This was a long distance around, but (D.V.) I had no doubt of succeeding. Away we went, all day on the west-bound trail, and camped for the night in a clump of spruce. Then, as the track could be plainly seen, we were off before daylight, and ere noon came upon a new-made road crossing ours at right angles. Here I stopped and pondered. Perhaps this road comes from Pigeon Lake. If it does it will save us four or five days' journey in going and coming. Finally I said to Oliver, "Here goes, we will take this trail and follow it until to-morrow night, or to its end; and at the worst we can come back and take up our original plan." So we turned up the new road and carried on faster than ever. All the way from Edmonton had been through a country entirely new to me. Now we were going into the forest, and travelling almost due west. When it came time to camp for the night, after selecting a suitable place and pulling my dogs out of their collars, I left Oliver to make camp, and running some distance climbed a tree and took a survey of the country. It was all forest and no sign of a lake to be seen. Next morning we were away early, and by noon had climbed a range of hills covered with dense timber. On reaching the summit we noticed a big depression not far ahead, and thought this might be the lake, which it proved to be, for in about an hour we were on the ice, and driving across the bay were at our destination.
The Indians had made a cache and left some fish, and we considered ourselves fortunate in having these for our dogs. We spent the rest of the day in fixing up a camp. Next morning we went to work taking out timber, and in three days had nearly enough for two modest houses. We had not far to haul it, our dogs were quick, and we were both of us fairly good axemen. We had found the lake, had taken out the timber, and hauled it to the spot, and now, cacheing our provisions, we took some fish instead, and started about two o'clock one moonlight morning on our return trip. The rest and the change of diet had done our dogs good, and my old Draffan rang his bells in grand style as we followed the narrow trail through the forest, which crackled about us, for Jack Frost was now vigorously at work.
In the meantime snow had fallen, and the roads were heavier; nevertheless we made Edmonton the same evening before the gates closed, and every Protestant in the Fort was glad we had found Pigeon Lake. Eighty miles at least in the time we had taken was considered good travelling. We spent most of the next day with friends at the Fort, and in the evening, just before the gates closed, drove out some five miles and camped for the night. Starting early next morning we made a trail through several inches of new snow, and pushing on made Victoria that evening, which was a better day than the one from Pigeon Lake to Edmonton. We took to the river at the mouth of the Sturgeon, and followed it all the way to the mission. When opposite the mouth of Sucker Creek, just a little while before dark, we boiled our kettle and ate some pemmican; then as I had run ahead all day, Oliver took his turn at the lead, but within a mile old Draffan passed him, and kept the lead himself the rest of the way. From point to point, prudently avoiding the open holes and dangerous spots, the wise old dog carried on for home, and between seven and eight we had reached the mission house. Father expressed himself as delighted with our report of the trip. We had found the lake, got out the timber, cached the provisions, and in a sense started the new mission.
In the meantime those at home were preparing for the erection of a church in the spring, and Peter was making lumber as fast as this could be done by whip-sawing; we hauling the logs to the saw-pit at odd times between trips.
Another buffalo hunt—Visit Maskepetoon's camp—The old chief's plucky deed—Arrival of a peace party from the Blackfeet—A "peace dance"—Buffalo in plenty—Our mysterious visitor—A party of Blackfeet come upon us—Watching and praying—Arrive home with well-loaded sleds—Christmas festivities.
There had been no attempt to make a fishery that fall, and as our stock of meat was now growing small, father thought I had better go out to the plains and see how things were among the Indians, and if possible bring in a supply of meat. Accordingly, very soon after coming from Pigeon Lake, I arranged a party for this purpose. Old Joseph, whom the reader will have become familiar with, and a young Indian named "Tommy" went with me. We had four trains of dogs, the Indians one each while I had two, for I was taking "Maple" and her pups for their first "business" trip. James Connor also came with us on his own account.
The third day out we came to Maskepetoon's camp, and found the Indians full of another of the old Chief's plucky deeds. During the late fall and early winter, the Blackfeet had become exceedingly troublesome. They were continually harassing the Wood Cree camp, until at last Maskepetoon determined to go with a party to the Blackfeet camp to arrange, if possible, a temporary peace which might last over the winter months, and thus give the Crees an opportunity to make robes and provisions for trade and home use. As winter advanced the buffalo had come north rapidly, and the Blackfeet tribes had of necessity to follow them. Fearful destitution had been the result to some of the large camps. They had eaten their dogs and begun upon their horses before they reached the south fringe of the large herds that were moving north into the rich and well-sheltered areas of the Saskatchewan country.
It was well known in Maskepetoon'a camp that the Blackfeet were in strength not more than one hundred miles south, and that the Bloods and Piegans were within easy distance beyond them; but Maskepetoon had great faith in his record with these people, and at the head of a small party he set out to patch up a peace, even if it should be but short-lived. While on this expedition his little party was charged upon by a strong body of Blackfeet who were coming north on the war-path. Such was their number and the vigor and dash of their charge that, as they drew near, Maskepetoon's little company fled, all but himself and his grandson, a boy some fifteen or sixteen years of age. These alone stood the wild onslaught of their enemies. The veteran chief and the noble boy of like heroic blood stood like statues "when all but they had fled." Maskepetoon calmly put his hand in his bosom and took out his Cree Testament, and then coolly fixing on his glasses, opened and began to read. The grandson, in relating to us the incident afterwards, said, "There was no tremor in his voice; it was as if grandfather was reading to us in the quiet of his own tent."
"Maskepetoon calmly ... took out his Cree Testament ... and began to read.""Maskepetoon calmly ... took out his Cree Testament ... and began to read."
In the meantime the Blackfeet came on apace, and hoping to take their victims alive, refrained from firing a gun or speeding an arrow. Then they saw the majestic old man, indifferent to them, engaged in looking into something he held in his hand: "What manner of man is this?" "What is he doing?" "What is that he is holding in his hands?" They had seen flint-lock guns, and flint and steel-shod arrows, and battle-axes and scalping knives in men's hands under similar circumstances, but they had never beheld a New Testament. Thunderstruck they paused in the midst of their wild rush, and stared in utter astonishment. Presently the elders amongst them said to one another in whispers, "It is Mon-e-guh-ba-now" (the Young Chief), and then they began to shout, "Mon-e-guh-ba-now!" and this grand old man (for, blessed be the Lord, no nation or place has a monopoly of the qualities of true manhood) quietly looked up and in response to their shout, replied, "Yes, I am Mon-e-guh-ba-now." Then they rushed upon him with joy, and their leader, embracing him, said: "Our hearts are glad to make peace with you, Mon-e-guh-ba-now. You are a brave man. I am proud and glad to be the leader of a party that meets you thus. What is that you hold in your hand?" Maskepetoon told him that it was the word of the "Great Spirit," and the Blackfoot warrior said, "That explains your conduct. It is His will that we should meet as brothers to-day." And there on the snow-covered plain, these men, who by heredity and life-long habit were deadly enemies, smoked and talked and planned for peace. It was arranged that each party should return to their own people, and that if the Blackfeet desired peace they should send an embassy to the Cree camp; Maskepetoon giving his word as a guarantee for the safety of those who might be sent on this embassage.
