our horses could pack home.
I had little Bob, or "Split Ear," as the Indians called him, and I put the two smaller skins and half of the meat of the three animals on him, all the time apologizing to the little fellow for doing so. Then we started for home, leading our loaded steeds. Everything went well until our moccasins gave out. The country we were in was rich in roses. Beautiful tiny prairie rose-bushes, crowded with crimson and pink and white blossoms with their delicate shadings and fragrant aroma, were all around us, and everywhere under us, as our bare and bleeding feet evidenced. Under such conditions we surely had "too much of a good thing." And yet we did not like to leave any of the meat. While we were thus proceeding painfully on our way we came upon a sleeping band of prairie wolves. They had evidently gorged themselves to the full and were now resting. I held both horses, and Samson tiptoed in amongst them as they snored, and fetching his riding-whip down full length across the side of a tremendous she-wolf, he brought out of her a howl of mingled surprise and pain, and then there was a stampede of wolves in every direction that was amusing to witness. But while we laughed heartily and trudged on, the rose-bushes seemed to multiply, and I bethought me of my saddle-blanket, and again apologizing to my horse, I tore a strip from it, and we wound that around our bleeding and bruised feet. Twice I did this, until no more of the blanket could be spared from the horse's back; and when the second wrapping was worn out I again made profound apologies to my horse, and mounted on top of the meat and hides. The sturdy little fellow, nothing daunted, trotted me into camp, I promising to give him many days of absolute rest.
Another day I went out with one of our hunters called "Firing-at-a-mark Stony." We generally cut his name short, calling him "Firing Stony." He was a good hunter, but just then he was suffering with weak eyes and had not done much on this trip. We rode for miles, when presently I saw a buck elk in the distance, moving across our course. We headed him off, and I said to my companion, "Run to that bluff and shoot him." This he attempted to do, but missed the elk. Then said I, "You have had your chance; the next one is mine."
We kept on a few miles farther, when suddenly I saw a monster elk feeding along the shore of a small lake. I seized my companion's rein and pulled both horse and man out of sight as quickly as I could. We hastily fastened our horses and approached the spot where I had seen the elk. There was quite a promontory or hill down to the spot where our game was feeding, and he seemed to be coming our way. So I crawled to the top of this hill, and Firing Stony came behind me. "If you miss him I will fire," he said. "Of course," said I, "you are Firing Stony; you cannot do anything else but fire. However, I am not going to miss him," and up to the top of the hill we crawled. When I peeped over the summit the big fellow was almost directly beneath me, and still calmly feeding; so I rose and shot him right through the back, and down he tumbled. Firing Stony then ran excitedly down and shot him in the head. "Why did you do that?" I enquired. "To make sure of him," he responded cheerfully, "we already missed one to-day." "You missed one, but I did not," said I, and we laughed as we reloaded our guns and straightened the immense creature preparatory to skinning him. We made a fire and roasted the antlers, and were hungry enough to heartily enjoy a substantial meal.
Once more our horses were heavily laden, especially mine, for besides half of the meat I had the hide; but this time it was not little Bob, so I did not much care.
"Down we ran, and chased them across the full length of the bar.""Down we ran, and chased them across the full length of the bar."
I had with me my train of dogs, and as we were drying all the meat we could spare for future use, I was glad to hear that there were fish in a creek which ran from Spotted Lake into Buffalo Lake. So one day I took a boy with me and a pack-horse, and whistling the dogs after us, we galloped on to the creek. This I found to be made up of a long bar on which the water was shallow, and deep holes, and sure enough in the deep holes the fish were found in great numbers. I saw these were suckers and jackfish; but while here were the fish in plenty, we had neither nets nor spear, nor even a hook. How were we to kill the fish? I sat down on the bank to study out some method for this purpose. The day was clear and fine, with small clouds scudding across the sky. Presently one of these clouds came between us and the sun. As the sky darkened, I saw to my delight that the fish came up out of the deep holes and started across the bar and down stream. They were in the process of migrating. I called to the boy to make ready, and he slipped off his leggings and I took off my trousers, and we got some sticks and watched the sky. Now another fleecy cloud was sailing athwart us and the sun, and up came the fish, and down we ran, and chased them across the full length of the bar, each of us killing quite a number as we ran. These we threw out to the dogs, who ate them eagerly, and in a few hours we had killed all our dogs could eat and all our horses could carry home. Indeed, the boy's horse seriously objected to carrying any, for no sooner had we got the animal packed and the boy astride of the pack, than there was the biggest kind of a circus, and presently down came both boy and fish. But we made the "bucking" brute pack most of the fish home, and the boy rode the other horse as we rode back to camp.
