Just as we were starting from Edmonton, Billy Smith was bitten in the hand by one of the dogs. The wound became very bad almost immediately, and grew worse as we proceeded. The weather was now very cold, and I had a lively time with a helpless man in my cariole, and another, almost as helpless, behind with the baggage train. When the Indians came up to camp they helped me, but they were generally a long way in the rear.
I shall never forget a scare Mr. Woolsey gave me on that trip. It was the next morning after leaving Edmonton. We had started early in the night, and I was running behind the cariole, holding the lines by which I kept it from upsetting. We had left the others far in the rear. Mr. Woolsey was fast asleep; myself and dogs were quietly pursuing the narrow trail, fringed here by dark rows of willows. The solitude was sublime. Suddenly from the earth beneath me, as it seemed, there came, unearthly in its sound, a most terrible cry. I dropped the line and leaped over a bunch of willows, feeling my cap lifting with the upward motion of my hair. My pulse almost ceased to beat. Then it flashed upon me it was Mr. Woolsey having the "nightmare." I was vexed with myself for being so startled, and vexed with him for committing so horrible a thing under such circumstances, and I have to confess it was no small shake that I gave that cariole, saying at the same time to Mr. Woolsey as he awoke, "Don't you do that again!" As he was feeling chilled I suggested that he alight and walk a bit, while I dashed on to make a fire; all of which we did, I having a big blazing fire on when Mr. Woolsey came up. I melted snow and boiled the kettle, and we had our second breakfast, though it was still a long time till daylight. The Indians did not come up at this spell, so we left some provisions beside the fire and went on. That was a very hard trip on all of us. Mr. Woolsey, wrap him as I would, seemed likely to freeze to death every little while. Smith's hand was growing worse, and he was in intense pain with it. I was in sore trouble with my passenger and my patient. Sometimes I had to roll Mr. Woolsey out of the cariole in order to get him on his feet and beside the fire. At times the condition of things was ludicrous in the extreme.
Before daylight the second morning—for we were two nights on the way—I was a long distance ahead of Billy, and was becoming anxious about him. I knew Mr. Woolsey was cold, so I stopped in the lee of a bluff of timber, and making a big fire put down some brush, and then pulled the cariole up to this, and half lifted, half rolled Mr. Woolsey out beside the fire, and finally got him on his feet. Then I turned to get the kettle, for I had taken this and the axe and some food from Bill's provision sled because he was always so far behind. Just then I smelled something burning, and there was Mr. Woolsey standing over the fire, fairly smoking. His coat sleeves were singed, and when he sat down his trousers burst asunder at the knees, and the rent almost reached from the bottom hem to the waist band.
We both laughed heartily. I could not help it, but Mr. Woolsey's "unmentionables" were certainly past mending. By-and-bye we came out upon our own provision trail, and I saw that father and party had passed on the day before; and now as we would make good time from this in to the mission, only twelve miles distant, I felt like waiting for Bill, so I said to Mr. Woolsey, "You had better walk on and warm up while I wait for our man, as the poor fellow wants all the encouragement he can get." With much bracing and lifting I got Mr. Woolsey to his feet, and expecting him to start on, busied myself with my dogs; when presently, looking up, I saw him walking out on the road to the plains. I shouted to him, "Where are you going?" And he answered back, "I am going homeward." I told him he was wrong, but he was stubborn in the thought that he was right, and I had to run after him, and fairly turn him around, and show him the track made by father and his party homewards, before I could convince him he was wrong. This was now his ninth winter in the West, and still his organ of locality was so defective that he would lose himself in a ten-acre field. Kind, noble, good man that he was, yet it was impossible for him to adapt himself to a new country. He would always be dependent on others.
When Smith did come up, I encouraged him, telling him to pluck up—only twelve miles, and a passable road at that, then home, and nursing for him. Then I dashed after Mr. Woolsey, tucked him into the cariole, and in a short time was at the top of the very steep hill opposite the mission. Here I was in another box. I dare not go down with Mr. Woolsey in the cariole, yet the dogs saw home and were eager to jump over the brow, and dash down the precipice. I held them back, and called to my passenger to get out, which he essayed to do but could not. There was a coulee on one side of the road, and a brilliant idea struck me. Deciding to bring the force of gravity to aid me in my dilemma, I upset the cariole on to the side of the coulee. Out rolled Mr. Woolsey, and he kept on rolling until he reached the bottom of the gully. This suppled him somewhat, and now, with the sides of the gully to help him, he rose to his feet. I waited to see him stand, and then, almost weak with internal mirth, for I did not want him to see me laughing, I followed my dogs over the hill and drove on to the house. After unharnessing my dogs, I went back to meet poor Billy, and help him down the hill.
Many a laugh Mr. Woolsey and I had afterwards over that trip, though at the time there were occasions when things looked serious. Poor Billy Smith had a terrible time with his hand. Inflammation set in, mortification threatened, and some of our party had to work day and night to save him. Jonas and his companion came in some hours after us, and for several days Peter and Jonas worked on the translation of some hymns into the Stoney language. Then Jonas, with such help as father and Mr. Woolsey could give him, and with a copy of these hymns in the syllabic characters in his bosom, set out on his three hundred mile tramp to his mountain home. Fortunately he missed any such mishap as that which his friends encountered on their return home, and reached his people in good time, and was able to teach others these Gospel hymns, for which he had travelled so far in the intense cold of a Northern winter.
Visited by the Wood Stoneys—"Muddy Bull"—A noble Indian couple—Remarkable shooting—Tom and I have our first and only disagreement—A race with loaded dog-sleds—Chased by a wounded buffalo bull—My swiftest foot-race—Building a palisade around our mission-house—Bringing in seed potatoes.
During the winter of 1864 a camp of about forty lodges of Wood Stoneys came to the mission from the north, and stopping with us for a couple of days, pitched across to hunt for buffalo for a while. These people frequented the wooded country to the north of the Saskatchewan, and were known as "wood hunters." Moose and elk, deer and bear, and all manner of fur-bearing animals in this country were their legitimate prey, but occasionally they made a raid on the buffalo. They were great gamblers and polygamists, and generally a pretty wild lot. They spoke the same language as the Mountain Stoneys, with some shades of difference, mostly dialectical. These people had been gone about a month across into the buffalo country, when they sent us word to come for provisions. We went, and found them in a thicket of timber, among rolling hills, near Birch Lake, south-east of the mission about seventy-five miles. From them we secured four splendid loads of dried provisions and grease; but we had a time of it in getting out of those hills with our heavily-loaded sleds—many a pull and many a lift before we came to anything like a decent road.
I want to introduce right here "The Muddy Bull," a gentleman I became acquainted with some time in January, 1864. When I say "gentleman," I mean it in its literal sense. He was one of "nature's noblemen." We came across him on one of our trips, and made arrangements with him to become our hunter. While we were hauling in meat, he and his family followed the buffalo, and he killed and hauled in and staged near his camp. Thus we lost no time in securing the meat, and very soon had a fine pile in our store-house. While we were hauling in we made his lodge our home. His wife was a natural lady, and I have often thought "Muddy Bull" and his wife gave as fine an example of married life, as it should be, as I ever saw. When I first knew these people, they were not nominal Christians, had not been married (though they had a fine family of children), had never been baptized; but for all that they were really good people.