This had occurred a few days before our arrival in camp, and the Blackfeet were looked for at any time. Sure enough, we were hardly settled in Muddy Bull's hospitable lodge, when a scout reached camp, and announced that a party of Blackfeet were in sight. This threw the camp into a state of great excitement, and speculation was rife as to whether Maskepetoon would be able to make good his promise of safety. There were hundreds in that camp who lusted and thirsted for the blood of these men; many a boy or girl who had lost a father or mother or both; many a woman who had lost lover or husband; many parents who had lost their children at the hands of the people represented by these men who were now approaching camp. Many of these felt down in their hearts that this would be a fine opportunity to slake some of their thirst for revenge. Maskepetoon knew this full well. He at once sent his son out to meet the embassy, and attend them into camp, and in the meantime arranged his trusted men all through the camp to be ready to forestall any outbreak of frenzied hate.
I ran out to see the incoming of the Blackfeet. Young Maskepetoon had arranged an escort. These men were on horseback, and ranged on either side of the Blackfeet, who were on foot. The latter were seven in number, big, fine-looking fellows, but one could see that they were under a heavy strain, and that it needed all their will power to nerve them up to the occasion. With regular and solemn step, in single file, they came, and as they walked they sang what I supposed was intended for a peace song. Young Maskepetoon took them straight to his father's lodge, and at once it was arranged to hold a reception meeting and a "peace dance."
It was now evening, and at supper I enquired of old Joseph what he thought of my attending this dance. He said he was not going himself, but he thought Maskepetoon would like to have me there, and that I had better go and see for myself, so as to learn all I could about the Indians, for only in this way would I get to understand them. Accordingly, when the drums beat to announce the dance, I went, and was given a seat between Maskepetoon and the Blackfeet. Two large lodges had been put together to make room, but the main body of the company looked on from the outside.
After a few short speeches the dancing began. Four men drummed and sang, and an Indian sprang into the ring, between the fire and the guests, leaped, jumped and whooped with great spirit, and presently gave his blanket to one of the Blackfeet. Then another did likewise, except that he varied the gift. This time it was his beaded shot-pouch and powder-horn, and strings also. Each one, it would seem, had his own peculiar dance. Then another would leap into the ring with several articles, and as he danced to the strong singing and vigorous drumming of the orchestra, he would give to a Blackfoot his contributions to this peace meeting. Then the drummers ceased for a little and the conductor shouted out: "The Sloping Bank is strong for peace. He had but one blanket, and he has given that." "The Red Sky Bird means what he says. He had but one gun, and he has given that." And again the leader tapped his drum, and the orchestra burst forth, and another and another dancer took the floor. Then a couple of young fellows, in fantastic costume, gave us the "buffalo dance," and did some tall jumping, such as would have pleased one of those "highly cultured audiences" in one of our eastern cities.
Presently my friend Mr. Starving Young Bull (the gentleman who had honored me with an invitation to the dedication feast in his new lodge), took the floor. He was no small man, this Mr. Starving Young Bull. He had several new blankets on his shoulders, and a brand-new flint-lock gun in his hand, and as he danced and whooped and kept time to the furious drumming, he gave his gun to one of the Blackfeet as he whirled past him, and again gave one of the new blankets to another, and so on until he had spent all his gifts and strength, and sat down naked and tired, while the chief singer shouted out his name, and said, "The Starving Young Bull is a great man. He dances well and long. He goes in for peace strongly. He has given all his blankets and is naked; he has given his one gun, and is without arms himself," and the crowd sent up a chorus of applause which my friend drank in and was pleased, as many another man has been when the crowd cheered.
The Blackfeet also in turn danced, and gave presents of what they had, and thus the peace dance went on. Long before it ended, however, I had slipped away to our camp and retired to rest, as we had travelled some distance that day and expected to travel farther on the morrow. We had heard of buffalo coming in from the south-east, and the Indians were waiting for them to pass on to the north, when they hoped to build pounds, and thus slaughter them wholesale. We promised to go around the head of the approaching herds, and not interfere with the projected plan. This would give us a longer trip, but it was the right thing to do.
The next day we travelled through a wild storm, and camped in the rolling hills, which in that part of the country are seemingly without number. The next day the storm still raged, but on we travelled, and about noon came upon the buffalo. Killing a couple, we camped, and waited for a lull in the weather, which came that night. Next morning (Saturday) the sky was clear and the weather cold and crisp, but Tommy and I succeeded in killing enough buffalo to load and furnish provisions for men and dogs. That afternoon I made a chance shot, and killed a fine cow at a very long range with my smooth-bore gun. She fell dead in her tracks, and when we butchered the animal, we failed to find where the ball had struck; but later, when Joseph was arranging the head to roast by our camp fire, he found that my ball had entered the ear.
We moved camp into a bluff of timber about the centre of our "kill," and while Joseph and Jim made camp and chopped and carried wood, Tommy and I hauled in the meat, which work kept us busy until near midnight. Then we had to stage it up and freeze it into shape for our narrow dog-sleds, as also in the interim keep it away from the dogs. Fortunately there was fine moonlight to aid us in our labor. Joseph worked like a good fellow at packing in logs to our woodpile, until the stars told him it was midnight and Sunday morning had begun. The night was one of keen cold, and the crisp-snow creaked as the buffalo, either in herds or singly, passed to the windward of our camp. Scores of wolves and coyotes barked and howled around us. Every little while our dogs would make a short rush at some of these that ventured too near, and yet we were so tired that not buffalo nor wolves nor the possibility of strange Indians being near, nor yet the severe cold of our open camp, upon which gusts of wintry wind ever and anon played, could deter us from sleeping on into the clear frosty Sabbath morning which all too soon came upon us.
