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WHEN we were nicely settled
at home I made a hurried trip on horseback to Victoria, for I knew mother
and the rest of our people would be extremely anxious about us; and it was
with joy they met me as I rode into the older Mission. Father was expected
home in September, and mother said he hoped I would meet him somewhere down
the Saskatchewan with some fresh horses. Here I learned that there had been
considerable fighting on the plains east and south of where we had been. A
number of scalps had been taken on both sides, and the reports of these
encounters had made our people very anxious about our party.
I spent a Sabbath with the
Victoria people, and then made for home. At Edmonton I lost my horses for a
whole day, and did not succeed in finding them until evening. In the
meantime a war party of Southern Kootenays and Flatheads had come across and
spent a few hours at the fort, where they were on their very good behavior.
Had I not been delayed by the losing of my horses I should have been alone
amongst them that morning, and when I sized the wild fellows up I was
exceedingly thankful that I had been frustrated in my desire to push on.
These strangers went back the same evening, but when I swam my horses across
about sunrise the next morning, and started up the hill to take the trail
for Pigeon Lake, I almost ran into the same war party. They had gone across
my road just as I came up, as I could tell from the tracks on the grass, on
which the dew was still heavy. I immediately took to cover, and went on the
steady gallop, never stopping except to change horses until I was
thirty-five or forty miles from Edmonton. The greater part of the time I
kept away from the trail, and early in the afternoon was once more at home,
having swam my horses across the big Saskatchewan that morning, and with the
two made the sixty miles in less than three-quarters of a day. This same war
party took a number of horses from a camp of Indians situated at the time
some fifty miles south of us, and I was very thankful they did not take mine
nor yet have a shot at myself.
And now what with hay-making
and doctoring and preaching and teaching, our time went quickly. Soon
September was with us, and I was thinking of starting for Victoria, when
Samson came in, and we went for a moose-hunt. On Saturday afternoon he killed
a huge buck moose, and we camped beside the carcase and spent a very quiet
Sunday in the woods. During the afternoon I took our horses down to a lake
about half a mile from our camp, there being no water nearer, and while the
horses were drinking I sat upon the bank admiring the scene. The lake before
me was several miles long and about half a mile wide. The banks were quite
high and densely covered with forest trees in the full rich glory of their
autumn tints. The day was calm, and the whole picture was exceedingly
beautiful, specially fitting to the Sabbath evening. My horses, having
slaked their thirst, were lazily browsing on the rushes which grew on the
edge of the water, and I was being lifted up into a higher, purer atmosphere
of experience consistent with my environment, when suddenly my ear caught
the splash of water, and looking across the lake I saw five moose doing
exactly the same as my horses. Having waded out into the water they were
biting at the rushes, and as I watched them one swam out into the lake
straight for me. Soon the whole five were quietly and gracefully swimming
towards me, and I confess that as I watched those fine big moose coming, I
for a moment wished for my gun (which I had left in camp), and wished, also,
that this was any other day than Sunday. But as all this was of no use, I
decided to keep perfectly still and note how close those moose would come
before detecting my presence. Soon they were touching bottom close to my
horses, and then there was a moment of mutual surprise, as horses and moose
stared at one another. Both, however, again took to nipping rushes, and by
and by the big cow moose which was leading came up the bank within a few
feet of where I was, and shook herself, sprinkling me copiously with the
water from her big sides; another followed, and then all of them went on
into the woods, quietly browsing as they disappeared from my sight. For
them, also, it was the Sabbath day.
Monday we went home, our four
horses haying all they wanted to carry in the meat of the one monster moose.
The fellow was in such good condition that I made a big bag of pemmican with
his inside fat.
Soon after this I started
with my family and two Indian boys for Victoria. Reaching that point, I took
with me the two boys and started with the three carts and some loose horses
to meet father. Mother had not heard from him since I was last at Victoria,
but we thought he must now be on the north side of the Saskatchewan, between
Carlton and Fort Pitt. Our horses were in good flesh, and this was hardened
on them as we drove early and late down through the northern slopes of the
great Saskatchewan valley, the lovely country which had so enamored my more
youthful senses when first in 1862 I rode through its rich pastures and over
its richer soils. Six years of wider range and larger view had been mine
since then, but now as I ride over the many leagues my previous judgment is
but strengthened. As we pass Saddle and Egg lakes and cross the Dog Rump,
and Moose and Frog creeks, and wind between and over the Two Hills, and all
the time behold fresh and picturesque landscapes, and note the wealth of
nature's store, self-evident on every hand, my patriotism is enthused and my
faith invigorated. And to one born on the frontier, and already having
witnessed great changes, it is easy to imagine this easily reclaimed part of
our great heritage dotted with prosperous homes. All day long (and somehow
those autumn days were unsurpassable in the combination of their glorious
make-up) as I rode on in advance of my boys and carts, I was locating homes,
and selecting sites for village corners, and erecting schoolhouses and
lifting church spires, and engineering railway routes, and hoping I might
live to see some of this come to pass, for come it would.
While my boys went straight
on I rode in to Fort Pitt, hoping that I might find word of father's coming
up the country, but receiving none, I spent an hour or two with my friend
John Sinclair, who was for the summer in charge of the fort. Then I rode on
fast and steady, and late in the evening rejoined my boys. On we went,
leaving Frenchman's Butte far in the rear, across the Red Deer Creek, past
Horse Hill, through Turtle River valley, and across the river, all the while
constantly on the lookout for signs of our friends or tidings of them.