Later on father had the pleasure of marrying them, and of baptizing and receiving them into the Church. I had no doubt about their growth in grace, for I saw this take place. But the question which often puzzled me was, "When were they converted?" for it always seemed as if they were already converted when I first met them. Noah and Barbara became their Christian names. "Muddy Bull," as I shall still call him—for at the time of which I write he was not baptized—was a splendid hunter. He had made a study of the instincts of the animals within his range. Soon after the time of our first meeting he killed seven buffaloes within fifty feet square of ground, and that with an old pot-metal flint-lock gun, muzzle loading and single barrelled at that. I have seen him with the same gun, and with his horse at full gallop over a rough country, knock three buffaloes down, one after the other, almost as fast as an ordinary hunter would with a Winchester. Then the quality of the animals spoke the true hunter. Many men could kill, but not many could pick as "Muddy Bull" could. No wonder that, having found him, we retained him as our hunter for several years.
It was while we were hauling meat home that Tom and I had our first and only disagreement. We had been bosom companions, had slept together and eaten together, had undergone all manner of hardship side by side; but one morning, before daylight, in driving out to where our loads were, Tom took offence at something, and right then and there challenged me and my dogs to race him and his dogs. I protested that we could do it anyway—I was stronger and swifter than he, and my dogs were better.
"No, sir; you must prove it," was his answer. So we arranged each to load a cow, meat and head and tripe. The animals we were after were about half a mile apart. We were to see each other load, then come out to the road at a place twelve miles from home, and at a given word race the twelve miles in.
We loaded and came out to the rendezvous arranged. There we boiled our kettle and ate our lunch in silence, then hitched up the dogs.
I said, "Tom, are you ready?" He answered, "Yes!" The next word was a simultaneous "Marse!" and off we went. My dogs were ahead. I took the road and let them go at their own pace for a couple of miles. I did not even take off my coat, but ran along behind the dogs. Presently we came to a bit of plain, perhaps a quarter of a mile long, with bush at either end. As I reached the farther end, and was about to disappear in the woods, I cast a look behind, and saw that Tom was just about emerging on the plain at the other end. I saw I was already a long way ahead, but now my blood was up, and pulling off my coat I stuck it in the head of the sled, then made a jump for a small dry poplar, and with a terrific yell broke this against a tree. My dogs bounded away as if there were no load behind them, and we went flying through the woods and across bits of prairie. All of a sudden I met a procession of old women, each with several dogs attached totravoisfollowing her. They had gone in to the mission with loads of provisions to cache in our store-house for use in the spring when the various camps would move in from the plains for a time. As the old ladies stood there effectually blocking the way, I shouted to them as I ran, "Grandmothers! all of you give me the road, I am running a race!" It was amusing to see the quick response of the old women. Those dogs andtravoiswere pitched into the snow in short order, and as I flew past them, thanking them as I flew, I could hear the words come after me: "May you win! may you win, my grandchild!"
I was thankful that I had passed the old ladies so quickly and so easily, and could not help but speculate as to how my friend behind might find them. Reaching the big hill, I threw my load over on its side, and let it drag down like a log, then at the foot of the hill righted it up, and dashed on across the river, and up to the store-house. I then unharnessed my dogs, unloaded the sled, put away both harness and sled, went over to the house, washed and changed, and still there was no sign of my competitor.
Days after I learned from Peter that when Tom met the old women, they stood in long line, women and dogs andtravois, as if petrified, and quietly waited for him to break a road around them, through the deep snow. This had delayed him, and also worried his dogs considerably. Tom, like many another man, had brought on the trial, and later on saw his own presumption, and was sorry for it. He and I never spoke of the race, until he was going away for good, some two months later, when he mentioned it, and asked me to forgive him. I told him I had nothing to forgive, and we parted the best of friends. I have often thought of him, and hoped he would continue to be the same manly, honorable fellow he always was while with us.
Father did not take very kindly to dog-driving, but occasionally he made a trip. "Muddy Bull" sent us word that the meat of four animals was staged at a certain place, about forty miles from the mission. Peter was busy at something else, so father took his train and went with Tom and me for the meat. We camped by the stage, had our supper, and then went to work to load our sleds. This was always careful work. There was no mere pitching things upon the dog-sled. You must load plumb and square with the centre of your narrow sled, and then lash securely, or there would be no end of troubleen route.
We had loaded our sleds, and all was ready for a start in the morning, when father overheard Tom and me saying that if he were not with us, we would start now.
"What is that? Don't let me hinder you, young men," said father, and hitching up, we started home, reaching there about two hours after midnight; but I think father did not feel like repeating the dose—for some time, at any rate. He was past the age when men feel capable of such work right along. However, he and Peter and I made another short trip with dog teams, across the White Mud River, in search of the white clay from which the river took its name. This clay was useful in whitening chimneys and walls, and made even a log-house look far more respectable. We found the clay deposit, and then as we tracked buffalo going northward, we concluded to camp and have a hunt. Tying up our dogs, we started out on snowshoes, each one taking a different direction. The snow was very deep. In the woods it was heavy, but on the plains, where it was better packed, one could make much faster time. Presently I heard a shot, and going to where the sound came from, I saw Peter standing at a little distance from a huge bull. The animal evidently was badly hit, and had settled himself into a bed in the deep snow. I went over to where Peter stood, and taking my snowshoes off, stuck them into the snow, and then walked up towards the head of the bull, never dreaming that the huge brute would again stand up. He was a magnificent animal, with fine horns, long shaggy beard, and very black woolly mane and neck. Thinking that he was dying, I stood admiring his beauty and powerful frame, when, without a moment's warning, he sprang at me—sprang something like the clay pigeon does when the trap is pulled—and I bounded from before him for my life. Down the slope, across a valley, up the opposite hill, I flew, nor did I even look back until I stood on the summit of the knoll. Then I saw the bull going back, and again settling himself in the same snowy bed. Gathering up my courage, I approached him more cautiously and shot him in the head, killing him instantly. When I saw my flying tracks in the snow I could hardly believe that I had made such leaps and bounds. Peter said he "never saw anything like it," and probably he never had.
"I bounded from before him for my life.""I bounded from before him for my life."
For some time we had two men sawing out lumber at the old place beyond Smoking Lake, and at intervals we made flying trips out there for this lumber. For instance, if we reached home on Friday night, instead of starting back on Saturday to the plains, we would go out to the lumber shanty, thirty-five miles distant, and loading up, reach home with our loads of lumber the same evening. This would give us Sunday at home, which, though not happening often, was always a delight.
Now, as the spring was drawing on, and the snow beginning to melt, we rushed this lumber out, and in doing so had to travel for the most part at night, as the snow would be too soft for dogs in the day. Besides this, we took out a large number of tamarac logs, to make a strong, high picket around the mission house. Father saw that this was prudent to do, from what our experience had been in the fall, when the large camps came in around us. Then the Indians to the south, the hereditary enemies of those we were amongst, would very soon know—if they did not now know—of our settlement. Already stolen horses and scalps had been brought into the camp beside the mission, and it would follow inevitably that the avenger would come along later. A large, strong palisade would command respect from the lawless around home, and be a great help from enemies who might come from a distance.