We made up our fire, cooked our food, sang some hymns, joined in prayer, with old Joseph leading, then thawed some meat and cut it up into morsels to feed our dogs. Alternately toasting or freezing as we sat or stood before that big camp-fire, which in turn we replenished and stirred and poked, we passed the morning hours. About noon the wind again blew up into a storm, and soon clouds of snow were swirling in every direction. We, in the comparative shelter of our carefully picked camp, were congratulating ourselves on the storm, for would it not cover our tracks, which diverged and converged to and from our temporary home for miles on every side, and had been as a big "give away" to any roaming band of hostile men. We were rather glad to hear the soughing and gusting of the wild winds, for there seemed to come with these a strange sense of security which was comforting. But alas for merely human calculation, even then the wily Blackfeet were closing in on us. We were just sitting down to our dinner when, with a weird, strange chanting song there came in out of the storm into the shelter of the camp a tall, wild-looking Blackfoot. We knew he was not alone. We knew that even then each one of us was covered by the gun or shod-arrow of his companions. Right across from us, beside our camp-fire, this strange Indian, without looking at us, sang on. I looked at my companions. Tommy was pale; Jim was white. Like myself, each was grasping his gun with one hand. I could not see myself, but I could feel my heart-beats, and it seemed as if my hair was lifting under my cap. It was a great stimulator to turn to Joseph, who was coolly eating his dinner. Not a muscle changed. Not the faintest appearance of a change of blood showed in his face. Like the stolid philosopher he was, he continued his meal.
"This strange Indian, without looking at us, sang on.""This strange Indian, without looking at us, sang on."
The Blackfoot, having finished his song, made a short speech. Not a word all this time was uttered on our side. In silence (save for the sound of Joseph crunching his meat) we sat—verily, for three in the party it was a solemn time. Then our visitor, having finished his harangue, disappeared as he came, and I said to Joseph, who understood the language, "What did he say?" Old Joseph swallowed a mouthful of meat, cleared his throat, and said: "He says there are many of them; their hearts are for peace, and they will come into our camp."
Presently they did come, some forty in all. Ten to one they stood around us, and I told them, through Joseph, about their friends we had met in Maskepetoon's camp, and how they had been treated; that the people in the north were all for peace; that it was our work to teach all men that peace and brotherhood was the right thing; that if they wished to camp beside us, we would share our meat with them; that the reason we were not travelling was this was the "God day," and we did not travel or hunt on that day; that the Indians who were with me were the near friends of Mon-e-guh-ba-now, and that Mon-e-guh-ba-now was my personal friend. Then the leader spoke up and said: "We also are for peace. We will camp beside you for to-night. We will not eat your meat. My young men will kill for us. We are glad to hear what you have to say about peace." Then he spoke to his following, and one went out into the storm, and the others went to work clearing away the snow and carrying in wood, and presently they had a big camp arranged within a few feet of ours.
In the meantime, through Joseph, I was holding intercourse with the two or three older ones who sat beside our fire. Soon their hunter came in, and six or seven followed him out. In an incredibly short time back they came loaded, and the whole crowd was in a short while busy roasting and eating the rich buffalo meat.
While all this was going on I could not help but reason as to why these men acted as they now did. A few months since, and they would have killed us. A few months hence, and they would do the same. Now the hard winter, the northerly trend of the buffalo, Maskepetoon's brave act—all this might and certainly did influence them; but so many do not think that far ahead of or around their present. Are these men moodish? Is this a peace mood? Are human passions subject to cycles? Is this the dip or the arch in the cycle influencing these men even against themselves to seek peace? How easily they could have killed us just now; forty to four, and fully half of these bigger than any of us. Do they want our guns and clothes, our blankets and ammunition? For less than this they have planned and killed many times ere this. What prevents them now? Is the hand of the Lord upon them? Has He a work for us to do? Are we immortal till that work is done, as this affects our present being? Ah! how fast one can think under pressure of circumstances.
I watched those men. I tried to look beyond the paint and the feathers and the manner of their actions. I mentally photographed them, in groups and individually, and thus the long hours dragged on, as the Sabbath evening had lost its rest for us. Then one of them, who had stuck close to our camp for hours, suddenly revealed the fact that he could speak Cree well. I was glad then that none of us had said anything that might in any way reflect on these men, for undoubtedly he had watched for this. After he had spoken I questioned him and answered his questioning until late at night.
When the Blackfeet began to stretch around the camp-fire, we did the same; but with the exception of Joseph (who snored) none of our company slept. At midnight we were astir, and harnessing our dogs, we took the meat down from our staging, and loaded our sleds, all the time watching our strange companions. There were three of us, in our party of four, who certainly in the letter carried out the first part of the injunction, "Watch and pray." Perhaps our prayer that night took the shape of constant watching.
We ate and watched, we lay down and watched; we got up and ate, harnessed our dogs, loaded our sleds, and prepared to start, watching all the time. The Blackfeet stirred as soon as we did, and about two hours and a half after midnight we each took our own course. Ours was straight for yonder northern mission. Our friends went I knew not whither.
With heavy loads we had to pick our way through the many hills. I sent Tommy ahead, my own veteran train was second in the line, then the pups. Joseph came after me with his and Tommy's trains, and Jim brought up the rear. Many an upset the alternately hard and soft drifts caused us, and very often Joseph and I had to strain in righting those heavy loads of frozen meat. The first two days we had no road, and our progress was slow. Then we struck a hunting trail from Maskepetoon's camp. This helped us, and following it we made better time. Then we left it and again went across country, leaving the camp to our left and coming out on the trail leading to the mission. We camped for the last night about forty-five miles from home. Starting out from this about two in the morning, we left Jim in the camp, and the last I saw of him for that trip was, as I drove my team away into the darkness he was running around catching his dogs. Before dark we were at the mission, and Jim came in sometime the next day.
Our arrival was hailed with satisfaction, for we brought with us meat, and this told of buffalo being within reach. Then the reports we brought of the Indians we had met were gratifying. Father and mother were delighted to hear about Maskepetoon and how he brought about peace, for the present at least. Then to have our little party together again, especially as Christmas was near, was extremely pleasing.
Our community at this time was made up of the mission party, the Hudson's Bay Company's postmaster and some employees, Mr. Connor and his son Jim. Besides these there were always some Indians camping near, coming and going. Peter had kept at the saw, and the lumber-pile was growing. Larsen was busy all the time making necessary furniture, and preparing material for the church which we hoped to build in the coming spring.