Our camp visited by a band of Mountain Stonies—My schooling in the university of frontier life—Back to our Mission again—Limitedcuisine—Home-made agricultural implements—We visit Victoria—Off to Fort Carlton for Mission supplies—Inquisitive Chippewyans—My eldest sister married to Mr. Hardisty, of the Hudson's Bay Company—The honeymoon trip to Mountain House—Rival sportsmen—Charging a flock of wild geese at full gallop—Return to Pigeon Lake—Our work extending.
While we were near Spotted Lake we fell in with some five or six lodges of Mountain Stonies, who were so overjoyed to see us that they moved over and camped beside us for a time. Among them were the two young fellows who came to our camp at the bend of Battle River during the autumn of 1863, as readers of "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE" may remember.
This was our first meeting since that time, and we were naturally pleased. Here was my opportunity as a missionary, and I seized it with eagerness. In the tent, on the hunt, at our services, Sunday and Monday and all the week, we were watching our opportunities and preaching the gospel of peace and good-will, of a present and eternal salvation. What a school to be placed in by the order of God's providence!
For the work I had to do I must acquire an actual knowledge of the country, I must gain the confidence of the people, I must learn their language and mode of life, I must become familiar with their history, their religion, and their idioms of thought; and here amongst these Crees and Stonies, living with them in their own way and in their own country, I was being educated for the work God had in hand for me to do.
A short time ago, in one of the favored cities of older Canada, a prominent lawyer asked me at the close of the service one Sunday morning, "What university did you graduate from, Mr. McDougall?" "The largest on earth," I answered; "all out of doors, amid the varied experiences of frontier life." "Certainly," said the lawyer, "it was a grand schooling, and you have profited by it." Thus God was training me. My teachers were Samson and Paul, Cree and Stony, Blackfoot and Blood, Piegan and Sarcee, and every Hudson's Bay Company officer and employee, every cultivated traveller and hardy pioneer and wild western empire foundation layer; and along with these the grand pages of the older Bible, as written upon the mountains and plains and forests and streams of this big new country. I was learning every day some needed lesson.
Our Sundays were busy times. When the weather permitted we held three open-air meetings. When it rained we went from lodge to lodge. Mrs. McDougall sang well and rendered effective aid. The Indians generally take to singing, and as some of the translations we used were full of the very pith of the gospel message, their hearts were reached; the men cried out for salvation, and through Jesus found it.
For some two weeks the Stonies remained with us, we doing what we could for them in instruction in religious matters, as also awakening within them a desire for knowledge as to the world and things in general. When they left us to go back to the mountains we began to move northward, and I concluded to leave with Samson what horses of mine were still without loads, and move straight on to the lake, for the time was drawing near when other parties might visit the Mission.
Accordingly we started, travelling as fast as our cow could keep pace. While we had open country we kept the calf on an ordinary travois, but when we came to the woods near Pigeon Lake, we made a narrower one to suit the more limited space of the bridle-path. Mrs. McDougall and our baby, old Maria and her boy, and myself constituted the party. Travelling as we did, we reached the Mission on the fifth day, and were glad to be at home once more. Our little one-roomed house seemed a palace beside the smoky lodge of our pilgrimage.
We found everything as we left it. Apparently we were the first to come in to the Mission, but in a day or two others from the west and north came straggling in, and our work was ready to hand. In a couple of weeks Samson arrived with more dried meat, having killed several elk and moose after we had left him. The reader will be astonished at the amount of meat we got through with, but one must remember that our diet in those days was for the most part of the time "meat straight" or "fish straight," with duck and rabbit for an occasional change. It was one thing or the other; there were no courses at our meals. Not only, however, were we without variety of food, but we were as badly off for a change of dishes. Indeed, our outfit for household purposes was small, and unique of its kind. But our neighbors were even more poorly provided than we. Often when invited to a feast by some successful friend, the shout would come from the door of his lodge, "John, come along and bring your dish with you." And I would take my dish or plate with me as I went.
"We carried the haycocks in between us on two poles.""We carried the haycocks in between us on two poles."
As we contemplated wintering at this point, I took Samson and went to work making hay. Our implements were of the crudest sort. We had scythes with improvised handles and wooden pitchforks, and when stacking we carried the haycocks in between us on two poles. Samson had never swung a scythe before, and he soon broke his, but fortunately I had a spare one. He was apt, however, and learned quickly. We worked hard and "made hay while the sun shone," and when it rained we went hunting. When we had several good-sized stacks made and strongly fenced, the time was come to journey down to the older Mission, as per arrangement with our Chairman when we left there last spring.
