This incident gave me a chance to enlarge on the benefit of schools and of education. I told that old mathematician that the little boys and girls in our schools would laugh at such a simple question as he gave; that the white men went on into millions upon millions in their calculations. Fox then said, "We are worse than children in all these matters, and we are foolish to gainsay the white man. But I believe John when he says that what has been possible to the white man is also possible to us Indians, for I notice that in some things our minds are quicker than those of most white men. But as for John, you cannot play with him; he is both white man and Indian put together." I warmly protested that I was but a child in wisdom; that I was learning about the Indians every day, and wanted to be their friend in truth.
Early next morning the party took their departure, and Mark and I saw them off some distance on their road, for it was hard to restrain some of the more turbulent and revengeful of the Stonies—they had too many old scores to wipe out.
Winter was now upon us, and our people scattered in quest of food and furs, so that by the first of December Francis and myself and our families were the only ones left at the Mission. At times the solitude was oppressive, and would have been much worse but that we were constantly busy hunting and fishing, taking out timber, gathering in firewood, etc. Breaking in dogs also took some time, for the old stock was about used up. Old Draffan and his contemporaries were gone, either dead or now too old for hard service.
About the middle of December Francis and I started out towards the plains with dog-trains. My object was two-fold—to visit the people, if I could find any, and also to try and obtain some provisions. We were growing tired of fish. We had about a foot of snow to break on the trail, and were glad towards the close of the third day to find the track of a solitary hunter, which we followed into his camp. Here we found Samson and old Paul and other of our own people, all very glad to see us, but, like ourselves, on "short commons." The buffalo were far out, and these people were barely existing on an occasional deer and a few porcupines. But, fortunately for us, someone had run across a deer and killed him just before we arrived in camp, and we feasted with the rest on good fat meat. It was a rare treat to taste some fatty substance once more.
We held a meeting that night and another the next morning, and then went on, taking Samson with us, hoping to find some food. But after three days' steady travel all we got was a starving bull, which made both dogs and men sick, so we concluded to separate, Samson to strike straight for camp, and we for home. Snow had deepened, our dogs, like ourselves, were hungry and tired, and the miles seemed longer than usual, so that it was midnight on the fourth day on the home stretch before we reached the lake, glad enough to settle down again even to fish diet.
Christmas of 1864 came, but no Santa Claus for any of our party. However, my frugal wife managed to contrive a plum-pudding, and our little company enjoyed immensely such a delightful break in the monotony of our daily fare.
During the holidays I started alone for Edmonton, and there found my brother-in-law Hardisty from the Mountain House. He accompanied me to Victoria, where we spent New Year's day with father and mother and the rest of our family. We found that at Edmonton and Victoria there was the same scarcity of food as with us. The buffalo were as yet far out, and the Indians were between us and them, and in a semi-starving condition. Moreover, the winter was a hard one, the snow deep and the cold intense.
Hardisty accompanied me back to Pigeon Lake on condition that I would go on with him to the Mountain Fort. "For," said he, "you should visit your sisters; our fort is part of your parish. You can preach to us—we need it—and you may meet some Indians in on a trade. Besides we can spare you a little provision." I here confess that while all the other reasons were true, the last one at that time was convincing and unanswerable.
I took Francis along, and we fought our way through deep snow and extreme cold to the Mountain House, a distance from Pigeon Lake of one hundred and twenty miles, reaching there after dark the third day. For both Francis and myself, after the meagre piscatorial diet of some months, it was hard work. Heavy exertion such as this requires strong food. But while at the fort, where we spent part of three days, we fared sumptuously on good dried meat, which had been brought in from the plains by the Blackfeet. We had a delightful visit with my sisters and the people of the fort. Some Stonies came in to trade while we were there, and among these was my old friend Jonas, whom I was well pleased to see again. We held several services, and would gladly have stayed longer were it not that our families were in a state of semi-starvation at the distant lake.
We had presented to us 125 pounds of dried meat, and with this carefully tied on our sleds we said good-bye and turned our faces homeward. Though the road was heavy, by travelling most of the night we were back at the Mission early the third day, where we found all well and exceedingly glad to see us.
Not a single Indian put in an appearance. These were having all they could do to keep soul and body together. It was a hard winter all over the Saskatchewan country. We got up a lot of firewood and cut it into proper lengths, spending several days at this work. Meantime, we tried to fatten our dogs on fish, but even they would not thrive on these. Then we started for Victoria, hoping that by this time a change for the better in the provision line would have taken place.
At Edmonton we found the people of the fort on limited rations. Pushing on we made a big day without any trail, from above Sturgeon River to Victoria, over sixty miles, and when comfortably seated in the Mission mother said, "I am sorry, John, but all I can give you for supper to-night is potatoes and milk." Both Francis and I vehemently asserted that this would be a glorious change for us, and so it was.
Here also the whole settlement was on short allowance. Father had heard of Maskepetoon's camp being about 150 miles down country, but the reports were not encouraging. "Still," said he, "those Indians ought to be visited, and I am glad you have come, for now you can go to them." To do this we must have food, and as my brother David had made a fishery out at Long Lake that fall and his fish were still out there, we first went out to the lake, about sixty miles north, for the fish. On this trip David and father's Cree boy Job went with me. The round trip was only one hundred and twenty miles, but it still lingers in my memory as one of the hardest on record in my experience. The cold was so intense it worried our dogs to stand it, and the snow was so full of friction that our sleds seemed almost as though they were being pulled through sand. The camps were smoky, and on the whole it was a hard and disagreeable journey.
In the Mission house at this time there lay upon his dying bed a poor young fellow who had wasted his substance in riotous living and was now paying the penalty in extreme physical prostration. He had gone out on the plains the same summer that I did, and wintered in the Saskatchewan the season of 1862-63. During that winter, while he and a companion were out hunting near Battle River, their camp was attacked one night by Indians. His companion was shot and killed, he himself wounded, and in making his escape, and in the subsequent journey to Edmonton, he underwent great hardship. It was after this, when he had thoroughly recovered, that I first met him. He was then a very strong man, one of the best swimmers I ever saw in the water. But he went across the mountains into the mining camps, and when he came back to our side his strength was about gone.
Father found him in a room in the fort at Edmonton in sore straits, and arranged for his transport to Victoria. Both father and mother and all the rest were now doing everything they could to make him comfortable, but he was dying. He said to me as I bade him farewell for our trip to Maskepetoon's camp, "Good-bye, John, until we meet up yonder." "Why, Harry," I said, "I expect to come back soon." "Ah," he said, "but I will be dead before you come." And so it proved. Poor Harry was now all right. He had come to himself, and was born again. But it was a heaven-send to that young fellow in this wild country to fall at last into mother's hands. She in a multitude of ways soothed and comforted the last weeks of his life.
We start out to hunt for buffalo—Fish and frozen turnips—A depleted larder—David's bag of barley meal—At the point of starvation—We strike Maskepetoon's camp—An Indian burial—Old Joseph dying—We leave the camp—Generous hospitality—A fortunate meeting—Frostbites—A bitterly cold night—Unexpected visitors—Striking instance of devotion—I suffer from snowshoe cramp—Arrival at Victoria—Old Joseph's burial—Back to Pigeon Lake.