Thus the holidays came upon us in 1864 on the banks of the big Saskatchewan, far from the busy haunts of men, cut off from mails and telegrams and newspapers and a thousand other things men hold dear; yet in our isolation and frequent discomfort and privation we were happy. As father would now and then tell us, we were "path-finders" for multitudes to follow; we were foundation builders of empire; we were forerunners of a Christian civilization destined to hallow and bless many homes, and we were exalted with the dignity and honor of our position, and humbly thanked God for it.
Christmas found us all well, and our service, and the dinner and the games and drives which followed, though unique, were full of pleasant excitement. We had no organ or choir, but we all sang. We had no church, but the log shanty was as the vestibule of heaven. Our preacher was not robed in broadcloth, nor yet was he graced with linen collar, but his speech came with unction and power, and had in it the charm of a natural eloquence which stirred our hearts and stimulated our minds, and made us see before us grand ideals, towards which we felt we would fain strive.
We had no roast beef nor pumpkin pie, nor plates of tempting fruit, but we had buffalo boss and tongue, and beaver tail, and moose nose, and wild cat, and prairie chicken, and rabbits, and backfats, and pemmican. We were fairly lost in the variety of this one-class food. We had no flashing cutters nor gaudily harnessed horses, but we had fast and strong dog teams, and we improvised carioles and had some wild driving over hill and dale. We ran foot races and snowshoe and dog-train races. We played football and made this part of the Saskatchewan valley ring with our shouting and fun. Mr. Steinhauer came over and joined us on New Year's Day, and entered into the sports with all the ardor of youth. In the intervening days we made short trips for saw-logs and lumber, and helped to haul home hay and wood. In this way we combined pleasure and profit, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
We set out with Maskepetoon for the Blackfoot camp—A wife for a target—Indian scouts—Nearing the Blackfeet—Our Indians don paint and feathers—A picture of the time and place—We enter the Blackfoot camp—Three Bulls—Buffalo Indians—Father describes eastern civilization—The Canadian Government's treatment of the Indians a revelation—I am taken by a war chief as a hostage—Mine host and his seven wives—Bloods and Piegans—I witness a great dance—We leave for home—A sprained ankle—Arrival at the mission.
The year 1865 had barely started on its way when there came a courier from Maskepetoon to father, requesting him if possible to come out and go with Maskepetoon to the Blackfoot camp. The old chief desired to ratify the peace treaty, and to lengthen its days as much as possible. Father at once sent him word to make ready, and that he would be out in a few days. He decided to take Peter and me with him. Mother and the rest of our women folk were naturally very anxious about this trip into the camp of the dreaded enemy, but this did not prevent their helping to make us ready for the journey, and soon we were off, father in his cariole, with Maple and her pups hitched to it, Peter and I with our dog sleds carrying the provisions and camp equipment.
Starting early, travelling fast, and keeping at it late, we reached Maskepetoon's camp the second evening, and father and Peter worked late that night teaching and preaching. Next morning we were away with the chief and some forty of his warriors and head men. The weather was very cold, and the buffalo were now travelling north in large numbers, making their way into the Beaver Hills, and on to the Saskatchewan. It looked now as if we would not have to haul our meat from as long distances as last winter.
Father was the only one in the party with a cariole, and this he shared ever and anon with Maskepetoon. The rest of us were on foot, and as the snow was deep, except where the buffalo had trampled it down, our progress was slow. Other Indians, from camps situated at different points along the eastern and southern fringe of the Beaver Hills, joined us. Among these was a Blackfoot who was taking back a Cree wife. I took occasion to say to her, "Are you not afraid this peace may not last very long?" She merely laughed at my suggestion; but later on it came to pass that this same woman fell a victim to the Blackfoot she had taken as her husband. It is related of them that a few months after this, he and some others were gambling on a hill while the camp was moving past, and as this Cree woman came opposite the gamblers, her husband said to his companions, "See how I can shoot," and aiming at the woman, shot her dead in her tracks. An unfeeling laugh from the crowd followed the shocking tragedy.
As we journeyed the hunters of the party provided meat. The "cattle upon a thousand hills" were our storehouse, the hunters were our commissariat, and with sublime confidence in these we travelled on. The third day from Maskepetoon's lodges, we camped within a few miles of the Blackfeet, and early next morning our scouts were every little while bringing us news of the numbers and situation of the camp.
Hardy fellows those scouts were. We were moving at a brisk, quiet walk, but they must run on for miles, and then double on their tracks back to us. While away they must be invisible; they must see all that is to be seen, but remain unseen themselves. To do this they must take the contour of the country, note the condition of the sun and wind, be on the lookout for buffalo, coyotes, wolves, dogs, and ravens, crows, and other fowl. They must keep a constant lookout for contra scouting, and for this the nose and ear and eye and mind must be always alert. I say, to do this well, as many of these fellows can, requires the quickening of every sense. Then while doing all this, at times to make ten miles an hour on foot also requires a depth of lung and strength of limb and purpose of will which heredity and constant practice alone can give.
Our scouts that morning were like telegraph bulletins. We knew how the camp was arranged, and changed our course to suit this arrangement. We were told of the windings of the coulee, or valley, down which the Blackfeet lodges were standing. We were told of hunting parties that had gone out that morning; of the bands of horses, and how closely these were guarded; of the long strings of women and ponies, and dogs andtravois, which were coming and going in various directions, packing wood to camp; all of which was literally true, for our scouts had been there and seen it all.
When close we stopped behind a bluff, while our men put on their visiting paint and dress material, and in a few minutes, with the small circular mirrors and ochre bags, our company was transfigured in appearance and colors. Bright colors in garments and on face made a wonderful change, and to my eye this was exceedingly fitting. The scene was in accord with itself; it was natural.
How often are we amused and then disgusted by merely made up scenes. Someone who has been just long enough in a new country to be made a victim of all the designing wags in it—who has just learned enough about Indians to make himself ridiculous every time he opens his mouth on the subject—will don the buckskins of a pioneer, or the costume of the aboriginal Indian, and pose for one or the other; but the whole thing is forced and unreal. Here we have the genuine article, and each factor in the picture is complete and natural and true: the sweep of the valley of the Battle River which slopes from our feet; the ranges of forest-dotted hills, climbing one above the other, from the river's brink even to the limit of our vision; the intersecting fields of snow-clad prairie, reflecting each in its turn the brilliant sunlight; the buffalo that here and there seem like ink dots on the vast ground of dazzling white that stretches far and wide; and the great solitude of primeval nature that broods over all. Then the curling heavenward of the smoke of our temporary fire, the athletic and well-proportioned physique of the men, their costumes and paint—I say all this was to my mind and eye, as I stood there and watched and waited that winter's day, as something just as it should be, belonging to the place and time.