In the meantime, Larson and father, and in fact everybody who had an odd hour to spare, had gone on with the work on the mission house. As we had no stoves, it was thought necessary to build two immense chimneys in the house, one at each end. This took time and heavy labor. Then the drying and dressing of the lumber for floors and ceilings and partitions was tedious work, as anyone knows who ever had anything to do with "whip-sawed" lumber. You could hardly give away such boards in these days of saw-mills and planing machines, but our party had to straighten and plane and groove and tongue and bead, all by hand, and out of very poor material.
All were looking forward to the finishing of the new house, and none more than my mother. For seven months she had been obliged to put up with the crowded conditions of our comparatively small one-roomed log building. Thirteen of us called it home, ate there when we were at the mission, and nearly all slept there. All the cooking, washing, and other household work was done in this little place. Then strangers would come in for a night as they travelled to and fro. True, there were not many of these, and their coming was a welcome change, even if the house, already much crowded, became more so for the time being. Indians, too, would visit the missionary, and these must be welcomed to his home, or they would go away with a very low estimate of the faith he came to propagate; and of course upon mother came the brunt of the discomfort. No wonder she was looking ardently for the finishing of the new home.
Father worked hard—indeed all did—but there were so many things to do, so many hundreds of miles to travel, so many mouths to feed, such crude material to work with, such economy to conserve, that we could not rush things, though we seemed to be rushing them all the time.
The last trip of the season we made with dog-sled was to bring some seed potatoes from Whitefish Lake. We had deferred this on account of frost, but now were caught by heat. The snow melted before we were half way home, and we had to take poles and push behind those loads for long, weary miles before we struck the river, when we had the ice for the rest of the way home. Peter, Tom and I brought about twenty bushels between us, and by the time we got them to Victoria those potatoes were worth a great deal, for they had cost us many a push and tug and pull to get them through sound and safe.
Mr. Woolsey's farewell visit to Edmonton—Preparing for a trip to Fort Garry—Indians gathering into our valley—Fight between Crees and Blackfeet—The "strain of possible tragedy"—I start for Fort Garry—Joined by Ka-kake—Sabbath observance—A camp of Saulteaux—An excited Indian—I dilate on the numbers and resources of the white man—We pass Duck Lake—A bear hunt—"Loaded for b'ar"—A contest in athletics—Whip-poor-wills—Pancakes and maple syrup—Pass the site of Birtle—My first and only difference with Ka-kake.
Early in April I took Mr. Woolsey and my sister Georgina to Edmonton. Mr. Woolsey expected to return east during the summer, and was to make his farewell visit. My sister was invited by the Chief Factor's lady, Mrs. Christie, to spend some time with her. We travelled on horseback with pack-horses. We were three days on the trip up, and I was two coming home, after safely delivering my passengers at Edmonton.
Soon after I came back father startled me by saying he wanted me to go to Fort Garry to bring out the supplies for the two missions, Whitefish Lake and Victoria. He said that the Hudson's Bay Company had notified all missionaries that their transport was needed for their own business, and suggested that the missionaries make their own arrangements for obtaining supplies. Therefore he wanted me to go down and purchase and bring up what was needed for the Methodist missions on the Saskatchewan. I was to take horses and men from both missions, and also purchase some cattle down there to bring up for work and for dairy purposes. Thus I found my work cut out for me for several months ahead, and I immediately commenced making preparations.
The Indians had now begun to come in in large bands, and very soon our valley was full of life. Men, both wild and partially civilized, surrounded the place, though a large number of the former, instead of coming in with the camp, had gone the other way, seeking for scalps and horses, and, if successful, would be drifting in later on. Already that spring there had been a big fight between a party from our camp and the Blackfeet. The Crees were surrounded and kept for two nights and nearly two days in the pits they had dug with their knives. The Blackfeet were ten times their number, and kept them well under cover, but did not muster courage sufficient to rush in, or the Crees would have been cleaned out in short order. As it was, several were killed. Of two I knew, one was killed and the other shot in the breast, but recovered as by a miracle.
Father and Peter would now be on a continuous strain of work for the next six weeks, planting, hoeing, teaching, preaching, healing, counselling, civilizing and Christianizing. Night and day, constant watchfulness and care would be required. A very little thing might make a very big row. Life and death were in the balance, and the missionary had to be a man of fine tact and quick judgment as well as a man of prayer. The turbulent element was sometimes in the majority, for large numbers of Plain Crees had come in with the quieter Wood Indians. Saucy, proud, arrogant, lawless fellows they were, every one of them, yet, withal, courteous and kind if one only took them the right way; and to be able to do this we were studying all the time.
Mother and my young sisters moved in and out among these painted and war-bedizened crowds, all unconscious of their danger, and it was well it was so; but father and myself, and others also, felt the strain of possible tragedy. Maskepetoon when at the mission was a tower of strength, and a great source of comfort; but there were a number of jealous factions even in his own camp, and born chief that he was, he often found them very hard to control. This was the first attempt by any Church to establish a mission among these people, and under such circumstances, we put our trust in Providence—but kept our powder dry.
It was with an anxious yet sanguine mind that, during the last days of April, 1864, I left parents and mission party behind and started eastward for Fort Garry. I had with me a French half-breed, Baptiste by name, and we were to be joined by the men and horses from Mr. Steinhauer's mission some fifty or sixty miles farther east. We had a pack-horse to carry our food and bedding, and were in the saddle ourselves—that is, we had two Indian pads, as the Mexican saddle had not yet made its appearance so far north.
The second day we were joined by our comrades from Whitefish Lake, my friend Ka-kake being one of the number. They had a cart with them. Our party now was complete, and consisted of five men and fifteen horses. As it was early in the season, and our horses had come through a pretty hard winter with considerable work, and consequently were somewhat run down, we travelled slowly, averaging about thirty miles per day. Our provision was pemmican, but we supplemented this as we travelled with ducks, geese, and chickens. Yet, notwithstanding all our efforts to procure variety of diet, many a meal was hard grease pemmican straight.
We travelled only the six days, faithfully and rigidly observing the Sabbath, which told in the manifest improvement in the condition of our stock. We had prayer morning and night, my men taking turn in conducting worship. On Sunday we rested and sang a number of hymns, and as we were speaking Cree all the time, I was constantly improving myself in the language, and learning the idioms and traditions of the people amongst whom it would seem my lot was to be cast.
We passed Fort Pitt, and continuing down the north side came to Jackfish Lake, where we found the camp of Salteaux that frequented this lake feasting on the carcases of a great herd of buffalo that had been drowned in the lake the previous winter. Too many had got together in some stampede across the ice and had broken through and were drowned; and now that the ice was off the lake, the carcases were drifting ashore. These improvident people were glad to get the meat. They offered us some, and though Ka-kake took it out of deference to their kindness, he watched his opportunity and threw it away. Some of the younger men came to our camp that night, and as Ka-kake was a sort of kinsman of theirs, he undertook to show them the folly of their course in some lawless acts which they were charged with perpetrating (for these fellows had a hard name). One of them, after listening to Ka-kake's talk, began to speak quite excitedly, and said: "You seem to make much ado about our taking some plunder and demanding tribute of parties passing through our country. What will you think when we really do something, for we are disposed to organize and take these Hudson's Bay forts, and drive all the white men out of this country; then you will have something to talk about!"