We started on our plain trip with commissariat promising nothing more delicate or appetizing than fish and frozen turnips! Our party consisted of my brother David, Francis, Job and myself. We took our course south-east, by Sickness Hill and Birch Lake, and failing to find any fresh tracks of Indians in that direction, we then made more easterly. While going down the north bank of the Battle River our fish ran out. This was serious, but we had the turnips left. Soon, however, we roasted the last of these, and pushed on our course amid deep snow and cold and stormy weather. An old bull was shot, but we could eat nothing of him except the heart and tripe and the tongue. Even our dogs declined the meat. Things were commencing to look blue. That night David produced a small bag of barley meal which my sister had ground in the coffee mill. Our camp was jubilant over this, and we heartily enjoyed the small tin of porridge provided for supper that night. Next day we travelled as rapidly as we could, but were not in condition for quick time. The barley was going fast, and we began anxiously to watch the doling out of the slender supply. In the stress of hunger we were becoming meaner and smaller. I caught myself looking to see that my brother did the square thing in serving out the little pot of meal gruel, for it was becoming thinner every time. I bit my lips and felt mortified at myself for being so contemptible. I began to realize what I had read of men's doings when in sore straits such as seemed to be coming on us. But we kept on, and the day after the meal was gone we struck the trail of a large camp, evidently some days ahead of us.
The sight of the trail put new life into our whole party. We covered several of their day's journeys before we camped that night, and though hungry and weak were out early the next day. About ten o'clock we saw a column of smoke rising in the air, and as we drew nearer saw horses and people moving. Camp was being struck, and nearly all had gone from the spot as we came up. A little to one side, at the edge of a bluff of timber, a small group of men were engaged in burying one of their number. We were just in time to help in the last rites.
Old Maskepetoon was there. "You come like a ray of sunshine to comfort us, John," whispered the old Chief, as he warmly gripped my hand. The work of interment went on in silence. I knew the deceased—son-in-law to old "Great One," one of my particular friends—a great strong man cut off suddenly in his prime.
Sadly I watched the removing of the soil. The snow having been cleared away, the dried leaves and twigs were carefully placed in a hide and put aside. The earth, too, as it was loosened up, was placed in hides. Then the body was laid in the shallow grave, and the earth put back in and trampled down until level with the original surface, after which the leaves and twigs were scattered over the place, making it look as if it had not been disturbed. The unused earth was carried away and scattered so as not to appear. All this was done that the enemy might not discover the grave and desecrate the person of the dead.
Needless to say the food placed before us by our kind friends was eagerly devoured, but we were discouraged to find that these people were living from hand to mouth—that while the buffalo were within from sixty to one hundred and fifty miles distant, they had not yet attempted to come north. The camp was still waiting and hoping for this, and in the meantime was existing on the game secured by hunting expeditions which were ever and anon sent out between the severe spells of weather. That the camp was sorely in need of food was very apparent to me as I passed on through the moving crowds to the spot designated for the fresh camping ground. Already a large number of tents were placed by those who moved earlier in the day. Reaching these we went at once into Muddy Bull's lodge, and were gladly received by my old friends Noah and Barbara. Here I was sorry to hear that old Joseph was in another lodge close to us, and in a dying condition. I went in to see our "old standby," and found him very weak, and yet glad to press my hand. "Ah, John," said he, "I am still a poor weak sinner, for I have longed to be released from this frail body. I have even asked the Lord to take me home. I feel I have done wrong. I should bide the Lord's own time." "My dear Joseph," I answered, "I am sure the good God well understands your case, and His big heart thoroughly sympathizes with you. He will not misjudge you. Do not worry about these matters. You have been a faithful servant, and your reward is near." "I am glad to hear you say so, John; it comforts me to see you once more. Give my warmest greetings to your father and mother and all our people at the Mission." Thus spoke my old friend and travelling companion. Many a long weary mile we had struggled over together, many a cold camp we had shared. A brave, true, hardy, consistent Christian man he was, and now here he lay dying of hunger and cold and disease. I would have delighted in helping him, but except a hymn and prayer, and a few visits during the two or three days we spent in the camp, I could not do much for him. It seemed hard to let him die in such straits, but we had neither medicine nor the food he needed. After several services, a council or two in Maskepetoon's tent, and visiting in many of the lodges, we started across country for our homeward trip. During our stay in camp the Indians had shared with us handsomely. The best they had was given to us, and both dogs and men felt revived and strengthened. Nor was this all, for when leaving the good-hearted people made a collection of provisions, and we had with us about quarter-loads when we left camp.
Maskepetoon thoroughly enjoyed our visit, and it was at his suggestion that the collection of food was taken up. He said, "Tell your father that we are still hopeful of the buffalo taking a turn northward, and of making robes and provisions and coming into the Mission in the spring well loaded. Tell him to pray for us. We send him and those at the Mission our heartfelt greetings."
We had not made more than eight or ten miles on our way when we had the good fortune to come across Maskepetoon's son just as he had killed two bulls. These were in fairly good flesh, and the generous fellow told us to help ourselves. We each took about a hundred pounds of fresh meat from his kill, and thanking him went on our way. That afternoon we had a wide plain to cross with snow deep and the cold searching. Frozen noses and chins and cheeks were common, and we were constantly telling one another to rub and helping to rub until the clear white gave place to the natural color.
By dark we reached the first point of woods, and were disappointed to find that there was no dry timber of any size to be found; but as there was no road we concluded to camp and do the best we could. And now the cold was bitterly cutting. Work as hard as we might we still were constantly freezing. The few little dry willows we found were barely sufficient to start our fire, but the frost was so keen that the green trees blazed up as if dry, and in turns we cut them down and carried in and stood around that blaze. There was no thought of trying to sleep; we were afraid to risk it.
We boiled some of the bull's meat, and I very well remember, as I stood before that big brush fire, with a robe over my shoulders to break the wind, that my piece of meat, but now out of the boiling soup, though not very big, was frozen before I had eaten more than half of it. I was astonished at this, but found that my companions were having similar experiences. No sleep, no rest; steadily all night long we fought the storm and cold. To make matters more dismal, if possible, about an hour after midnight we heard parties approaching our camp, and when these came up, found that they were bringing poor Joseph's frozen body to take it to the Mission for burial.
It was all of one hundred and fifty miles to the Mission. There was no road, the snow was unusually deep and the weather intensely cold; yet here were two Indians with a dog-sled upon which was stretched the inanimate body of their friend, and they were willing in the face of great difficulty to undertake this long journey, just because their friend had signified a wish to be interred beside the Mission. Who will say after this that these people have no sentiment?
Now there were six of us to keep the fire burning, and in relays of two we chopped and carried until daylight came, when in gladness we resumed our journey. At any rate we would have plenty of dry wood for the rest of the trip. What food we carried was not of the best. Having no fat in it, it had not the quality essential to keeping out the cold. It takes the heart out of most men to struggle on day after day under such conditions, and in my case there was a complication of troubles, for during the second day out of Maskepetoon's camp I was taken with my first and only attack of "snow-shoe sickness." This is a contraction of the tendons and sinews of the instep, and is exceedingly painful, worse, indeed, than toothache or even earache. It kept me from resting at night, and when we went out of our noon or night camps I would hop along on one foot with the help of a pole, until in sheer weariness I would force my foot to the ground. Our dogs were so thin and weak that they could not draw me on the sled.