Our migratory people—for here people as well as preacher were itinerants—had scattered, some for the mountains, others into the northern forests, and quite a few to join the autumn hunt on the plains. And as my wife and I were owners of three wooden carts and three sets of rawhide cart harness, and a few cayuses, we concluded to let old Paul's wife have a cart and horse on shares for this "plain hunt." If the hunt was successful the outfit would bring us some provisions for the coming winter.
I engaged Samson to go with us to Victoria, and when we left the lake old Paul and Samson's wife and children were the only residents of the Mission. Reaching Victoria, I found that father wanted me to take charge of the transports from Whitefish Lake and Victoria Missions and go with these to Fort Carlton, to bring from that point the supplies needed for these Missions; it having been arranged that the Hudson's Bay Company should bring these supplies to Carlton, but no farther.
The party from the sister Mission joined forces with ours some little distance below Saddle Lake, and we journeyed on as fast as was consistent with conserving the strength of our stock for the return journey. I was glad to find my old friend Peter Erasmus in charge of the carts from Whitefish Lake Mission, and in great harmony and good-fellowship we journeyed eastward. My friend Samson was a decided acquisition on such a trip. He was dead sure on stock, up early and late, and was ever an inspiration to the rest of our Indian drivers. We made long days, and in short time compassed the three hundred and more miles to Fort Carlton.
I camped my party on the north side of the river, at the foot of the high bank of the Saskatchewan, and crossing over I met the Chief Factor, who had just come across the plains from Fort Garry, and who told me that our supplies had not yet reached Carlton. This was a disappointment, but I at once asked him to give us Hudson's Bay Company freight instead, and have them bring ours on later, to which he at once acceded. Within an hour of our arrival we were carting H.B.C. freight from their storehouse within the fort to the river bank, and crossing this in a small boat and loading it into our own carts on the north side.
It was while rushing this work that a small party of Chippewyans from the north were looking on as we worked, and speculating as to who I was. Was he a Hudson's Bay Company clerk, a free trader, or a traveller bent on sport? "Who is this fellow, anyway?" was the question which engaged their attention just then. Presently the "Solon" of the party, doubtless wishing to evidence the fact that the East had not a monopoly of wisdom, said, "I will tell you what he is," and stepping up to me he offered to shake hands, and in doing so, turned up the palm of my hand and saw the marks of blisters, for I had been working hard. Seeing the condition of my hand, he turned to his fellows and said, "He is only a common fellow." Like many another man who lives under more favorable conditions, his judgment of men was peculiar.
Early the next day we were on the road westward, and with incidents no more exciting than breaking axles and splitting felloes and snapping dowel-pins and handling balky horses, and in my own case fighting a wretched toothache, we very soon rolled into the valley at Victoria, and were complimented by my father on having made an uncommonly quick trip.
We remained at Victoria until the Hudson's Bay Company brought along father's outfit. Helping in all matters around the Mission kept us busy with hands and head and heart. While we were at Victoria my eldest sister, Eliza, was married to Richard Hardisty, of the Hudson's Bay Company's service, who was then in charge of the Mountain House. Immediately after the marriage they and Nellie, one of my younger sisters, started on their long overland trip to the distant trading-post. Some of us accompanied them out for a few miles, enjoying some good shooting by the way, for the fowl were now starting south. Hardisty and Philip Tait, another Hudson's Bay Company officer, challenged my brother David and myself as to size and quality of our several hunts, and we kept about even up to almost the last minute, when David and I luckily saw a flock of geese light in a shallow swamp at some distance from us. There was no cover whatever to aid our approach, so I said to David, "Let us separate and charge that swamp at full speed from two sides. Perhaps we will bamboozle those geese by so doing." This we proceeded to do, and urging our steeds to full speed, we came upon the birds so suddenly that they did not know what to do. When they rose on David's side he knocked two down; that sent them over to me, and I was equally successful, so that we were thus put four birds ahead of our competitors. This sport gave us a good time in giving our newly-married friends a "send-off" on their honeymoon trip. Away up at the foot of the Rockies, among the wild tribes of the mountains, my sisters were to make their home for a time; but we all had great faith in our new brother, so we wished them a hearty God-speed and returned to Victoria. When the goods came, father helped us all he could, and we soon were on the way back to Pigeon Lake. As I hoped to build a small church, I took with me an English half-breed, Francis Whitford by name, a handy fellow with an axe and saw, to aid in the building operations.
It was now late in September, and we had a house to build for my man, and a stable for a couple of oxen I had secured and for the calf, whose mother we found had committed suicide while we were away! The foolish old thing had started off in search of a mate, and despairing of finding one, went into a miry lake some thirty-five miles from home and there died.