Just here I thought it was my turn to join in the conversation, and quietly snatching a handful of blades of grass, I picked the shortest and smallest one of these and held it in my other hand, then looking at the excited Indian I said: "My friend, I have listened to you; now listen to me. Look at this handful of grass in my hand: These are many and big and strong, and this little one in my other hand is small and weak and alone. This little weak, lone grass represents the white man as he now is in this country. There are a few traders and a few missionaries, but they are as this little grass in strength and number, as you look at them; but if you hurt them in any wise, as you say you will, this bunch of many and strong grasses I hold in my hand represents the multitude your own conduct would bring into this country to avenge them. You say you can easily wipe out the white men now in this country—have you thought that they have the guns and the ammunition and the real strength? Can you or any of your people make guns or ammunition? Then why talk so foolishly and thoughtlessly?"
Ka-kake in his own way strongly endorsed what I said. Then I began to tell those fellows something about civilization and the numbers and resources of the white man, and they opened their eyes at what I had to say. I wound up by telling them that though the white man was so numerous and strong, yet he did not want to take their country from them by force; but when the time came the Government would treat with the Indians for their country and their rights; that the missionaries were in the country sent by the "good white men" to prepare the Indians for a peaceful transition into a better condition than they now were in. "For instance," said I, "you people had plenty of buffalo near you last winter, and now you are living on rotten, drowned meat, and yet you are men. There is something wrong, and if you will only listen, and put away evil thoughts and bad talk, such as you gave us just now, we will show you something better." All of which Ka-kake strongly corroborated, and when the Salteaux went away he turned to me and thanked me for the way I had spoken to that man and his party. Said he, "It will do them good; they will think about it." At the same time we tethered our horses and guarded them well.
Crossing the North Saskatchewan at Carlton by means of a small skiff and swimming our horses over, then passing Duck Lake, where I had hunted ducks two years before, and which, twenty years hence, was to become the scene of the first real outbreak, under Riel, in 1885, we crossed the south branch, where Batoche some years later settled and gave his name to the place. The next day we had a bear hunt, but did not get the bear, as the brush was too dense, and we had no dog. We killed several antelope, and (it seemed to me) ate them up in no time.
Crossing the alkali plains we journeyed through the Touchwood Hills. Here we had another bear hunt, and this time Ka-kake killed the bear, and we put him, great big fellow that he was, into our cart to take him on to camp. Then followed a lively time with the hitherto very quiet old horse that was pulling the cart, for suddenly he seemed to find out what he was hauling, and attempted to run away. Failing in that he then tried to kick the cart to pieces, and in many ways showed his objections to the load. He might, if he had travelled in the East, have heard the phrase, "being loaded for b'ar," but if he had, he most emphatically drew the distinction between that and being loaded with bear. However, we got him to camp at last, and very carefully took him out of the shafts before we let him see the bear. Thus antelope steak and bear's ribs, with fowl occasionally, and eggs of more or less ancient date now and then, varied the monotony of the everlasting pemmican.
We caught up to a party from Lac-la-biche going the same way. They were French half-breeds on their way into Red River with their furs. We found them first-rate travelling companions, and fully enjoyed their company. At one of our evening encampments, one party challenged the other to a contest in athletic sports, and we beat them badly, my man Baptiste leaving their best man easily in a footrace. He said to me, "Mr. John, I will run fust; if he leave me, then you will run." "All right, Baptiste," said I; but there was no need for my running, as Baptiste won the race for us. Of this I was very glad, for he also was a French mixed blood, and of themselves. Then, in jumping and throwing the stone we were far ahead, and my men were greatly pleased at our victory. I confess to feeling well pleased myself, for I delighted in these things at that time.
Continuing our journey, we left these people to come on more slowly. We crossed Pheasant Plains and the Cut Arm Creek, and camped one evening on the high bank of the Qu'Appelle River, beside a spring. In the evening shade, as we were sitting beside our camp-fire, suddenly I heard a cry which thrilled through my whole being: "Whip-poor-will!" "Whip-poor-will!" came echoing through the woods and up the valley, and in a moment I was among the scenes of my childhood, paddling a birch canoe along the shores of the great lakes, rioting among the beech and maple woods of old Ontario. For years I had not heard a whip-poor-will, and now the once familiar sounds brought with them a feeling of home-sickness.
The next afternoon Ka-kake and I, leaving our companions to cross the Assiniboine above the mouth of the Qu'Appelle, detoured by way of Fort Ellice, and here also I had another memorable experience. Mrs. MacKay, the wife of the gentleman in charge of the Fort, very kindly invited me to have supper with them. As we would have plenty of time to rejoin our party afterwards, I gladly accepted, and what should be on the table but pancakes and maple syrup! I had not tasted maple syrup for four years, had not had a slice of bread for two years, had not even tasted anything cooked from flour for some time. No wonder I can never forget those cakes and syrup! Verily the memory of them is still sweet to my taste. Not that I am an epicure—by no means—but these were things I had been accustomed to, almost bred on, all my life previous to coming to the North-West.
We rejoined our companions at Bird Tail Creek, camping on the spot where now the town of Birtle stands. This was Saturday night, and during that Sunday camp on the bank of Bird Tail Creek I had my first and only difference with Ka-kake. Some hunters on the way out by Fort Ellice camped beside us, and from these Ka-kake learned that friends of his were camped about twenty miles farther on. About the middle of the afternoon, he and the two Indians from Whitefish Lake began to catch their horses, and make as if they were going to start. I asked what they meant, and Ka-kake told me that they were going on, and would wait for us in the morning. I said he might go on if he chose, but I would not consent to his taking the horses belonging to Mr. Steinhauer, as these were in my charge, and I did not intend to have them travel on Sunday. He was firm, but I was firmer; and finally Ka-kake turned the horses loose and gave it up.
I do not think I would be so hard now that more than thirty years intervene and my outlook is broader, and my thought more liberal; nevertheless, I believed I was right at the time, and therefore acted as I did.
Fall in with a party of "plain hunters"—Marvellous resources of this great country—A "hunting breed"—Astounding ignorance—Visit a Church of England mission—Have my first square meal of bread and butter in two years—Archdeacon Cochrane—Unexpected sympathy with rebellion and slavery—Through the White Horse Plains—Baptiste's recklessness and its punishment—Reach our destination—Present my letter of introduction to Governor McTavish—Purchasing supplies—"Hudson's Bay blankets"—Old Fort Garry, St. Boniface, Winnipeg, St. John's, Kildonan—A "degenerate" Scot—An eloquent Indian preacher—Baptiste succumbs to his old enemy—Prepare for our return journey.
The next day Baptiste and I went ahead. We were now three-quarters of the way down, our horses had picked up well, and I wanted to hurry on so as to get through my business as quickly as possible, and give more time to the homeward trip, when we would have heavy loads. The first night we camped with a large party of plain hunters, on their way out for a summer hunt. These men were from all over the Red River settlement, from the White Horse plains, and Portage la Prairie. Their encampment was like a good-sized village. They must have had five hundred or more carts, besides many waggons. Then this number would be very much augmented from Fort Ellice and other points eastward.
Looking on one of these parties, and remembering that two such parties went out on the plains after buffalo every summer for the purpose of making dried provision; that some of these would make fall and winter forays for fresh meat; that this same thing was going on in the Saskatchewan country among the same class of people, and that from Texas to the North Saskatchewan many Indian tribes were living on the buffalo, winter and summer;—I say, that if one thought of all this, he would begin to have some small conception of the extent and numbers of the buffalo. Moreover, if he continued to think, he would wake up to the appreciation of a country that could in its crude and wilderness condition maintain such countless and enormous supplies of food, and that of the choicest kind.