Five days of cold and pain and extreme hardship brought us to the Mission. While our friends were glad to see us, they were sorely disappointed that our food report was not more encouraging. There was nothing for the settlement but to be content with potatoes and parched barley for some time to come. During our absence young Hamilton had died, and we buried old Joseph beside him. For some years of this life he could say with him of old, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." And in full hope we laid his mortal remains in the ground, once more to recline on the breast of mother-earth.
Two days at Victoria, and Francis and I and my brother David again set out for Pigeon Lake. There had been no travel, and the snow had deepened so that every step of the road had to be broken. But in spite of this we made the lake in four days, and found our families still alone but well. For thirty-three days their isolation had been complete, and during the latter half of the period their anxiety great. What signified that we had brought little or no provisions? We had reached home, and with four days' rations ahead. From the purely material standpoint our trip had been a miserable failure. We had spent our strength for naught, had undergone untold hardships, and the financial results were nil. But is it not written that "man doth not live by bread only"? We had brought consolation to the sorrowing and dying; we had conveyed to Maskepetoon and his large camp, during a desponding time in their experience, the kind brotherly greetings of the big Church we represented, and the love and profound sympathy of the larger Christianity we professed. We had preached the Gospel of hope and joy to multitudes; we had made men and women forget, for a time at least, their present hunger and cold and pain and suffering, as we told them of that better land where these conditions did not exist. We had been privileged during that trip to sound the glad tidings in ears hitherto strange to such sublime teaching. And if these were some of the present and tangible results of our journey, who will estimate the fruitage of eternity? Verily to men of humble faith such work as ours is a continual paradox. We are hungry, yet always feasting; we are tired and weary, yet constantly gaining strength; we are sad, yet full of joy; we are at times despondent, still ever rejoicing. Verily this Gospel of our Christ is a perennial benediction.
My brother a "ready-made pioneer"—Hunting rabbits—Two roasted rabbits per man for supper—I find my friend, Firing Stony, in a flourishing condition—Poisoning wolves—A good morning's sport—I secure a wolf, two foxes and a mink—Firing Stony poisons his best dog—I enjoy a meal of bear's ribs—I meet with a severe accident—Samson treats me to a memorable feast.
This was my brother's first trip to Pigeon Lake. He had never been seen so far west in his life before. To him, as to myself, this big country was a constant revelation. After staying with us a few days, he returned alone to Victoria. Had he not been by nature and instinct a "ready-made pioneer," I should have hesitated to let him thus return alone, but in his case I felt no fear.
And now my man and I settled down to taking out timber and whip-sawing lumber. Nor was this our only occupation, for we had nets to mend and clean and fish to catch; and to chop and chisel through the ice and set a net in the dead of a northern winter was not an easy or comfortable task. Rabbits, fortunately, were numerous about us at this time, and gave pleasing variety to our table fare. Taking our dogs and sleds, we would go out a few miles to where the nature of the country was favorable for these "jumping bits of food" for men and wildcats. Choosing a suitable spot for our camp we would fasten our dogs, and each go his own way and kill as many rabbits as he could before dark. Then returning laden to camp, we would gather a good supply of wood for our fire and settle ourselves for the night. As the fire grew strong we would stick each of us a rabbit on an improvised spit, and when these were roasted have supper. Then we cleaned our guns and fed our dogs, and by and by roasted another rabbit apiece and made our second supper. Even then we were not too well satisfied! Two rabbits of an evening per man may seem rather much to him who all his life has had his fresh meat, butter and bacon and beans and bread, and many other foods at each meal. But I will here place it on record that two rabbits straight in one evening, in the face of violent exercise and the all out-doors dining and living room we were in, did but barely satisfy the pangs of hunger for a short time.
About the last of February something impelled me to make a trip out south-eastward of the lake. Taking Francis with me, we packed our sled with fish enough to provide for our dogs and ourselves for four or five days, and started. We took turns in going ahead on snowshoes, and as our dogs were fresh we made good time. Early the second day we came to a solitary lodge of Indians, and entering it found it was the home of Mr. Firing Stony, of whom I already have spoken in this book. He and his family were in a starving state, and they told us of others farther on similarly situated, whom they had seen some ten days before. We gave them some of our fish and told them to make all haste towards the lake, and then we pushed on. But, after two days' search, failing to find any more lodges, we turned back and again came to Firing Stony's camp. They had moved a short distance nearer the lake, but being exceedingly weak, could move only slowly. Firing Stony had tracked deer and hunted them for two days, but had failed to kill any, and now his large family was entirely without food. We had only two small fish left. These I gave to the mother to prepare, and we made our meal of them that night. Early next morning, taking Firing Stony with us, we set off for the lake, bidding the family follow us as fast as they could. I confess that I was never very much good at anything like vigorous exercise taken on an empty stomach, and while these thirty miles were long and difficult to Francis and myself, they must have been a very heavy strain upon our half-famished companion. He was plucky, though, and kept up well. Early in the afternoon we reached the Mission, and very soon my wife was preparing a good meal of such food as we had.
We were hungry, but our guest was famishing and had to be carefully fed, especially after such a run through the deep snow. Towards evening he said he was all right, and would return to meet his family. So we loaded him with fish and told him to rest by the way, and we would come on the morrow and help him and his family into the Mission. To witness this man's intense interest in those dependent upon him, to see that he was willing to sacrifice himself, if necessary, on their behalf, was very stimulating to our optimism for the future of this people. In this man, notwithstanding the centuries of vice and ignorance, the germ of divinity was quite apparent.
The next evening we had the entire family in camp beside us, and our women were doing what they could to relieve their necessities. In a few days the little ones and their elders began to look like different people. What was mere existence to us was to them a feast.
During the early part of the season the wolves had killed several of the horses and colts of the Indians, so on one of my trips I secured a small vial of strychnine, and used it with deadly effect. By the middle of March I had poisoned twenty-eight wolves and several foxes, and with these was able to buy a few articles of clothing and two small sacks of barley meal. My plan was to put a little poison into a small cube of wildcat fat, which is very soft and melts with little heat. Then I would chop up some fish and scatter them around where I had placed the baits. I handled the poison very carefully, as I did not want to kill any dogs with it, and moreover, the natives had a prejudice against using it. Late in the evening I would drive with my dogs several miles to the end of the lake, and there place the baits, and next morning, before daylight, I would be making across the ice as fast as my dogs could carry me, gathering up the results in wolves or foxes, or untouched baits, with which I came home. In this way I ran but little risk of poisoning any other than the animals I was after.
One day I had quite a run of good luck. The evening before I had noticed the tracks of a fox near home, and as I did not want to place poison so near the house, I set a small one-springed trap at the place. In the morning, on my way to where the baits were placed, I noticed that the little trap, to which I had fastened a short stick, had been dragged out on the lake. Farther on I again crossed the trail of the dragged trap, now striking for the shore. Continuing my course, I came to the baits, and found a big grey wolf and a red fox stiff and stark. Lashing these on my sled, I gathered up the unused bait, and returning drove to the spot where my trap had been pulled into the woods. Here I tied the dogs, put on my snowshoes, and started on the trail. I had not gone far when I found the stick which had been attached to the trap, and said to myself, "Now then for a long chase, for that trap is small and the chain attached is also small and short." But presently I came to where the heavy snow had bent a thick bush over, making a sort of den, into which my trap had been dragged. Picking up a stick I shoved it into the den. Immediately I heard the jingle of the chain of the trap, and before I could withdraw the stick a large fox jumped past me and made for the forest as fast as he could go.