But now the last feather is tied on, the last touch of vermilion is in its place, and we move on for another hour's quick tramp. A hushed excitement is apparent. This whole thing is yet a very uncertain quantity. Will success or disaster be the result? The most thoughtless in our party is somewhat checked by the anxiety of the moment.
In a few minutes the last scout will be in.
"Here he is!" We are about to come in sight and be within a few hundred yards of the camp. Maskepetoon and father step to the front side by side, as the chief would have it. Next come the standard bearers, and the Union Jack and the Hudson's Bay Company's flag are unfurled to the breeze; then the head men and chief warriors; then the young men and scouts. Peter and I bring up the rear with our dog-trains, which we have difficulty in keeping in their place—old Draffan has been ahead so often, he cannot understand his having to stay behind now.
The horse guards and wood carriers, and the children at play, were in full view of our advancing column, and at first there was a rushing of stock homewards, and a scrambling for the road by those engaged in hauling wood, while the children screamed and fled over the hill into the deep narrow valley in which the lodges were situated. An inexperienced person would never have thought that hundreds of tents, filled with warriors and women and children, were only a short distance from us; but presently up out of the valley came a swarm of men and boys, all armed and anxious. Then when the older ones recognized Maskepetoon, they began to shout "Mon-e-guh-ba-now!" and came to meet us gladly. As they came they fired their guns into the air, and our men did likewise, and sang as they marched, and in a few minutes we were on the brow of the hill and the Blackfoot camp lay at our feet.
Maskepetoon and father, with Peter and myself, were taken to the head chief's tent, and hospitably entertained in the style and manner peculiar to this people. Buffalo meat and dried berries constituted the food. The former was served either fresh or dry, or as pounded meat and grease, or as pemmican. The latter were either boiled or eaten dry. The vessels the food was served in were wooden, and the ladles it was dipped with were made of horn. Neither of these, so far as I could see, were ever washed. The cooks would cut up the meat for the guests as is done for small children among the white people. While in the Blackfoot camp we had no use for a knife, though we would have infinitely preferred to cut and carve our own food. Father would quietly say, "Look the other way, John," and I would as quietly think, "If he can stand it, how much more can I."
Three Bulls, the chief in whose tent we were, was a tall, dignified old man. His war and hunting days were over, but there was a prestige in his manner and presence which spoke of a history for this man, and it was this no doubt which kept him in the commanding position he occupied. He had three wives living with him in his tent. These might be described as old, older, oldest. There were two handsome young men, his sons, evidently the children of different mothers. Both father and mothers were very proud of these superb specimens of physical manhood. The work of the camp was done by the chief's daughters-in-law and granddaughters, who came and went without noise or fuss in the discharge of their duties, while the trio of wives sat and sewed moccasins or played the role of hostesses.
These were thoroughly buffalo Indians. Without buffalo they would be helpless, and yet the whole nation did not own one. To look at them, and to hear them, one would feel as if they were the most independent of all men; yet the fact was they were the most dependent among men. Moccasins, mittens, leggings, shirts and robes—all buffalo. With the sinews of the buffalo they stitched and sewed these. Their lariats, bridle lines, stirrup-straps, girths and saddles were manufactured out of buffalo hide. Their women made scrapers out of the leg-bone for fleshing hides. The men fashioned knife-handles out of the bones, and the children made toboggans of the same. The horns served for spoons and powder flasks. In short, they lived and had their physical being in the buffalo. The Blackfoot word for buffalo in the mass inenewh. This same word in Cree meansman. The Blackfoot word for buffalo bull isstomach, which in English means quite another thing. For the Blackfoot man the buffalo supplied the sole habiliment and the sole nutriment.
During our stay in the camp the women and children were frequently sent out of the chief's tent, and then the lodge would be packed with minor chiefs and headmen and warriors, who would listen to Maskepetoon and father. Lively discussions there took place on the benefits of peace among men. Father's descriptions of eastern civilization and Christianity were as strange revelations to these men. They listened, and wondered if these things could be true, so different were their experiences of white men from what father had to tell them of the conduct of our Government and of Christian men to the Indians in general. He told them of the many villages and tribes of Indians who were living in harmony and peace right in the midst of the white people, in the country he came from. One could see that most of these men were glad of the present respite, and yet there were some who chafed under the necessity of even a short intermission from their business of horse-stealing and scalp-taking.
There was one young war chief in camp who kept aloof from us, and as he had considerable influence and a large following, some anxiety was felt, both by our party and by the Blackfeet friendly to us. However, during the second evening of our stay, he came to the chief's tent, and it was announced that he was waiting outside. Our host gathered his robe around him and went out, and presently the proud young chieftain stepped in and took a seat beside us. Later on the old chief returned, and I enquired of Maskepetoon, "Why this unusual ceremony?" He told me that this young warrior chief was the son-in-law of the old man, and it was a rule of etiquette that the son-in-law should not come into a tent while his father-in-law was in it. So the old man had gone out until his son-in-law came in. Even here, as elsewhere, high-toned society must conform to rule.
This war chief said that he was not very anxious for peace, that war to him was like eating good fruit—he loved it; but as the others were favorable, he would join them for a while. Then turning to father, he said, "You must, if you are in earnest, let your son come to my tent and live with me while in our camp." Father asked me if I was willing, and I said, "Yes." So it was arranged that I should go; and presently the young chief signed to me to follow him, and we started for his tent.
It was dark as we wended our way in and out among the lodges in the windings of the valley, and it seemed to me that the dogs were without number; but a quiet, sharp word from my leader made them shrink away from us, and on we went for quite a distance. Presently we came to a large lodge, and entering this I found we were at home. The chief motioned me to a reclining couch of buffalo skins, and then began to speak to his wives and to a number of young men who seemed to be his dependents, and who were very obedient to his word. In the matter of wives he was four ahead of his father-in-law, having seven to own him lord, the last and youngest being the old chief's daughter.