These were the men who owned the rich portions of Manitoba, the Portage plains, and the banks of the Assiniboine and Red Rivers; but what cared they for rich homesteads so long as buffalo could be found within five or six hundred miles? These owners of the best wheat fields in the world very often started out to the plains and were willing to take their chance of a very risky mode of life, forsooth, because they came of a hunting breed, and "blood is thicker than water," and environment stamps itself deep upon the race. In going through the camps, eager as I was for eastern news, I could find none. What signified it to these men that the greatest of civil wars was then raging on the continent beside them? What thought they, or what did they know of the fact that they were on the eve of a great national and political change, and that the old life would soon have to give way to a new order of things? Their teachers either had not sought to enlighten them, or had failed to make them comprehend, if they did desire to do so. No wonder that in their ignorance they were led astray in 1869-70, and again in 1885. They could talk about horses and buffalo, and battle with the Sioux and Blackfeet, and count their beads and mutter prayers, but apparently were sublimely ignorant of all things else. Alas! that this should have been the case, for these men were and are full of fine traits of character. Kind, hospitable, chivalrous, brave, I have ever found them. Surely scores of years of preaching should have done something better for them.
We jogged along, Baptiste and I, across the Little Saskatchewan, and by the two crossings of the White Mud, and coming to the third crossing in the evening, found a Church of England mission with the Rev. Mr. George in charge. Mrs. George was very kind, and for the first time in two years I had a square meal of bread and butter. Oh! how good it was! I had to fairly curb my appetite. Next morning Mrs. George gave us a fresh loaf of bread and some butter for our lunch that day. But do you think we could wait until noon? We had not gone a mile from her hospitable home when I said, "Baptiste, don't you think we could carry that bread and butter somewhere else very much better than on that pack-horse?" "Oh, yes, Mr. John," was his expressive answer. We thereupon alighted, took the tempting loaf from the pack, ate it with eager relish, and then went on quite satisfied.
We rode through the Portage, finding at that time but two white men settled there. As I had a letter for Archdeacon Cochrane, we called for a few minutes on that venerable prelate. I found him quite an old man. That day he seemed somewhat discouraged, for he asked me if I did not think these people (meaning the mixed bloods among whom he was laboring) must first be civilized before they could be Christianized. I ventured to say that I thought Christianity was the main factor in real civilization. Then he asked me what my opinion was of the war in the States, and I told him that I knew very little about it, and had seen very few papers—none whatever for some months. Then he said he was in sympathy with the South. At this I was astonished, but did not venture to say anything, for he was an old man, and I but a boy. I wondered as I rode away how a gentleman of his age and experience and education and calling could hold such views as to be in sympathy with rebellion and slavery. There must be something in this I do not understand, thought I. But if there was any good reason for such a position I have never yet come across it.
That night we camped with a brother-in-law of Peter's, living at the High Bluff, who received us kindly. The next day, continuing our journey, we jogged along the north bank of the Assiniboine, around the Big Bend, and through the White Horse Plains. As we were passing a house Baptiste said, "Mr. John, my friends used to live here; stop a minute and let me see." So we approached the house and found that the woman of this place was Baptiste's cousin, and though many years had elapsed since they had met, the recognition was mutual and joyous. As the day was extremely warm, this woman offered us some nice cold milk, of which I, remembering I had not had any for some years, drank very sparingly, but my man Baptiste indulged in it recklessly.
Mounting our horses, we resumed the chronic jog, and had not gone many miles when I heard a groan, and looking back, saw Baptiste with his hand pressing his stomach, and looking woefully dismal.
"What is the matter?" I enquired.
"Oh! Mr. John, I am sore," was the woeful answer.
"I thought so," said I. "You should not have drunk so much milk; you deserve to be sore."
In the evening we came to the farm of Mr. Gowler, to whom I had letters from both father and Mr. Woolsey, and whose home I hoped to make my headquarters while doing my business and gathering my stock and loads for the West. Riding into the yard, we found the old farmer had just finished churning, and was enjoying a bowl of fresh buttermilk. He kindly offered me some. I declined with thanks, but said my man was very fond of milk. Mr. Gowler at once gave him a big bowl of it, and Baptiste dare not refuse. His code of etiquette would not allow him to decline, and, though in misery, he nevertheless drank it. Like many another simple person, he was the slave of social rule.
Mr. Gowler had come out in the Hudson's Bay Company's service, by way of Hudson's Bay. In due time he had gone free, and settled on the Assiniboine, a few miles west of Fort Garry, and at this time had the largest farm in the Red River settlement. He was an English Wesleyan Methodist in the Old Country, and though he had allied himself to the Anglican Church when he came out here, yet he retained a warm feeling toward those of his early persuasion. Thus Mr. Woolsey and father had met him, and thus I had come to him to arrange for a camp, a pasture and a home while in the settlement, all of which Mr. Gowler heartily welcomed me to, and in such a way that I was at home at once. The next day I rode in to the Fort, and presented my letters of introduction and credit to Governor McTavish, who said he would help me in any way he could, inviting me at the same time to take my meals, when in the vicinity, with him and his officers. I also became acquainted with his nephew, John McTavish, who was at that time Chief Accountant, and who rendered me many kindnesses during my stay in the settlement.
I had no trouble about the year's supplies for the missions, as these had all been requisitioned for, as usual, early in the year. My business was the arranging of transport. I must secure carts and harness and oxen, and, as the several plain-hunting parties had recently started out, I had some difficulty in finding enough for my needs. But after some days' hunting around, I secured all I wanted; had bought my oxen, fine big fellows, paying on an average £7 (about $35) apiece; also four quiet milch cows, for which I paid from $15 to $18 each, thinking as I bought them how much they would be welcomed by our people at yonder mission. I also bought ten sacks of flour, paying £1 12s. per sack of ninety-six pounds, and 2s. for the sack. Add to this the freight to Victoria, and the first cost there of each sack would be $18.50. I gave five sacks to each mission, which, allowing a sack for the men of each party en route, would give the missions four sacks of flour for the year. This would be a wonderful advance on any previous experience in the bread line at either of those places. I bought, too, a promising colt, descendant of "Fire Away," a very famous horse the Hudson's Bay Company had imported from the Old Country. For this three-year-old colt I paid £14, or $70 of our money. I handled, in making my purchases, the first "Hudson's Bay blankets" I had ever seen. These were large 5s. and £5 notes, issued by the Company, and which I drew from them on father's order.
In the course of my business I was in Old Fort Garry a number of times. I saw St. Boniface, then a very small place, just across the river, and the home of Bishop Tache. I was in and out of the five or six houses which then formed the nucleus of the little village called Winnipeg. I rode frequently through the parish of St. John's, passing the house of Bishop Anderson, the Anglican head of Rupert's Land. I went down into Kildonan and spent a night in the home of the Rev. Dr. Black, who was one of father's dear friends. I also met there the Rev. Mr. Nisbet, who later on founded the mission work at Prince Albert. I visited some of the original Scotch settlers, and was looked upon by the elders as a degenerate, because, as they expressed it, "She couldna spoket the Gaelic." I spent two Sundays in this settlement, hearing Dr. Black the first Sunday, and remember thinking that his fine Gospel sermon was "broad" in more senses than one. The next Sabbath I worshipped with the Anglicans, and heard the Rev. Henry Cochrane preach an eloquent and inspiring sermon, and was glad that a genuine native had reached such a position. I have often felt sorry that the men who were instrumental in raising him to this height of development did not themselves keep ahead sufficiently in example, as well as in precept, but by their failure caused their weaker brother to offend, and later on to fall terribly from his high estate.