I saw that he was a fine fellow, beautifully marked. I saw also that he had the trap on one of his front feet, and, determined not to lose my quarry, I pushed after him as fast as I could. For the first hour or two, aided by the thick brush and the rabbit-paths, he kept ahead of me, but towards noon I chased him out into a more open country, where the snow was deep and loose, and here I saw plainly I was gaining ground. Presently I saw the snow flying ahead of me, and rushing in caught the fellow digging out an old burrow which was covered with snow, and had not been used that winter at least, but which must have been an old lair of his, as he had made straight for it. My first grip was at his tail, and the white tip of this came off in my hand. The next catch I had him by one of his hind legs, and then I paused and thought what I should do. If I pulled him out, he would doubtless bite me. I felt about in the snow and was fortunate in securing a small stick. And now I pulled Mr. Fox out, and tapped his nose for him so effectually that he was stunned, and then I killed him.
"And now I ... tapped his nose for him so effectually that he was stunned.""And now I ... tapped his nose for him so effectually that he was stunned."
Throwing the fox over my shoulder, I struck out straight for home. The sharp chase in the keen air had given me a rousing appetite, but before getting my dinner I thought I would bring in some fish to thaw, in order to have them ready to feed my dogs when I brought them home. As I entered the fish-house I heard something stir, and giving the pile of frozen fish a shake, saw a mink rush out of the pile and make for a small hole in the roof. Hurriedly grasping a fish-stick, I ran to meet him, and as he jumped from the roof I caught him and killed him. Thus I had as the result of one morning's sport a big wolf, a red fox, a cross fox, and a mink, which as things went in those days was a straight run of good luck.
One evening Mr. Firing Stony came to me and said, "I wish you would give me a bait or two and let me try my luck with them. My snares and traps are of no use." I answered, "You are too careless; you would poison somebody." But he pressed for them, so I gave him three baits and he went away happy. But as soon as he saw the sparks flying out of my chimney the next morning, which was long before daylight, he came in laughing and said, "You knew better than I, for, just as you told me, I have poisoned my best dog. There she was, lying stiff dead when I made the fire just now." "Well," I said, "I did not want to give you those baits." "I know," he answered, "and I was careful, but that dog was a notorious thief."
Not long after this Firing Stony invited me to his tent, and as I approached the spot I became aware through my olfactory nerves that he had made a successful hunt at last, for certainly something that smelled good was boiling in that kettle. Before I really knew what it was, a thrill of joy went through my whole being. Right here I want the reader to know that I am not more epicurean than most humanity; but when you are always hungry for change of fare, or for food itself, you become very susceptible to the smell of good food cooking. "You are welcome," said mine host, and I answered, "What strange thing have you been about?" His wife answered, "He has gone and found a bear." Sure enough, presently there were dished up to me some delicious bear ribs. I ate what I could and took the rest home with me, as this was an Indian custom and exceedingly convenient at times. I will never in this life while memory lasts forget how delicious that fat bear-meat was.
It came out that my friend was tracking a moose, and in doing so came upon a bear's den and succeeded in killing the old one and two cubs. Next morning, taking my dogs, we went and brought in the rest of the meat, I getting half of it as my share, and the following day started early to intercept and follow up if possible the trail of the moose. But after hours of heavy snowshoeing and wading and crawling, we found that some wolves had run the moose away from us. Tired and disappointed, we reached home late that night.
About the end of March Indians began to straggle in, bringing little or no provisions, but glad to fall back with us on the food supply of the lake. It was about this time, when Francis and I were rushing the whip-sawing, that one day the boxing came off in my hands and the back of the saw split my nose and lips, cut my chin, and pretty nearly knocked my front teeth down my throat. Fortunately we had a supply of sticking plaster, and while I held the parts together in turn my wife deftly fastened them with the plaster. I was unable either to speak or to masticate my food for several days, and was forced to subsist on sucker broth. But I could continue my work at the sawing, and my wounds closed and healed in an extraordinarily short time, demonstrating the fact that after all what we called hard fare was really health producing.
I was but nicely over my painful wounds when Samson came in. His tent was hardly in place when I was invited over to have a meal with him. I had felt hungry all that winter, but the last few days of fish broth had intensified that feeling. Now here was what seemed to me a feast for a king—the tongue and boss of a fat buffalo, some pounded meat and marrow-fat, and the ham of a porcupine. Many a sumptuous repast have I since enjoyed in palatial homes, many a dining-car meal have I partaken of since that meal in my friend Samson's lodge, but of none of these have I such pleasant recollections as of this in the skin lodge, spread on newly cut spruce brush and served in homely style. Nevertheless, as Samson related his winter's experiences, and I listened and ate, this latter was done sparingly, for there were others to be thought of, and to these also such a spread would come as a heaven-send.
Alternate feasting and fasting—We start out on a buffalo hunt—Old Paul brings down a fine moose—Providential provision—Enoch Crawler kills another moose—Magnificent landscapes—Entering the great treeless plains—Wonderful mirages—We come upon the tracks of buffalo—Our men shoot a huge grizzly—Charging a bunch of cows—A lively chase—Samson's plucky plunge over a bank after the buffalo—I chase and kill a fine cow—The camp busy killing and making provisions—Guarding against hostile Indians.
All through April and May we had quite a multitude around the Mission, feasting or fasting with us, as circumstances dictated. Sometimes the moving ice on the lake kept us for days at a time from visiting our nets, and then there was hunger in the camp. But again the ice moved out, and we were provided with food sufficient in quantity if not all we would like in quality. About the end of May, after putting our garden in shape, with a few families we started for the big plains and the summer ranges of the buffalo. During the past winter the buffalo kept far out and great destitution consequently ensued. Spring came and found the forts and Mission stations without the usual stock of pemmican and dried meat. There was no use of our looking for help from these sources; we must act for ourselves. I had talked the plain trip up among our people, but only a few would attempt it with us. Nevertheless, these few were picked men. There was old Paul and Samson, and Mark and his father and brother, and a Mountain Stony, Enoch Crawler by name, and Francis and myself. We counted ten men in all and two boys, besides the women and children. The most of our party struck straight for the first edge of the thick woods, while Francis and others went around to bring our carts from where we had left them the previous autumn.
We left the lake on Monday morning. Wednesday evening we were camped together a united party. Saturday afternoon we went into camp early, in order to give everyone a chance to do some hunting for Sunday. Our tents were pitched in a beautiful plain, by the shore of a stream called Pipe Stone. Thus far no large game had been killed. Rabbits and ducks and the few dried fish we had started with formed our food. Saturday evening I shot a brace of rabbits, and carrying them back to camp was surprised to find that nearly all the women had disappeared. Enquiring the reason, I was told that old Paul had killed a moose. Now, old Paul was our invalid. He could only by crawling or with crutches move in any way, and I was surprised that he of all our party should kill the moose. But presently my wife and the other women rode into camp bringing with them the most of old Paul's kill. The old man had crawled to the edge of a small lake to try and shoot some ducks, and while slowly approaching this had detected the splash of a large animal coming into the lake from the other side. He saw it was a moose, and taking in the lay of the country, he concluded that it would come out about where he was. Hastily seizing his gun-worm and fixing this to the ramrod he pulled out the charge of shot and put a ball in its place. Sure enough the old hunter's instinct had told him right, for presently the huge animal came out of the lake and through the fringing of the timber right up to where he lay. Old Paul's shot was straight and true, and our camp rejoiced in the prospect of moose steaks as a change of diet. As this came on the eve of the Sabbath, it was very significant to our simple faith as an evidence of the favor of Providence and an endorsation of our Sabbath observance.