Mornings and evenings and
long nights and many miles came and were passed, and still no signs. Then
the equinoctial storms burst upon us, with winds from the north and ice-cold
rain in torrents. We drew up our carts in the shelter of bluffs of timber,
and hastily covering them built-our fire, and piling on the dry wood became
ourselves the clothes-horses on which to dry our soaked garments. Then when
partially warmed and dried we would resume our journey. And now our matches
were all but run out, and wet and cold we sought shelter under the lee of a
wooded hill, and making cover did what we could to ensure the success of our
last match. But alas the first scratch sent the brittle thing into many
pieces, and it took time and preparation to ignite some old cotton with a
percussion gun. Hands were cold and wet and everything was wet, but after
what seemed hours our fire blazed, and all through that long night we kept
it blazing as in turn we gathered wood and piled it on to slowly dry and
burn. And those boys! children of the wood and plain, full of healthy
optimism,
"Theirs not to sulk or sigh,
Theirs to grin, and bear, and fry."
We kept those soaked logs
frying until day came, and fortunately for us the storm stayed and we rolled
on in hope. That afternoon we saw a lodge to one side of our course, and
while the boys kept on, I rode over to it and found a French half-breed and
his family, who received me gladly and treated me as if I was one of their
family. They were on their way from the Red River to Edmonton. They made for
me a pancake, for they had a small quantity of flour. What a treat this was
may be imagined when it is considered that I had not tasted bread for
months.
They gave me a bunch of
matches, and, better still, they told me that father was heard from at the
South Branch; that in all probability he would now be this side of Fort
Canton. This was something definite to travel on, and thanking my kind
entertainers, I hurried on, catching up with and passing the boys and carts.
That same evening I met my brother- in-law, Mr. Hardisty, and one of my
sisters, Georgiana, who, unable to stand the damp and cold of Ontario, was
returning to the North-West. With these there were quite a number of
Hudson's Bay Company gentlemen, and the whole party were posting westward in
quick style. They had left father the day before. As my boys were far
behind, I turned back with this company fresh from the outside world, to
glean the news and to visit with my friends. When we met my boys I sent them
on to camp at Bear's Paddling Lake, while I continued with Hardisty's party,
camping with them for the night.
Some of these had been at the
Hudson's Bay council at Fort Garry. Others were returning from furlough in
Eastern Canada and the Mother Country. My sister had spent the winter in
Hamilton, and had come across with father's party from St. Paul. I alone was
fresh from the West and the big plains. Around our campfire until late that
night we exchanged news and related incidents, and before daylight next
morning had breakfasted together and parted. I found my boys sleeping
soundly when I rode in on them at at the lake. From there we went for lunch
to the forks of the road in the Thick- wood Hills. Here I pitched camp and,
as I was not sure which of these roads father would come by, I rode rapidly
along the old trail, and reaching the eastern branching of the road, found
that my friends had gone the other trail. Returning on this I came up to
where they were "nooning," and was received by father with open arms. Job
and Joseph, the two Indian boys father had with him, were also delighted,
for I brought them tidings of their friends, and once more they had someone
to talk to in their mother-tongue.
I found that father had with
him quite a number of Eastern people. There were the Rev. Peter Campbell and
family, and the two Sniders, who subsequently became teachers in our Mission
schools. There were also a cousin of mine, John Chantler, and a lad, Enoch
Skinner, from Toronto. Besides those who belonged to the Mission party,
there were three men from Minnesota, a father and his two sons, Barlett by
name, who had accompanied them from the Mississippi to the Saskatchewan;
also two families of Red River settlers, who had taken this opportunity of
travelling in father's train to visit their friends in the Saskatchewan
country, and take part once more in a buffalo hunt.
We moved on almost
immediately on my arrival, and camping short of where I left my boys I
galloped ahead and brought them in. I had ridden in the saddle between
ninety and one hundred miles that day, but so glad was I to meet father and
these new friends from the East that I did not feel the least fatigue. The
next day was Saturday, and by pushing through the Thickwood Hills we camped
in the evening at Bear's Paddling Lake. All day as we travelled father and I
rode in our saddles side by side, as he recounted to me the work of the year
in Eastern Canada. He told me how he had pled with our missionary
authorities until they concluded to establish in the Red River Valley, and
had sent the Rev. George Young to that work, and the Rev. Egerton R. Young
to Norway House. He gave me a description of the journey by steamer to the
Upper Mississippi, and thence by carts and waggons through the plains of
Minnesota and Dakota, and on into the Selkirk Settlement, where they parted
from the Youngs, and, continuing the journey up the valley of the
Assiniboine, had crossed the divide and the south branch of the great
Saskatchewan. And now," said he, "I am tired of the long journey, and of
handling tenderfeet, and I purpose to start bright and early Monday morning
for home, leaving the whole company and outfit to your care for the rest of
the trip." I said that I thought I could handle the concern, and that he was
welcome to my horses and one of my boys. I wished him a quick trip, and
having been a sailor in his youth, he answered me, with a twinkle of his
eye, "When I leave you next Monday morning I will not take a reef in my
rigging until with the blessing of Heaven I reach Victoria." |