It has taken many centuries of progressive development to give a very small percentage of the stronger races of men the will power and ability to understand and observe the meaning of the word temperance. It is a very small sacrifice (if it may be called such), yet an essential factor with missionaries in their work with the pagan races, that they themselves be through and through transparent and consistent, or else to these will come the greater condemnation. But, not to further moralize, I will go back to the loading of my carts and the gathering of my stock, preparatory to my journey westward.
My man Baptiste had found his old associates and whiskey too much for him, and forgetting wife and children on the Saskatchewan, had disappeared. I could not give the time to looking for him, but hired instead one of Mr. Gowler's sons, Oliver by name, and as I was still short of help, was very glad that I came across a gentleman by the name of Connor, and his son, a young man about my age, who were desirous of making the trip to the Saskatchewan. As they had but one cart between them, I secured the son to drive carts for me. My party was also joined by a Scotchman who was desirous of crossing the mountains to British Columbia, and who, finding that we were starting westward, asked permission to travel with us. He also had but one cart. When we started, as the Whitefish Lake party had horses pulling their carts and would travel faster (especially in hot weather) than we could, I let them go on ahead of us. Our party was composed of Mr. Connor and the Scotchman, my two men and myself—five in all.
We start for home—A stubborn cow—Difficulties of transport—Indignant travellers—Novel method of breaking a horse—Secure provisions at Fort Ellice—Lose one of our cows—I turn detective—Dried meat and fresh cream as a delicacy.
I think it was about the last of June or the first of July that we rolled out of Mr. Gowler's farmyard on the trail leading across the plains. The first day or two we had considerable trouble with our cattle. One cow was determined to go back, so I caught her and tied her behind a cart to which was attached a ponderous ox. She rebelled at this, and threw herself down, but the ox kept on as if the weight dragging behind was a small matter. Coming to a shallow creek in which there were some sharp stones on the bottom, the cow, finding the action of being dragged over these too much, jumped to her feet, and after that led on as we wished. Very soon all broke in to the routine of the journey in good shape, and we had very little trouble after the first week with any of our loose stock. Let one of those ironless carts squeak, and the cows were up and alongside with all the alacrity of a soldier answering the bugle note.
There had been considerable rain, and for the first three weeks after we started it rained very heavily at times. As there was not a tent in the party, we each got under a cart, and while the rain came perpendicularly we were passably dry; but the mosquitoes were sometimes awfully annoying. The copious rains made the roads very heavy in places, but we came along as far as the second crossing of the White Mud without having to move loads. Here we were forced to raft everything, which means a long delay, as also a great amount of labor. I made a raft of cart wheels, and pulling this to and fro with ropes we ferried our goods and chattels over. Having let the Indians go on, my party as now constituted was altogether "tenderfoot" in its make up, though with me my two years on the Saskatchewan modified this. As it was, I had all the planning and also a large portion of the work to do. To unload your carts and make your rafts, and ferry over by piecemeal your loads and harness and cart-boxes and whole travelling outfit; to watch your stock in the meantime, and that closely, or else lose hours or even days in hunting for them; to keep your stuff from the wet from above as well as beneath, and in doing so get more or less wet yourself; to make smudges to save your cattle and horses from being eaten alive by "bull-dogs"* and mosquitoes; to fight these exceedingly energetic denizens of the air the while you are trying to do this work I have just enumerated,—I say that if you have ever been, or ever will be, in such a case, you will have an idea of summer transport across bridgeless and ferryless streams in a new country.
* A name given to a species of black fly common on the prairies, and significant of their ferocity and persistency in attack.
Having passed the second, we went on to the third crossing of the "White Mud," and like the man with the two daughters whom he called Kate and Duplicate, we simply duplicated the last crossing here, only that it was "the same and more of it." The creeks had been very small on our way down, but now seeing them so full after the heavy rains, and giving us so much trouble to cross, I began to apprehend some difficulty at the Little Saskatchewan, for this was a river, and rapid at that. However, we stopped short of this one morning for breakfast, and while the boys were making a fire I walked on to the river, and was delighted to note that while it was muddy and swift, it was still fordable. This I knew without trying, as I had taken its measure on my way down. Just then, as I stood for a moment on its bank before returning to my camp, two travellers on horseback, with a pack-horse, came down the hill on the other side. They looked at the stream, and at once pronounced it unfordable; then, without stopping to ask me, got off their horses, and unsaddling and unpacking, took out their axe and went for some timber to make a raft. I thought I would have some fun with them, so waited until they had carried up some logs for the raft. Then as they stood on the bank resting for a little, I walked down into the stream and across to them. As I had estimated at first glance, there was no more than twenty or twenty-four inches of water. These travellers looked astonished, and seemed indignant that I had not told them. "Why did you not tell us the river was fordable?" said one. "Why did you not ask me?" I answered. Then one blamed the other who was acting as guide, and told him he ought to have known better than to let them make such fools of themselves. Here I spoke up and said, "Well, as it is fordable, you had better saddle up and come across and have some breakfast with us." But right here my reader will note the difference in men. One takes notice of the country he passes through, and hopes to recognize it when next he comes this way; another says he knows it all, and acts as this guide did.
"I headed her out again into the lake.""I headed her out again into the lake."
Fording the Little Saskatchewan, we continued our journey. One day we stopped for noon on the shore of Shoal Lake, and here while our stock were resting I made an experiment. We had brought with us from the mission a fine strong mare about seven years of age, which had never been broken to either drive or ride, and was very wild. She would follow the carts and stay with our horses, that was all. My plan was to take her out into the lake and break her there. We made a corral with the carts, and I lassoed the mare, and haltering her, stripped off my clothes and swam out into the lake with her, then quietly slipped on her back. She gave a plunge or two, but only succeeded in ducking herself, and then settled down to straight swimming. After a while I headed her for the shore, but as soon as she got squarely on the bottom she began to buck, so I headed her out again into the lake, and presently I could take her out on the beach and canter up and down as nicely as with an old saddle-horse. Then I dressed, and putting a saddle-pad on, rode her all the afternoon. Rolling on as well as we could, heeding but little the mud and mosquitoes and pelting rains, in good time we reached the Assiniboine. We were two days rafting that stream, and the large part of another in doubling and portaging up the big sand hill which forms the north bank of the Assiniboine at this point.
Leaving my party in camp on the bank of the Qu'Appelle, I forded this stream and rode over to Fort Ellice, hoping to secure some dried meat or pemmican, as we were living now entirely on flour and milk, and I wanted to use the flour as little as possible. On my way through the woods which thickly covered the hill between the Qu'Appelle and Fort Ellice, I met four white men on foot, carrying new flint-lock guns. The guns and their appearance branded them as belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company, and being "green hands," as all the newly received employees were called, I enquired of them where they were going. One of them answered, "The Lord knows, for we don't." My next question was, "What are you looking for?" and they answered in chorus, "Our supper." "Why," said I, "are there no provisions in the Fort?" "None," they answered; "we were given these guns and some shot and powder, and told to hunt for our suppers." This was poor encouragement for me in my quest for provisions. I had noticed that the leader, while he had a new gun on his shoulder, did not have any flint in the dog-head. "Well, my friend," I said, "you will never kill your supper with that gun you carry." "Why," he asked, "what is the matter?" I pointed out to him what the matter was, and then all began to look at their guns, and I went on, for about the most dangerous place you can be in is where a number of tenderfeet are handling guns.