Early Monday morning the tents were folded and we were on our way south-eastward. Wednesday we were given another moose, this time Enoch Crawler being the fortunate hunter. Quite a number of beaver were caught and shot during the week's travel, and on Saturday, as we camped at the last point of woods, we killed our first buffalo. Here we organized our number into two watches, five men and one boy in each, to keep guard alternate nights. We spent a part of Monday in cutting and peeling poles and laying in a stock of dry wood; for while our fuel for some time would consist almost wholly of buffalo chips, yet it was essential to carry wood to guard against storms. We were now entering the treeless plains of the great North-West.
During the week we got several straggling bulls, and another Sunday came without any recent signs of either men or buffalo in numbers. We were now three weeks from home. For the first two our course lay through woodland and prairie, an undulating country, rich in succulent verdure, beautifully watered and with magnificent scenic properties. If our living was often without change, nevertheless we always had a sumptuous variety, to serve as both tonic and dessert, in the exceeding beauty of the landscape through which we were passing. Speaking for myself, these scenes were a constant stimulus and blessing to me. My fare might have been hard, the crossing of a creek or the climbing of a hill difficult, a balky horse exceedingly trying, a childish and often unreasonable parishioner very perplexing, but as I stood on some noble vantage ground and "viewed the landscape o'er," I remembered these little worries no more for the time, but with intense pleasure drank in the scene before me. There lay spread a splendid panorama of slope and vale and natural lawn, of terraced banks and lofty hills, beaver meadows and grand prairies, mirrored lakes and gently flowing streams. The forces of Jehovah had been at work. His turning lathes had shaped and rounded. His storms and deluges had washed and laved for centuries. His gardening winds and currents had carried and planted germs and seeds. His rains and dews and light and heat had caused these to grow. His resurrection agencies had covered and swarded and forested and blossomed, and clothed the rich and lovely vales and hills. For man all nature and nature's God had thought and planned and carried into execution. In gratitude and thanksgiving I beheld and worshipped, and with a feeling of growing dignity moved on to another vantage ground.
For the last week we had been out on the real plains. Nothing bigger there than herb plant or tiny rose-bush—grass, grass, everlasting grass, everywhere. Like ocean waves the plain dipped and rose. What gorgeous sunsets we witnessed; what surpassingly beautiful sunrises we beheld as we steadily pushed out on this great upland ocean of grass and plain. And those wonderful mirages, who can describe them? Here was photography on a magnificent scale. Here was direct substantiation of the old assertion, "There is no new thing under the sun." The focusing of light, the developing processes of the chemical properties of the atmosphere, verily we may believe these have been at work, if not before, at any rate ever since the "morning stars sang together."
I had never until now launched out on the treeless plains. Though in the prairie country for five years of constant travel, yet this is my first trip into this bigness and wideness and strangeness of land and grass and mirage. By the agencies of the latter I have seen the facsimile of an immense district of country lifted into the heavens, and there upon atmospheric canvas were clearly reproduced hill and dale and stream, and herds of buffalo and camps of Indians. I believe I have seen in this way photographs of scenes that were from ten miles to six hundred distant from me. I have noticed that where this occurs there is a distinct condition of atmosphere and climate. It would seem as if a mysterious change were going on, and one could feel this in himself.
One day, after a thunder-storm had passed, my wife and I were driving on the high land near the Red Deer River. The sun had come out clear and bright, and presently the whole country was under the spell of a mirage. We were one hundred and fifty miles from the mountains, but these were brought near to us—so close they seemed that, as our horses trotted along the highway, we felt as if we were driving right into them. Watching the wonderful panorama, I saw away beyond the mountains, and there was a body of water, with land and hills in the far background. Then on the water there came in view a steamship. There she stood on her course with a dark cloud of smoke falling astern. I said to my wife, "What do you see?" "Why," she exclaimed, "I see a big lake, and there is a steamer coming towards us." All this was real to our vision and sense. And if truly a picture of this world, that mirage was revealing to our vision scenes seven hundred miles distant. It had lifted those mountains thousands of feet into the heavens and drawn them within the scope of our natural sight. Verily this is a strange, mysterious world, even this wherein we now dwell.
The Monday morning following our third Sunday out brought us sunshine and rain, one of those quick downpours you cannot make ready for as you travel. The cloud and mist from this had barely cleared away when I saw a dark object in a lake ahead of us. I pointed this out to an Indian who was with me. "Oh!" said he, "that is a big stone in the lake." I declared it looked like some large animal, but as we were still distant from the lake we went on, and suddenly came upon the tracks of a large herd of buffalo. These were travelling right out eastward, and must have numbered two hundred or more. As the tracks were quite fresh, I concluded to ride ahead and reconnoitre, for eight or nine miles from us was a range of hills, and the herd was making straight for these. When about five miles from our party I heard quick shooting in their vicinity, and concluding they were being attacked by hostile Indians, I immediately turned my horse and rode as fast as I could towards them. But meeting an Indian, he stayed my alarm by saying, "It was a bear they were shooting." The object I had seen in the lake was an enormous grizzly, and he had shown fight, which accounted for the fusilade I had heard. The Indians told me that they had killed him, and that his meat was quite fat. If I had not been so much taken up with the fresh buffalo tracks I would have had the first shot at that grizzly, an eccentric fellow evidently, or he would not thus have wandered so far from his native mountains.
Our herd of buffalo were travelling fast, so fast indeed that we did not see either them or any of their relations that day, but were forced to content ourselves with roasted grizzly. The next day we came to a small bunch of cows that led us a lively chase. The land was broken and rolling, and the buffalo split up as we charged. Samson and I went after one portion at a breakneck speed down a range of hills into a valley, where I thought we were going to have a fair race, when suddenly the whole lot disappeared over a precipitous bank into a creek with a plunge and splash. I watched my companion to see what he would do, when I saw him urge his horse over the bank into about four feet of water. As he took the jump he held his gun up over his head to keep it dry, and I followed, doing the same. And now as the flying herd were rushing up the slope, Samson shouted, "That is a good one on your side; try and kill her." When I closed in the cow left the others and ran me a stiff chase up the hill. But I sent a bullet after her which made her slow up and presently stop and face me. Then I gave her another right in the head, and she dropped in her tracks. As my little horse was now well winded, I alighted by the side of the cow, and Samson came up, having killed two. The others also had done well, so we camped by that creek and began making provisions.
Here we remained for several days, going out and killing and bringing the meat home, all the time constantly on guard to prevent our horses being stolen or our camp attacked, for we were now on the outer fringes of the great herds of buffalo and might come across enemies at any time.
A busy camp—Process of butchering and drying meat—How pemmican is made—Our camp in peril—Chasing a herd of buffalo up a stiff bank—Mark scores a point on me—We encounter a war party of Blackfeet—A fortunate rain-storm—A mirage gives us a false alarm—Unwritten laws as to rights of hunters.