Mine host—for I would rather consider him as such than my captor—was a tall, athletic fellow, about thirty-five years of age. He had a wild, wicked look about him, was quick and nervous in movement, and was, from appearance at any rate, a man not to be trifled with. His wives' ages, I should judge, ranged all the way from eighteen to thirty years, and there were several children. The lodge was the largest I had ever been in, necessitating at times the making of two distinct fires in it to keep us warm; for all this time the cold was severe, and our northern January weather was in full sway over this land. Some of the women untied a bundle of newly dressed robes, and made up for me a couch next to the chief's. They handed me some dried meat and berries, and eating a late supper, I turned in for the night. The isolation from the rest of our party was complete, and I could not repress a feeling of loneliness; but as father had arranged the affair of my being thus alone in this man's camp, I felt it was all right, and went to sleep.
Before daylight the camp was astir, and huge fires were burning in the centre of the lodge, but the keen cold was very apparent a few feet from these. As soon as I sat up in my couch one of the women brought me water in a wooden bowl for my morning ablutions, and I had my pocket-handkerchief to serve as a towel. Then they gave me for my breakfast boiled meat cut into small pieces. I longed for salt, but there was none.
All day strangers kept coming and going in our tent. It seemed to me I was on exhibition. Once during the day my host signed to me to follow him, and we went out to the summit of a hill, where his band of horses were driven up by some young men who had them in charge, and I admired the number and quality of his stock. There must have been a hundred or more in the bunch, most of them, no doubt, the result of his stealings. Then we went back to the tent, and the day passed quietly away. In the evening a crowd of men occupied the space in our lodge, and much smoking and speech-making went on; but as I could catch a word only here and there, I did not understand what they said. As they talked and smoked I studied their faces and costumes, many of which were peculiar, inspiring me alternately with the feeling of dread and of curiosity. Everyone carried his weapons—bow and arrows, flint-lock gun, or war-club.
I could readily see that the idea of placing confidence in anyone had not as yet entered the minds of these men. Sometimes they became greatly excited, and as they frequently nodded or pointed to me, I could not but imagine all manner of trouble. Finally the crowd dispersed, and I was still alive and quite ready for the second supper mine hostesses served me with. I found that I was by heredity and practice a confirmed salt eater, and to be without it for a few meals was a hardship. There had been no communication since last night with any of our party. So far as I was concerned they might as well have been back at the Cree camp or our mission. However, when all was quiet I settled down into a sound sleep, undisturbed by even the dream of being scalped by dusky Blackfoot braves.
Long before daylight the big fires were blazing and crackling, faintly forcing back the fearful cold which had taken possession of the thin-walled and unfloored lodge during the few hours which the camp slept. I was up with the dawn trying to thaw myself out, but did not fully succeed until I had breakfasted. Another long day passed, much in the same way as the last, without any word from my party.
In the evening a number of Blood Indians arrived, and a dance was organized in our tent. This was my first meeting with any of these people. So far as I could see, they were the same as the Blackfeet, only of a more pronounced type—that is, the difference between them and the northern Indians was more marked. Proud arrogance and intense self-sufficiency seemed to speak out in their every word and action. One would think they were the aristocracy of the plains.
The meeting was more than a dance that night—it was an experience meeting; for each one recited his deeds of daring, and acted in pantomime the approach, the ambush, the charge, and the shooting, stabbing, scalping, and horse taking of his past.
With frantic energy these men told of their various deeds of valor, and every now and then a comrade, a living witness, would shout, "It is true! I was there!" At this the crowd applauded, and the drums beat, while the next man sprang to his feet, and leaped, danced, whooped and sang; then when the drums ceased, he too would vaunt his feats of valor. All this was at first quite interesting to me, but as the hours went by, and it grew past midnight, I lost my interest, and wished the ball would break up. There seeming no immediate prospect of this, I stepped out, and running the risk of dogs and men, wended my way up the valley until I came to the old chief's tent, which I quietly entered, and raking the coals together made up a fire, as the night was bitterly cold. I saw that father and Peter were asleep, and Maskepetoon was stretched in his blanket between father and the fire; so I got down in front of Maskepetoon, and gradually crept under his blanket, until he gave it to me, after which he got up, made on more fire, and sat and smoked for the rest of the night, while I slept with a profound sense of rest and security beside my friends once more. Many a time in after days Maskepetoon would joke me about taking his blanket from him when in the Blackfoot camp.
From the time of our arrival here I had taken particular notice to a fine, manly young Blackfoot, who seemed to me to have an unusual interest in Maskepetoon. He would get as near to him as he could, and occasionally lay his hand on the chief's arm or shoulder, and name him "Mon-e-guh-ba-now," "the great chief," "the strong man," "the brave man," and Maskepetoon would laughingly turn him aside with a wave of his hand, but always in a kindly way. I wondered what could be the bond between these two, and at last I asked Maskepetoon who that young man was. "Why," said he, "he was the leader of the crowd that rushed at me and my grandchild a few weeks since. He and I are great friends now." The old man's brave act had won the enemy's heart.
The next day we started for home. We might have peace for three months or less. This was the impression on our minds. The people on both sides were too widely scattered and too independent of each other, and the range of country too big, to hope for any permanent peace under present conditions. In the meantime, even a short respite was something to be grateful for. Our route home was more direct, and we travelled much faster than in coming. The buffalo had been moving north, and in their progress trampled the snow for miles in many places, which helped us on our way. About the middle of the first afternoon I slipped on a lump of frozen snow and sprained my ankle, which made travelling for the rest of the evening a very painful matter, so that I was glad when we camped in the lee of a bluff of timber for the night. We had come a long distance, and it was pleasant to be in the open camp again.
After the work was done and our dogs fed, I took off my moccasin and found my ankle blue and much swollen. Through the long winter evening I sat there applying snow to the inflamed parts. This took down the swelling and assuaged the pain considerably; but I did not sleep much that night, and limped along with difficulty the next day. In spite of this, however, we reached our camp before night, and found that Muddy Bull had several animals staged ready for us. So father piled the camp equipment and our provisions into his cariole, while Peter and I took loads of meat, and with them reached the mission the second evening from Maskepetoon's camp, finding all well, and everybody wonderfully pleased to see us back. Peter resumed his work of lumber making, and I that of bringing in provisions.
We visit the Cree camp—I lose Maple and the pups—Find our Indian friends "pound-keeping"—The Indian buffalo pound—Consecrating the pound—Mr. Who-Brings-Them-In—Running the buffalo in—The herd safely coralled—Wholesale slaughter—Apportioning the hunt—Finis.