I confess I was disappointed about the provisions, and felt that it would be too bad to have to use up the little flour I was taking home, for it was three hundred miles to the next Fort on our way. However, being young and of a sanguine turn of mind, I galloped on to the Fort, and again called on Mrs. McKay, who corroborated what the men said, telling me that the Fort was in sore straits for food; but that she expected soon to hear from Mr. McKay, who had gone on to the plains. Fortunately for me, while we were talking a party drove into the Fort with several cartloads of provisions, and thus I secured both pemmican and dried meat, and those, poor "green hands" did not go supperless to bed that night. My two men and I went breadless to bed instead, and for many subsequent nights also, for I was determined to save the flour for mother and the others at home.
Steadily we pushed our way westward, some days, when cool and cloudy, making good time, then, when it was hot, going more leisurely. Travelling early and late, we would keep at the long trail. Then an axle would break, and this would bring us up standing. Sometimes a dowel-pin snapped, or a felloe split, and mending and lashing still we rolled toward the setting sun. Once we lost one of our cows, and I had to retrace our way some miles in looking for her. The country we were passing through was dotted with dense brush, and as the "bull-dogs" were bad, the cow had gone into a clump of trees to rid herself, if possible, of her enemies, whose name truly was legion. Now, to gallop back farther on the trail would in all probability be futile in finding the cow. So I went to work on the detective plan, and first sought for a clue. This I got from Oliver and Jim, my men, who were positive as to when they had seen the cow last. So I went back on one side of the road, carefully watching for the track, and coming to the spot where the boys had seen the truant last, I then crossed the road, and keenly looked for a track on the back trail, but found none. I was now pretty sure that the cow was between me and the carts, and on the other side of the road from that I had come on. So, keeping a little way out from the road, I followed up the carts, and by-and-bye came to the track of the cow. She had turned out from the trail and gone into a thicket, and I had to leave my horse at its edge to follow her track into it; but keeping on the trail, I at last found her, almost enveloped in the foliage, and in the shadiest spot she could find.
The next morning, while the others were supping their tea or drinking the new milk, I took some dried meat, and with this skimmed and ate the cream on the milk in the pail I had hung under the cart the night before. Dried meat and fresh cream might not be a "dainty dish" for an epicure, but then one must not forget the exquisite relish we had around us in our perfect freedom of out-door life; in our solid beds, wet or dry, on the bosom of "mother earth," under the carts; the pure atmosphere, the beautiful sunrise and sunset, the lovely undulating, park-like country we were travelling through, giving us constant change of scene; the many gems of lakes and lakelets we skirted, the superb health we generally enjoyed—each and all of these were the best of tonics, and under such conditions even hard grease pemmican was good.
Personnel of our party—My little rat terrier has a novel experience—An Indian horse-thief's visit by night—I shoot and wound him—An exciting chase—Saved by the vigilance of my rat terrier—We reach the South Branch of the Saskatchewan—A rushing torrent—A small skin canoe our only means of transport—Mr. Connor's fears of drowning—Get our goods
We have now been nearly a month on the way, and are becoming well acquainted with each other, for there is no better place than around the camp-fire, and on a trip like ours, to size up men and display one's own idiosyncrasies. Mr. Connor, the gentleman who had joined me at the Red River, proves to be a very good companion. He has travelled and read; was at one time, in the early forties, a minister of the Methodist Church, but owing to some misunderstanding had given up the ministry and gone afloat—and is still floating. He is generally bright and cheerful, and very helpful, but sometimes falls into a streak of melancholy, which, after all, darkens his own day more than that of any one else. He drives his own cart. This he has shingled with pieces of tarred bale covers, and at night sleeps in it. His yoke of steers, though at first somewhat balky in mud-holes, after I have drilled them a few times, and got them to recognize my voice in a real western yell, come along all right. His son James, who is one of my men, is a short, sturdy fellow, and being strong and hearty, is fast adapting himself to this new life. My other man, Oliver, is but an over-grown boy; has had very little opportunity in life, no chance at school, and is rather simple-minded, but willing and strong. The Scotchman, who is on his way across the mountains, walks by his own cart and horse most of the day's march, and is "canny and carefu'" about the camp; for the most part silent and reserved, but in a pinch, and at river crossings, lends a strong hand. Such a journey as we are on is new to all but myself, and I, though all my life on the frontier, am but in my fourth year in this the greater West.
We had three dogs with us, one belonging to the Scotchman, and the others to me. Both of mine were a present from a clergyman I met in the settlement, one a duck dog, and the other a small rat terrier. The latter supported the two former on the road by killing gophers for them. This little fellow was extremely agile. He would jump up on my foot in the stirrup, and at the next leap be in the saddle beside me. There he would rest for a little while, perhaps until the next gopher popped in sight, when with a bound he would be away; and this he would keep up the whole day long. At night I might wrap my blanket as tightly as I pleased about me; the little scamp would crawl in somehow and sleep in my bosom. One day when we were hunting moulting ducks during our noon spell, he got after a big stock duck, and taking hold of the tail feathers of the bird, the latter made for the lake with the dog in tow. The little fellow was gritty and held on while the duck towed him far out into the lake. It was highly amusing to see the small dog being whirled along by the duck, who was flapping his featherless wings and swimming at a great rate. Presently the dog, wanting to bark, opened his mouth, and the duck dove under immediately it was loose. My little pet swam ashore after affording us no little amusement by his unusual adventure.
One Saturday evening we camped in the Touchwood Hills, and found ourselves in the vicinity of a solitary lodge occupied by an old Indian and his aged wife. They told us that their children and people had gone out on the plains. The report was that the buffalo were not far away, and they were hoping to hear from their friends before long. The mesas-koo-tom, or service berry, were very plentiful all through the hills, and this old couple had gathered and dried a large quantity. I was glad to trade a bag of these from them to take home to our people, for any kind of dried fruit had been a scarce article with us.
On Sunday afternoon two boys came in from the plains with a horse-load of dried provisions. They were the old man's grandchildren, and had come for the old folks. The boys said the buffalo were a good day's journey south of us, which would be about fifty miles. Monday morning I traded some dried provisions from the old man, and we parted company.
I think it was the fourth day afterwards that we camped in a small round prairie, backed by a range of hills and fringed around by willow and poplar brush. We had pulled our carts into a line, with our camp-fire in the centre. We were sufficiently north, as we thought, to be comparatively safe from horse-thieves and war parties, so we merely hobbled our horses, and making a good smudge near our own fire, we rolled in our blankets, each man under a cart, except Mr. Connor, who slept in his. Some time in the night I was awakened by my little dog, who had crept under my blanket as usual, and now startled me by springing forth and barking vigorously. As I raised myself on elbow, I saw that the two larger dogs were charging at something quite near. The moon was about three parts full, and the night quiet and almost clear. From under the shadow of the cart I could see our horses feeding near the smoke. Presently I discovered an object crawling up to come between the carts and the horses. At first I thought it was a big grey wolf, but as the dogs rushed at it, I saw that it did not recede, but came on. I reached for my gun and watched closely, and presently saw the object pick up a stick and throw it at the dogs. This convinced me that it was someone trying to steal our horses. His object evidently was to creep in between us and our stock, and gently driving them away, he would then cut the hobbles and run them off.