And now that our Mission was permanently established, the Indians came from long distances to sojourn for a little time with us, to attend our meetings and listen to our message. Stonies and Crees and mixed bloods, pagan and Roman Catholic and Protestant, all came to us and were eager to learn. We were busy all day long and on into the night, when by the light of the camp or chimney fire we preached and lectured and sang and prayed, till out of the old life and old faith men and women came into the light of the Gospel and into the life that is born of the kingdom of Christ.
Father visits our Mission—A dream that proved a portent—Drowning of Mr. Connor—"Straight fish" diet—We are visited by a war party of Crees—I am given a problem to solve—Francis and I set out to seek fresh provisions—Feasting on fat bear steaks—A lonely Christmas—Mr. Hardisty visits us—We in turn visit Mountain House—A hard winter in the Saskatchewan country—Rations on short allowance—A run to Victoria—David and I have a hard experience—Father and mother as "good Samaritans."
During the autumn father visited our Mission, and as a large camp of Stonies had gone westward, among whom there were children to be baptized and couples to be married, I prevailed upon him to follow them up. Accordingly we set out on their trail, and after two days of steady travel, during which we made a considerable detour, we came up to them at Buck Lake. We spent a day and night with them, father marrying several couples and baptizing some children. On our way back father had a strange dream, which he related to me the next morning as we rode along. It was to the effect that Mr. Connor, who had returned from Ontario and gone into Lac la Biche to trade for the winter, was drowned. Father said he could not shake off the spirit of depression which the dream had created in his mind. Reaching Edmonton, he met the word that Mr. Connor was drowned, and, strangely enough, this had occurred at the time we were camping between Buck and Pigeon lakes. Readers of "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE" will remember Mr. Connor as the gentleman who travelled with my party across the plains in 1864.
Cutting and hauling timber, building a stable, whip-sawing lumber, making dog-sleds and horse-sleds, and fishing entailed an immense amount of work as winter came on. We made new nets and mended our old ones, built stagings and hung the fish until the real cold weather set in, when we froze them on the ice and then packed our catch. But while the fish were plentiful, they were of a very poor quality, both wormy and lean, so that out of hundreds a very small percentage was fit to eat. It was a case of over-production. Later, when some scores of thousands had been caught, there was a very perceptible improvement in quality; but that took years to accomplish.
It was at this time that a war party of Crees came to us. Fortunately there were quite a number of Stonies camped beside the Mission at this time. It was in the evening, as Francis and myself were working the whip-saw for all it was worth, in order to finish our number of planks for the day, that these fellows, some thirty in number, filed into our clearing. As the Stonies did not look upon them with favor, Fox, their leader, an old acquaintance of mine, brought the entire party of warriors into our house. Fortunately our one room was a big one, and in the interests of peace and the future of our work it was better to put up with a crowd for one night than to have turned them out, though the Stonies would have stood by us in such a case. We told them plainly, though, that we would have no nonsense this time; they might stay with us for the night, but I would issue ammunition to to the Stonies, and have them guard the place all the time that they were with us, and if they attempted to play any tricks their own lives would be the forfeit.
Fox protested against any evil intention on their part. He said they were tired and hungry, and were on their way back home, disappointed in their attempt to make a foray against the Blackfeet. Said he, "Let us stay with you one night, John, and we will leave quietly in the morning." We therefore sheltered and fed them and guarded them from the Stonies, who very naturally were resentful of the conduct of the Crees at different times in the past. However, old Mark took charge of the watch, and assured me that it would be all right. I have no doubt that some of those men for the first time listened to the Gospel message sung and spoken in the language wherein they were born.
We entertained our guests as best we could, and spent the long evening by the light of our big chimney fire, opening to their minds visions of peace and predicting to them the near approach of the time when they should go to war no more. During the evening an old warrior, who had evidently been listening to what we had to say in an unbelieving mood, said, "You white men think you are very wise; now I will give you something to count which you will never be able to find out." "Well, let us have it," I said, when I saw that the crowd was interested in the matter. So the old fellow propounded his great puzzle. Said he, "There were seven buffalo bulls. Each had two horns and two eyes and one tail, and each foot had a split hoof, and above the hoof were two little horns. Now, for the seven bulls what was the whole number?" and the painted warrior gave a contemptuous grin, as if to say, "There, take that for your boasted wisdom to grapple with." I mentally worked out the simple question, and quickly gave him the number, and then Fox laughed and said, "Did I not tell you you could not catch John? He is very much wiser than we are." But the old man, being much more obtuse and ignorant than Indians generally are, would not believe that I had answered his question, so he got a small pole and faced it on all sides with his knife. Then he took a piece of charcoal and began laboriously to make marks for the horns and eyes and tail, etc., of the bull. But his companions chafed him so unmercifully that he was soon lost in his calculations and gave up in chagrin.