My party for the next two months was made up of my old friend Joseph and a young Indian named Susa.
We started at once back to the Cree camp with four trains of dogs. On the second day out, near noon, we came to vast herds of buffalo, and my second train, composed of Maple and her pups, ran away with the buffalo. For a time we could see them, but soon they went out of sight in the distance, and leaving my old train of dogs to my men, I set out in pursuit of the runaway team. For miles I was able to track them; then the buffalo became so numerous ahead of me that all trace of the dogs was lost. As the course they ran nearly paralleled our road, I kept on until late, and after running some twenty miles, had to reluctantly give them up, and strike out to head off my men. We reached the Cree camp that night, and the Indians sympathized with me in my loss, and promised to keep on the lookout for the dogs. I felt the loss keenly, as the young dogs were developing handsomely, and were shaping to become "flyers." The camp we were now in was in their language engaged in "sitting by the place of bringing them in." This sentence of eight words in English is covered by one word of seven syllables in Cree,Pe-tah-gionte-hon-uh-be-win. This in short English would mean "pound-keeping." If the migration of the buffalo was west, then the mouth of the pound was west also. If this was north, the mouth of the pound was placed to the north, as it seemed to be the instinct of the buffalo when startled to run back in the direction whence he had recently come. In that direction he knew the great herds were roaming, and when startled he would fall back on these. Long before the white man came to the country, some Indians, more thoughtful than the rest, had noticed this, and concluded that a trap or corral might be built, wherein to catch them in larger numbers than they could be obtained by killing with the bow and arrows. Out of this happy thought was evolved the habit of building pounds, and killing buffalo wholesale in them.
In connection with this there was another evolution of men who became experts in bringing buffalo into the pound. These men professed to be aided by the "spirits," or "familiars," of whom they dreamt. The conjurers were not slow to make use of the "pound" business, and claimed that they could by their medicine make a pound lucky or unlucky as they pleased; all of which, as time went on, wove itself into the faith and tradition of the people, and gave these cunning fellows revenue and influence in the camps of their tribes. Ecclesiasticism and sacerdotalism were to the front, as they always are among ignorant and passively religious people. The situation of a pound was generally on the south or east side of a gently rising hill, the west or north side of this hill being prairie or open country, and the east or south side of it timber. In this timber, not far from the summit, the Cree pound was erected. This was done by chopping and clearing away the timber from a circular space—say one hundred, or one hundred and twenty-five feet in diameter. From this circle all the brush and trees, with the exception of one tree in the centre, were cleared out, and around this circle a strong fence of logs and brush was built, strong enough and high enough to hold the buffalo. At the entrance, which was made about twenty feet wide, a causeway, or sloping corduroy bridge, was built up of timber, so that there was a "jump off" into the pound of about three feet. The idea of a gate or bars had not dawned upon the people, as I will presently show. From the entrance on either side a strong brush and log fence was run out towards the north or west as was convenient. These lines of fence gradually diverged as they left the corral, until, at the end of a hundred yards or more, they were almost that distance apart. From the ends of the fence bundles of willows were placed on end at regular intervals for a mile or more, their outside terminals being fully a mile apart. These were called "watching waiters."
While the pound, the fence, and the "waiters" were being built and placed, the conjurers of the camp were making "strong medicine," wherewith to give luck and magnetism to the pound. For days and nights these medicine-makers and general dealers in the supernatural had pounded their drums and sang themselves hoarse; and now that the pound was ready for dedication, they organized a procession, and went on with the consecration of the pound and its accessories to the object in view. With solemn visages and in dignity of attitude, these priests of the old faith took their places at the head of the procession. With their medicine-bags in hand they stood like statues, while the rest formed in line, drummers and singers next to the priests. Then the whole camp, or as many as could attend, followed. At a signal the drums beat, the song was raised at the head, and then taken up all along the whole line, and to time they stepped away around the bluff, and turning into the fence, came down the lane, up over the causeway, and jumped into the pound. Turning to the left they marched around the circle of the pound, and then with short petitionary speeches, the conjurers proceeded to hang their medicine-bags on the limbs of the lone tree which stood in the centre. This done, the pound was dedicated, consecrated, and declared ready for work. The next thing needed was buffalo. If these were within a few miles of camp, the man who had fat horses, and desired the tongues of the buffalo, be they many or few, that might be brought into the pound in one "fetch," would take his horse, ready saddled and bridled, to the tent of an expert at "bringing in," and say to him, "Here is my horse; now then go after them." Then the O-noh-che-buh-how, or "Who-Goes-After-Them," makes ready slowly and with dignity, assuming the air of one upon whom a grave responsibility is thrust, but who nevertheless is perfectly conscious that he is the one man to bear it, and perform the task entrusted to him. Thus he mounts the horse and rides forth.
This man is keenly watched by those who are on the lookout from the highest ground in the vicinity. The whole camp is in a flutter of excitement. Is the time propitious? Are the spirits friendly? Will the medicine work? Will "Who-Brings-Them-In" be wise in his handling of the buffalo? Is the pound properly located? Everybody is anxious about the new untried pound. As in the minds of other peoples the wide world over, here also was the strange mixing of reason and practice, and logic and superstition. But now those on the lookout are making signs, and it is shouted throughout the camp, "He has started a herd!" Again another sign. "The herd is a big one!" is the shout that electrifies every man, woman and child in the encampment; and while the thrill of this is still upon them, behold, there is another sign, and the joyful news rings forth: "They are coming straight!" Again the signal is given. "Make ready; to your places, O men!" and there is a movement by all the able-bodied men to the lines of fence which reach out from the door of the pound, where they place themselves opposite to one another. Behind the fence, and even beyond it, behind heaps of snow and brush, the men lie in waiting until the head of the herd passes them, when from each side they rise simultaneously and urge the buffalo on into the pound.