"I took deliberate aim, and fired at him.""I took deliberate aim, and fired at him."
Having made sure that what I saw was a human being, and a would-be horse-thief, or worse, I immediately planned to intercept him. So I in turn began to crawl along the shade of the carts until I was under the last one, which was Mr. Connor's. Here I waited and watched until, seeing the fellow repeatedly frighten the dogs away, I was sure it was a man. He was slowly coming up on hands and knees, and was now near the first horse, when I took deliberate aim and fired at him. My gun was loaded with shot, and fortunately for him was only a single barrel, or I would have given him the other, for I was not at that moment in a mood to spare a horse-thief. My shot at once knocked him flat. When the smoke had cleared away I saw him starting to crawl off, so I jumped for him, on which he rose to his feet and ran for all he was worth towards the nearest brush. I dropped my gun and picked up a pole that lay in my way, and was overtaking him fast when he reached the thicket; then thinking he might not be alone, I ran back for my gun. My companions by this time were all up, and we made ready for an attack. Tying up our horses, we watched and guarded until daylight, but were not further molested.
By this time I concluded that the thief was alone, and I became very anxious about him. I knew I had hit him, but to what extent I did not know; so taking a man with me, we went on his track and found that he had lost considerable blood, had rested and, we supposed, had in some way bound up his wound and then gone on. As we tracked him I concluded by his step that he was but slightly hurt, and would reach his camp all right. This relieved my mind considerably, but it was not until the next year we heard about the fellow. Then it came out that I blew the top off the man's shoulder, and after a hard journey back to camp, he lay some three months before recovering. Having ample opportunity for reflection, he saw the error of his former way and vowed to steal no more.
This Indian had heard from the old man and his two grandchildren, whom we left in the Touchwood Hills, that a small party of white men had travelled west, having with them some good horses. He concluded that this would be a "soft snap," and acted accordingly. Had it not been for my vigilant little rat terrier, he would have taken our horses and left us in a pretty fix. I have always felt thankful I did not kill the fellow, but most certainly I wanted to at the time. If my gun had been loaded with ball, or that bit of prairie had been longer—for I was coming up on him fast, and the pole I carried was a strong one—the results might have been different.
We were now approaching the South Branch of the Saskatchewan. The streams we had crossed thus far were as child's play compared to this. It was midsummer, and the snow and ice in yonder mountains, six or seven hundred miles away, would be melting, and the mighty river be a swollen torrent. Would we find a boat there or not? If not, how were we to cross? These were thoughts and questions which kept coming up in my mind all the time. It is very easy under some conditions to say to another man, "Do not cross the river until you come to it," but when you know the river to be big and wide, and the current like that of a mill-race; when you know that there is not a man in your party as good even as yourself in such a case; when you feel all the responsibility of life and property, involving the well-being of many others, you cannot help but worry.
We were still several miles from the river, when I galloped ahead to find out the best or the worst that might be in store for us. Coming to the river I saw it was booming. Great trees and rafts of driftwood were being swept down by its swishing currents, and with a strain of anxiety I rode down the several hills to the river's brink, and felt almost sick at heart when I found there was no boat in sight. Very often the Hudson's Bay Company kept a boat at this point, but now, search as I would, there was none to be found, and I rode back up the hill with a heavy heart. However, at the top of the hill I now discerned a pole stuck in the ground, and thought I saw something white at the end of it. Galloping over, I found a note tied to the pole, which said, "Down in the woods in the direction this stick points, there is a skin canoe."
This had been arranged by the Company people at Carlton for the benefit of Mr. Hardisty, whom they expected to be on his way west from an eastern visit. They had not a boat to spare, so they made this small skin canoe, brought it here and left it staged up in the trees for his use when he should come along. The note also said, "In the bow of the canoe you will find a chunk of hard grease." This was to pitch its seams with and make it waterproof if possible. Now for a light travelling party, with saddle and pack-horses, this would be sufficient, but for a heavily loaded train like ours it seemed like a "small hook to hang your hat on." But even this was something, and I soon went to the spot in the woods indicated and found the canoe placed high on the limbs, to keep it from the wolves and coyotes, who would soon gnaw its skin covering. I saw it was very small, being made of two buffalo cowhides, stretched over a frame of willows, and in it were two paddles and a parcel, which undoubtedly contained the grease.
It was late Saturday evening when we camped upon the shore, and my companions were almost paralyzed by the appearance of the river. It was fortunate that they had all day Sunday to become somewhat familiar with the sight of this mad current and its tremendous volume of water. Monday morning I was up with the day, and calling my two men we boiled the kettle, chopped some chunks from our mass of pemmican, and sat down to breakfast. Presently Mr. Connor crawled out of his cart, and sitting on its edge, said "Good-morning." I invited him to a cup of tea and a piece of pemmican, but to my astonishment he very solemnly said, "Before I do anything to-day I want to come to an agreement with you men as to how long you are prepared to stay here and search for the body of anyone of us who may be drowned here to-day." It was very early in the morning, and myself and men were not very hungry—at any rate, the one dish of uncooked pemmican was not very appetizing—but when the above very anti-tonic remarks fell in sombre tones from the venerable-looking man's lips, I noticed that Oliver dropped his pemmican, while his eyes widened and his face blanched. I saw that I must do something, or else I would not be able to take Oliver near the river that day. So I laughed out a regular "Ha, ha!" at the old man's strange demand. "It is no laughing matter," said he. "Yes it is—a very laughable matter," I answered, "that a man of your age and experience should make such a proposition, for in the first place we do not expect anyone to be drowned here to-day, and more, if any of us should drown in that current, what would be the use of searching for the body? If I am the one to be drowned, don't you lose a minute looking for my body, but go on taking the stuff across, and take it to its destination; but my word for it, we will get across all right. Come along and have a cup of tea." This he did without saying any more about drowning, and he worked like a trooper all the rest of the day, helping in any way he could. Some years later Mr. Connor was drowned, and he may have felt premonitions of his coming fate that morning.
Breakfast over, we immediately began operations. The first thing was to carry the canoe to the water's edge, then taking the grease, and biting off a mouthful, chew this until it became like gum; then with finger cover over the seams wherever they occurred in the canoe. When this was done we launched the canoe, and for the first trip put in about three hundred pounds, as this, we thought, with the two men necessary to work her, might be all she could carry. Then we had to track or trail our canoe up the river a long way, for the current would carry us down a great distance while crossing. This we did by one pulling on a line and the other wading along the shore and keeping the canoe out from the rocks; then when we did let go, the two in the canoe had to paddle as hard as they could, for the rough hide and flat shape of the clumsy thing made it very heavy in the water. Having reached the other side, and unloaded and carried up our goods out of the reach of a possible rise of water, we had to again pull our canoe a long way up the river on that side, in order to reach anywhere near where our stuff was in crossing again. After the first trip we found that we could average about four hundred pounds with the two men, and keeping hard at it the long summer's day, drying our boat while we lunched or dined or supped, and ever and anon repitching it with the grease, we had most of our stuff across by sundown, and were once more in camp—and no one drowned!