There were no idle hours in our camp. Hunting by day, and on guard every other night; when not running buffalo or butchering and hauling and packing them into camp, then drying the meat and rendering grease and making pemmican, or mending carts and harness—there was always something to do. Some of our party had become rather alarmed at our venturing so far into the enemy's country, and already they were talking about returning. But I told them that we must load right up; that we had not come all this way merely to have a feed and turn back, but to prepare food for the next winter. So by precept and example we kept the whole camp stirring. Sunday was our only day of rest, when, outside the care of the horses and camp, we absolutely refrained from labor. And now as we are actually engaged in drying meat and making pemmican, I will describe this work in detail.
In the first place, the Indian and plain hunter did not butcher the carcase in the white man's way, but followed the anatomy of the animal. There were the tongue and little boss, the big boss, the back and rump-fats, the sinew pieces, the shoulders and hams, the brisket and belly piece and ribs. Each of these came out separately under the skilful hand and knife of the hunter, and when brought to camp were cut into broad wide flakes, not more than a quarter of an inch in thickness. These flakes in turn were hung on stagings made of clean poles, and the wind and sun allowed free work at them. When dry on one side they were turned, and kept turned every hour or so during the day, and if the camp moved they were loaded into carts and taken to be spread out again on the clean grass, all being turned at some time during the day. Thus in two or three days, according to the weather, the first lot would be ready for sorting. The back-fats and rump-fats and the briskets and ribs and bosses would be folded into a regular size, and baled up into packs of from eighty to one hundred and twenty pounds weight. These bales were bound up with rawhide, and the contents were known in camp and Hudson's Bay posts, and everywhere in the Territories, as "dried meat." Though only air and sun were utilized in the curing, still this was sweet and perfect in its effect, and the meat would keep for years.
The other parts of the meat—that is, those portions which came from the hams and shoulders, and the sinew pieces—were, when dry, taken and cooked over a slow fire. In our case we made a large gridiron by digging a long grave-like hole in the ground, in which we made a fire and across the top of it placed willows, whereon we spread the meat. After cooking it carefully and thoroughly it was put away to cool, and then pounded by flail until it became pulp. This when finished was termed "pounded meat." In the meantime all the tallow or hard fat of the animal killed was cut up into small pieces and cooked or rendered, and watched closely that it might not burn. This boiling tallow was then poured upon the pounded meat, about pound for pound, and the mass thoroughly stirred up until all the meat was saturated with the hot grease.
Bags were made of the hide, nicely fleshed and prepared, and sewed with sinew. And now the hot mass of meat and grease was shovelled into the bags. Then these were quickly sewed up, and a level piece of ground was chosen, or a flooring of side-boards from the carts made, and these bags were placed on this and shaped and turned until cool and hard. A bag thirty inches long, eighteen wide and eight thick would weigh from 120 to 135 lbs. This was "hard grease pemmican." Sometimes dried berries, or the choke-cherry, would be mixed with the soft fat pemmican, and this would be called "berry pemmican." This pemmican, like the dried meat, without any spice or seasoning other than sun and wind or fire, would keep for years in a fresh wholesome state.
Before we left the camp by the creek we had manufactured pemmican and dried meat and hide covers and parchment skins and many lines, and what with the hunting and doing all this work and looking constantly after our stock, we were pretty busy. We then moved farther out on the plains, when we made another home camp, and repeated the experience of the last one. But as the buffalo were much scattered, we had far and wide to hunt for them. We would take it in turns, and leaving camp early in the morning, sometimes would not return until dark. Under such circumstances, both with those at home and those hunting, the nervous strain was considerable, for now we had seen many signs of the enemy and several attempts had been made to steal our horses. Mine was the best gun in camp, and it was a double-barrelled percussion-lock muzzle loader. All the rest were armed with single-barrelled flint-lock guns. There was not one revolver or pistol among the whole party.
One day we went as far as the Red Deer River, and finding a bunch of bulls right down on the river bottom near the water's edge, we made a big circuit and started the herd. They took up a deep ravine and soon began to climb the almost perpendicular banks to the uplands above. These banks were not small affairs, but were hundreds of feet in height. In our eagerness we followed close on their heels, and some of them would stop and look around at us as if the next move would be a charge down the steep upon us. Woe to the man or horse caught in such a fix. But then if these fellows should reach the level summit much in advance of us we might not catch them again, for our horses were pretty well blown by this run and climb. I am sure it must have taken from ten to fifteen minutes to follow those big monsters (for these were the fattest we had seen) up that hill, and of course every one of us secretly in his own mind wanted to kill the very fattest. I had already singled out mine and was keeping dangerously near him, but it would not do to fire at any on such a hill; we must let them reach the top. However, as I was next to the bulls, I thought mine would be the first chance. But in this I was beaten by old Mark, whose experienced eye had seen a better way. As we reached the summit and the bulls jumped into a hard race at once, as if the climb had been nothing, I was pushing my way after them when in came Mark ahead of me, and "bang" went his old flint-lock right into the best bull of the crowd. Of course I took the next one, and another also, and felt if I was to be beaten—why, I had rather it be by Mark than another.
We took home more good meat and fat that day than at any time on our trip. Another time we went far from camp, and ran right into a hunting party of Blackfeet. They were more surprised than we were, and left their hunt on the field and fled. As we did not know how many there were, or how near the camp might be, we made haste to load our horses, and started for home by a roundabout way, but not until dark did we make direct for our camp.
Here Providence interfered on our behalf, for before daylight next morning a heavy rain-storm set in and continued for two days and two nights, not only washing away all our tracks, but keeping the enemy pretty constantly under cover. We were thankful for the storm, and yet were miserable all through it, as we had not sufficient fuel to keep us warm. When the third day opened with bright sunshine the whole camp was glad. Not a soul in our party had even an overcoat, much less a waterproof. There were no long boots or rubbers to be found in our outfit at that time. And to remain out with those horses in the cold rain all night long was not child's play.
With returning sunshine we moved camp westward and northward, and making a good long day settled at evening in as good a spot as we could find for the hiding and protection of our camp. Then we went to work finishing up our drying and pounding and preparing provisions, and arranged our loads in order to make them water-tight and storm-proof as much as possible with parchments and hides. When this was all done we resumed our homeward journey.
When moving one day, word came in that we were being followed by a troop of Blackfeet, and immediately I sent Mark out to reconnoitre. Riding back a couple of miles he signalled to us "They are coming," and again he signalled, "They are many." The first was done by riding his horse to and fro, and the second by throwing dust in the air. This put us to making strenuous efforts to be ready for attack.
We arranged our carts as a bulwark on one side at a spot where a small hill gave us protection on the other. We gathered and picketed our horses close up, saddling the speediest, and got all our ammunition ready. Then Samson went out to join Mark. Presently the two came in on the jump to tell us that a mirage had deceived everybody, that the trailing party was nothing more formidable than a big pack of wolves! Our alarm thus allayed, we journeyed on, not unmindful, however, of the episode, for I had run around rushing in the horses and placing the carts quite regardless of the numerous beds of cactus, and now the soles of my feet were like fire because of the many small points which had entered them.
The unwritten law as to hunting rights which obtained at that time was as follows: When on the journey from one part of the country to another, say, to and from a Mission station or between Hudson's Bay posts to the herds of buffalo and back, everything killed was common property—that is, all who came to the kill had common share of the meat; but when fairly into the buffalo range, and at the work of making provisions, then each man handled and kept his own hunt. There was also a well understood law that the owner of a buffalo horse also owned whatever was killed from the back of his horse. Many a time after I became proficient in the art of selecting the fat ones, and had gained a reputation as a shot, Indians would bring me their best horses to ride in a hunt. And as I was often in camp merely visiting, many an exciting time I had with the strange horses, and many a man and his whole family came to hear me sing and preach because I had won their admiration by my handling of their pet horse.