While all this is going on near the pound and in the camp, "Mr. Who-Brings-Them-In" is doing his level best with brain and voice and horse. Lay of country and direction of wind are noted. As he rode out he looked at the position of the sun. He pulled a little of the hair off his robe and let it go above his head to determine the exact direction of the wind. This he did on a hill, so that the movement of air would not be influenced by hills and valleys. When he sighted the buffalo he stopped, and lighting his pipe thought out the whole plan as well as he could, with the known quantities before him. For what was as yet unknown he held his pipe-stem skyward, and humbly petitioned the spirits to help him. Then he shook his pipe, and detaching the stem, he put both into his fire-bag, and remounting his horse started for the buffalo. If these were scattered he set out to bunch them. Riding slightly to windward and dismounting, he pulled a small bunch of dried grass out of his bosom, and chipping off a bit of punk he placed it on his flint. Striking this with his steel, when the punk caught fire he dropped it into a little nest he had prepared in the grass; then he waved this to and fro, and if the grass caught fire soon he was satisfied. If not, he took a few grains of powder from his horn and dropped them on the spark of fire on the punk, making a flame which speedily fired the grass. In a very little time the keen scenting buffalo would notice the tiny puff of smoke and move together.
Having bunched the buffalo, if they moved in the right direction he let them go and quietly watched them from a distance. If they went to one side, he headed them back either with a whiff of smoke as before, or by letting them catch a glimpse of himself. Thus he brings them within the long line of "watching waiters"; and now the herd is becoming excited, and begins to move rapidly. Riding close, he heads them on. If they rush too fast one way, he drops behind, and rides across their track the other way; and as he does this at a quick gallop, he utters a series of strange, queer cries which seem to be almost hypnotic in their influence, for the head of the bunch jumps his way as if in response to the weird cry. When the herd is going as he wants, he talks to them encouragingly: "That is right, O mother cow; you are doing well, keep right on; you will gladden many hearts, you will fill many stomachs, you will warm and cover many bodies." Then he would give his shrill cry, and as I have ridden beside these men when bringing in buffalo, it has seemed to me as if they had bridles in the mouths of the leaders of the herds, as these passively jumped to do their bidding. The man seemed transformed, energized, intensely consecrated to the object in view, and thus his spirit became masterful and strong in its purpose.
Now the lines of "watching waiters" are rapidly converging. The side to side rushes of the excited herd are becoming shorter, and follow one another in quick succession. Both man and buffalo are fast approaching the crucial point. It is now but two or three hundred yards to the end of the lines of brush and humanity. If the herd should break to either side before these are reached, the driver will be humiliated, the new pound made unlucky, and the whole camp sadly disappointed. "Who-Brings-Them-In" feels all this and makes supreme effort—throws his whole soul into the work. He calls, he urges, he petitions, he rides fearlessly and recklessly. Now the head of the herd is past the first of the line of concealed men, and these rise together, and others, and others, and on in a mad, wild rush sweep the deceived and thoroughly affrighted buffalo over the "jump off" and into the pound. "Who-Brings-Them-In" stays not for congratulations, but gallops to his tent, leaps from the horse, rushes in to his couch and flings himself on it, exhausted but triumphant. Perhaps that afternoon, to help him fully recover, some old friend will give him a Turkish bath.
I have described what happened when the buffalo were convenient to camp—say two or three hours' distant; but often they were a long distance away. Then the process was different. Another expert would start from camp on foot, and travel twenty, thirty or fifty miles into the north or west country, and at last, finding a suitable herd, he would slowly, by stratagem, by smoke and scent, work these toward the pound. Sometimes he would have to wait for hours for a "convenient season." Sometimes he would of necessity run for miles as fast as his strength and wind would permit, in order to turn the trend of movement into a more favorable direction for his object, and thus, after wearying days and nights, his bunch of buffalo would be sighted from the lookout, and "Who-Brings-Them-In" would ride forth and meet him, and take the herd in his turn, and the foot man would return to camp and rest.
What surprised me was that these men who went after buffalo and endured such physical hardship and nervous strain, did not receive any more than the rest in the partition of what buffalo might be brought into the pound. The man who owned the horse got the tongues, but those men who did the wonderful work of bringing in had the glory. Like the chiefs, who planned and lived for the people without any remuneration, these were the patriots of the camp.
But to return to my description of the pound. Soon the last buffalo was over the "jump off," and you may depend upon it, he was not far behind the rest, for the crowd of yelling Indians were at the heels of the herd. When all were in, the door or gap was suddenly filled by a solid line of men, who pulled their robes before them, and stood without a move as the mad herd settled into a gallop around the pound, always running as the medicine man had walked, and that was with the sun. In the meantime the pound was surrounded by the people of the camp, all rejoicing because of the success of the enterprise. Pound and medicine and men had all been blessed, and the hearts of the people were thankful.
Presently the twing of an arrow told that the work of slaughter had begun, and this was continued with arrow and flint-lock until all the large animals in the herd were dead. Then the boys were turned into the pound to fight the calves, and many a chase the calves gave them; sometimes driving the boys back up on the timber and brush of the walls of the pound. When all were dead, someone deputed for the duty would mount the back of a dead bull or big cow, and apportion the hunt.
"Slapped-in-the-Face, take that one.""Slapped-in-the-Face, take that one."
"Slapped-in-the-Face, take that one."
"Hollow Back, you take that one."
"Who-is-Struck-in-the-Back, you have that one."
"Crooked Legs, there is yours."
"Red Bank, take that one."
"The-Man-Who-Strikes-the-Sun, here is yours."
"Bear's Child, this is for you."
"Wolf Teeth, cut that one up," etc.
In stentorian voice this man would divide the spoil, and soon the pound was full of men and women taking off the robes, cutting up the meat, and "packing" these to the tents. In a little while the new pound is left to the dogs, who in their turn hold high carnival among the refuse, fighting and feeding to the full. Not one buffalo is allowed to escape. The young and the poor must die with the strong and fat, for it is believed that if these were spared they would tell the rest, and so make it impossible to bring any more buffalo into a pound.
How this absurd idea was exploded, and how I found my lost dogs, and how we lived, and what we did and saw and experienced in the ensuing months and years, I hope to tell in a subsequent volume.
* * * * * * * *
Forest, Lake and Prairie
TWENTY YEARS OF FRONTIER LIFE INWESTERN CANADA, 1842-1862.
By JOHN McDOUGALL.
WITH 27 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. LAUGHLIN.
* * * * *
A STIRRING BIOGRAPHY.
GEORGE MILLWARD McDOUGALL
The Pioneer, Patriot and Missionary.
BY HIS SON,
REV. JOHN McDOUGALL,
WITH INTRODUCTION BY REV. ALEX. SUTHERLAND, D.D.
Cloth, with Portrait and Illustrations,
WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher,Wesley Buildings, Toronto.Montreal; C. W. COATES, Halifax: S. F. HUESTIS.