Into the timber country again—Craving for vegetable food—Wild rhubarb a treat—I shoot a big beaver—My horse objects to carrying it—A race for the life of my child—Terrific fight between my dogs and a huge wolverine—Reach Pigeon Lake and find father there—Anxiety felt for our party—A meagre bill of fare—A visit to Victoria—I narrowly escape drowning—Father leaves for Ontario, taking with him my three sisters—Francis leaves us to return to Victoria—My varied offices among the Indians.
On the twenty-sixth day from our leaving the points of timber we again entered them, and as all in our party were "forest people," there was joy in every heart. We are tremendously governed by sentiment. Our spirits like the barometer rise and fall, subject to environment. And now with carts and travois and pack-animals loaded, and with our stock and scalps intact, we were once more in the outer stretchings of the great northern woodlands. Moreover, we were so hungry for something vegetable that we eagerly partook of the first edible food that was found. We roasted and boiled and ate freely of what is known as the wild rhubarb, and also ate the inner bark of the poplar and drank the sap.
I remember with what joy I came upon a bed of wild rhubarb as we were approaching the timber. Flinging myself from my horse, I cut a bunch of the rhubarb, and quickly making a willow fire, roasted and ate ravenously of it, and felt it did me good. The same afternoon, as our party was travelling on, I rode away to one side to watch for beaver. The ripple of the water breaking over the dam told me where they were. Fastening my horse I quietly drew near, and by and by heard the splash of one as he came out of his house into the pond. Presently I saw the beaver swimming towards me, and, waiting my chance as he drew near, I shot him.
But now that I had my beaver I found that the horse I rode would not let me place him on his back. I worked for a long time to pacify the sensitive brute, but of no avail. Finally I determined to tie the end of my lariat to the beaver, and mounting first, pull him into the saddle; and after a lot of backing and plunging I finally succeeded in landing the beaver across in front of me, and thus rode on into camp, but determining all the way to take a quieter horse the next time I went beaver hunting.
On we rolled, crossing the streams tributary to the Battle River, and when we had crossed the river, I concluded to send Francis round by the new cart road we had made in coming out, while with my own family I should strike straight in by Bear's Hill for Pigeon Lake and the Mission. All of the Indians who had not carts would come the same way, but follow more slowly.
While on this trip I had two experiences worth relating. I was riding ahead and had my little daughter Flora in the saddle with me. My sleigh dogs, who were now big and fat, were with me. Presently, passing near a shallow lakelet, I caught sight of a moulting goose making for the grass. Dropping my little girl down by the path, and telling her to pick flowers and stay quiet, that "papa would come back soon," I galloped over to the spot where I saw the goose disappear. Of course, all the dogs came with me, and very soon we found the goose. I quickly wrung its neck, and remounting my horse dashed back to where my child was, and away bounded the pack of dogs also. The goose hunt had excited them, and they were racing one another; and now I saw that if I did not reach the child before they did, the strong possibility was the wild brutes would tear the little one to pieces. The race was short and quick, but my intense fear made it seem like an age.
The dogs and I reached the child about the same time, and I flung myself from the horse and clutched my little girl, and then fairly danced for joy that I had her safe in my arms again.
Going on we came to Bear's Hill Creek, and as the day was warm both horse and dogs began to drink. As I sat in the saddle talking to my child, I happened to look down the stream, and there I saw a big wolverine come out to the water's edge to quench its thirst. Close to me was a hound called Bruce. I quietly said "Bruce," and pointed down the creek. The quick-eyed fellow saw the wolverine, bounded away, and was close upon him before the wolverine saw him. Then he made a jump for the brush, but Bruce ran his nose between his enemy's hind legs and fairly turned him over with the impetus of his run. Then the whole pack came up, and I sat on my horse and looked on a terrific fight between the dozen dogs and the one wolverine. It did not seem fair, but the wolverine was a big fellow and a born fighter, and he was fighting for his life. He scratched and bit every one of those dogs, and held his own for some time, but at last a big black dog, a powerful brute, got his massive jaws on both sides of the wolverine's brain and crunched it right in, and the wild fellow was dead. I verily believe that in all the big North-West there will not be a single mourner for him, such is the Ishmaelitish record of these animals.
As we were approaching the lake the next afternoon I noted fresh tracks coming up from the Edmonton and Victoria trail. Anxious to see whose these might be, I urged on my horse, and when I came in sight of the house I saw some horses standing at a smudge, and recognized them as belonging to our people at Victoria. This made me jubilant, and I gave a regular Indian "whoop," and then I heard father say, "There, that is John." As I jumped from my horse father and a young man, by the name of James Connor, ran out of our little home overjoyed to see me. Away down at Victoria word had come of several serious battles between the tribes. Scalps and horses had frequently changed owners, and strange rumors had come in from the plains. These had become connected with our small party, and our people were so intensely anxious about us that father and James had started for Pigeon Lake, and finding the place deserted were now setting nets and drying fish in order to go out on our trail and seek us.
Father embraced me as if I had come from the dead, and James was only a little less demonstrative. They were at their meal when they heard my shout, and here is the bill of fare:
WOODVILLE MISSION, PIGEON LAKE.DINNER, JULY, 1867.Boiled Jackfish without salt.Boiled Rhubarb without sugar.DESSERT.
Thinking and planning and talking about loved ones, said to be massacred, but of which there is no certainty.
Father brought us news from the outside world, and of the people on the Saskatchewan. He said he was ready to start for Ontario, and was going to take my three sisters with him that they might go to school. He was arranging with Mr. Steinhauer to come as often as he could to Victoria during his absence, and he hoped I would visit them when I could.
The next afternoon I accompanied father and Jim on their return journey. We camped for the night with Francis at the edge of the dense and heavy timber, beyond which point we had not as yet been able to bring our carts. From here, as father said provisions were not plentiful at Victoria, we took a cart with about half a load, and went on in a blinding rain-storm, camping that night in a flood, with no tent and but a small covering for the cart.
"I succeeded in getting hold of the end of a tree.""I succeeded in getting hold of the end of a tree."
The next day we had a lively time crossing the White Mud. When, after packing everything across on horseback, and holding the provisions up over our shoulders, I afterwards undertook to drive across with the empty cart, we were swept away by the raging current, and I became separated from both horse and cart. My heavy leather clothes impeded my movements, and I came very near swinging around the point for the last time in this world. Finally, when nearly exhausted with fighting the wild stream, I succeeded in getting hold of the end of a tree which extended out into the stream, and made the shore in safety. Our horse and cart fortunately, too, came out on the right side, and after some mending of harness we proceeded on our way.
We kept on the south side of the Saskatchewan and ferried at Victoria. Since father left to look for us no word had reached Victoria either of him or of us, and our arrival was hailed with joy. Everybody around the Mission was busy preparing for father's long trip east. He contemplated driving all the way to St. Paul on the Mississippi; and to start on such a trip in those days of bridgeless and ferryless streams, and with very few supply depots, required no little preparation, the chief items of which, however, were horses and pemmican, and plenty of self-help, backed up by a strong faith in God. Father was pretty well supplied with these essentials.
He took with him my three sisters and Miss Tait, daughter of the Hudson's Bay Company officer stationed at Victoria. He also had two Indian boys he intended to leave where he might meet railway or steam transport. We were very busy for three or four days in getting things ready for this long trip, and then we saw them off, and came back to the Mission house feeling lonely enough, especially mother. Father would be at least a year absent, and she would sorely miss her three bright girls whose clatter and romp and play had gladdened and illumined the isolated home so often, in spite of many anxious periods of suspense and patient waiting. No doubt it was a tremendous sacrifice on her part to see them go so far away, and that for years; but, as was consistent with her whole life, she meekly bore these trials and went on with her work as usual.
Returning, I fell in with a party travelling to Edmonton, and from there I struck out alone for Pigeon Lake, but chanced to meet Francis at the limit of our cart road, packing in the provisions, etc., to the Mission. I found all well, and quite a number of Indians in from different points, but these, as usual, did not remain long, but soon were scattered. It was about this time that Francis concluded to go back to Victoria, and with the exception of one Indian family and a couple of boys I was training we were alone; but as we knew camps were here and there to the south of us, we felt comparatively safe from the enemy. I say the enemy, but our enemies were not always easy to locate, for the whole country was in a lawless condition, and whims and moods, or trouble and disappointment, might make us enemies at any time. It was best always to be on the alert; to trust in Providence and "keep our powder dry" was always in order.
To put up hay was the next consideration, and my boys and I went at it in earnest. Wooden forks, and poles wherewith to handle and stack, were all we had, but nevertheless we made a good supply of hay, and by the time we were through the Indians began to come in. From the last of August until winter was fairly upon us our congregations were usually large. Our work evidently was telling, for there was very much less conjuring and gambling, and the people were awakening to a better life.
Our duties to and amongst these people were manifold. We had to supply the object lesson in all new industries. In fishing, net making and mending, chopping and sawing, planting and weeding, and even in economical hunting, we found that we must not only take a part but lead. I was doctor, lawyer, judge and arbitrator, peace commissioner, pastor, teacher and brother man. Many a perplexing case of sickness made us feel our ignorance, but we did our best. Crees and Stonies were constantly quarrelling over horses or women, and it was my duty (so everybody seemed to think) to step in and interfere and investigate. Charges of secret poisoning and of conjuring loved ones to their death were frequent, and many a solemn time we spent in disabusing ignorant minds of groundless suspicions, and also many an hour we labored to explain the benefit of Christian civilization in the ordering of the lives of a community.
Some of the strongly conservative pagans and ardent gamblers and staunch polygamists and wild "devil-may-cares" at times vigorously resented (as well they might) our interference. But such men as Adam and Jacob and Mark, among the Stonies who then frequented that part of the country; and of the Crees, Samson, Paul and others stood by us loyally, and our influence grew apace. John, "the young preacher," was becoming quite an authority among the wandering tribes.
Our first interment—Jacob's tragic death—Hostile Flatheads in quest of horses, scalps and glory—Stonies attacked by a party of Blackfeet—A hot fusilade—Mark's father is killed—Destitution prevalent—Hunting lynx—My dogs seized with distemper—All have to be shot—Another provision hunt organized—Among the buffalo—I narrowly escape being shot—Heterogeneous character of our camp—Mutual distrust and dislikes—United by fear of a common foe—The effects of Christianity.
That autumn one of our best young men, Jacob by name, was killed by the Flatheads. His friends sent me word that they were bringing the body into the Mission. We dug our first grave on the hill, and there in the quiet of this "God's acre" we laid to rest the remains of the brave young fellow who had died in defence of his people. This was our first interment, in the fall of 1867, and we came here in the spring of 1865. This was significant of the migratory character of the people, as also of the healthfulness of the highland country.
Our Indians had camped about twenty-five miles from the Mission, and in a comparatively wooded section, where they believed themselves in large measure exempt from attacks of the plain Indians, and had no thought of attack by warriors from the Pacific slope. However, as one told me, they had "felt someone in the vicinity," and were watching their horses closely, keeping them staked right up to camp at night.
One of our people, called William One-eye, was on guard when he saw what he took to be a stranger stooping at the feet of one of the horses. He approached quietly and spoke to him, as he wanted to make sure before firing at him. But the fellow answered by shooting at him, and with so good an aim that the hall grazed William's forehead, cutting away a tuft of his hair, which was bound with ermine skin, and stunning him for an instant. Ere he could recover himself the thief jumped on the horse and dashed away at furious speed.
William soon gave the alarm, but already everybody was stirring because of the shot, and now it was found that several horses were gone. The whole camp was aroused and the pursuit became general. It was in this running fight that Jacob was shot. The Stonies, on their part, killed two of the Flatheads, bringing in their horses and saddles, and the ammunition and tent which were packed on these.
The marauders had come hundreds of miles through the mountains on this quest for horses, scalps and glory, and as the trails were now becoming clearly defined from almost every direction into our Mission, it looked as if we might be visited at any time by these lawless scamps.
Young Jacob came of a large and plucky family, and it was hard work to restrain these from going on a retaliatory expedition, but the leaven of Christianity was working sufficiently to keep them in check. Of this we had ample evidence some six weeks later, when the same camp of Stonies was attacked by a large war party of Crees, who said that they mistook them for Blackfeet. But this could hardly be possible, for the Stonies were having evening worship at the time and were singing and praying. Mark said this accounted for the small mortality of their fusilade on the camp, as most of them were low down on their knees and the balls passed over their heads, which the holes in their lodges plainly showed.
The Stonies repulsed their foes, and heard them shouting back, "This was a mistake; we thought you were Blackfeet, our common enemies." It was only when the Stonies returned to camp they discovered that their aged patriarch, Mark's father, "The-man-without-a-hole-in-his-ear," was killed. The old man was on his knees praying when the ball went right through his vitals. Evidently he had died without a struggle. Mark said that if they had known this at the time they could not have spared the Crees, but coming back to camp and finding that their father had died on his knees while in the act of prayer, they felt that they must respect his act and faith and not take revenge. Surely this was strong evidence of a great change in the feelings of the Indians, bred as they had been to retaliation and deep hatred of their foes.
All through the autumn we dwelt in the midst of alarms, and it was not until winter came, with its cold and snow, that we felt in a measure secure for a time from these wandering parties. On November 25th another little girl came to our humble home, and was given the name of Ruth.
At this time, what with holding services at home and visiting camps in our vicinity, attending to the fall and winter fisheries, providing wood, and hauling hay (for we had secured another cow and a couple of oxen, and I was keeping a horse in the stable), my time was fully taken up. In fact I was hard driven, and was very glad when a sufficiency of fish was stored, so that I could pack my nets and other fishing paraphernalia away for a few months. Then, as per instructions from my Chairman, I made a dash for Victoria, spending two Sabbaths there, and taking Edmontonen routeboth ways. At this time I did not dare attempt to preach in English, but felt quite at home in the Cree.
During the winter of 1867-68, the buffalo still kept far out, and there was considerable destitution all over the country. Our storehouse and fish-house were ever and anon called upon to come to the rescue. We never failed to emphasize the stern necessity of making provision for the future, but with a people having no abiding place this was a hard lesson to learn. The rabbits, fortunately, were more numerous than usual, and with them came the lynx, both helping out in the preservation of life from actual starvation.