|
IT was in the waning of the
Sabbath day that we rounded into the mouth of the Assiniboine and landed at
Fort Garry, and there was a chill autumn darkness over the land as we walked
down to the first Methodist parsonage ever built in what is now the Province
of Manitoba. Mr. and Mrs. Young and their son George received us kindly and
made us feel very much at home. We also met Mr. Marshall, of Owen Sound, who
had but recently come to Manitoba, and who has continued even unto this day
helping to found and build up the city and province.
It was now well on in
October, and Mr. Young said, "You should stay here for the winter, John;
there is plenty of work, and I will bear all responsibility in the matter."
But I felt that we must go on to our own post of duty, and early next
morning set out securing provisions and outfit for the trip. On my way down
from the plains the village of Winnipeg had assumed quite large proportions,
but now as I walked through it I suddenly found myself north of the stores I
wanted, having passed them en route. The horizon of my vision had grown, and
this new place was now crude and small. My horses were out at Rat Creek,
some seventy-five miles distant, but I had taken the precaution of ordering
a "democrat" before going east, and this was now ready. So I bought a pony
and set of harness, and loading our stuff on to the waggon and buying a
Hudson's Bay blanket capote for my wife, we bade our good friends farewell
and started on Tuesday afternoon on our real journey.
We had not loitered in the
confines of civilization longer than sufficed us to purchase horse and rig
and outfit, and now we are off. We have too much load to make time;
nevertheless, we camp at Headingly with the Gowlers the first night, and
make Poplar Point to camp with another Gowler for the second night. The
third (lay we reach Rat Creek to find our friends, the McKenzies, glad to
see us, and setting themselves with lavish hospitality to entertain our
little party. My young wife was now beginning to awaken to the largeness of
the West. Hitherto she had stood the journey well and enjoyed it, but from
this point we would indeed enter the wilderness.
I found my horses in good
shape. Little Bob and Archie and my new brown and another older brown were
glad to see me and fully ready for the road. I bought a cart and harness and
more provisions, fixed everything ready, and then drove over westward to see
my cousin John, who had established himself at this point. We spent a quiet
Sunday at Burnside with the McKenzies, who, consequent upon father's visit
to Ontario in 1867-8, had come out to Manitoba, and to-day rank among her
most successful farmers and citizens. That one talk by father in the town of
Guelph during the winter of 1867-8 had brought these instinctive makers of
empire, and through them hundreds of others, to this land of rich promise.
Just now they could not do enough for us, and the good old Scotch mother
took my young wife to heart in such manner as to cheer her on her long,
strange journey. As the season was now so late I failed utterly in my effort
to find any one to attempt the road with us, so I prepared for a lonely
journey. I divided my goods about evenly between the democrat and cart,
giving Little Bob and Archie the work of pulling the former in turn, and the
old brown mare and the pony I had just bought the latter. The new brown of
Fort Pitt breeding I kept as my saddle-horse.
On the morning of October
15th we left the hospitable home of the McKenzies and headed westward, my
little wire with democrat in the lead, the cart following, and myself in
saddle driving both cart and loose horses. "Keep the steady jog, Lizzie,"
were my instructions to her who had vowed to obey me, and thus we rolled
toward the setting sun. The days were short and we had to rise early and
travel late to make time; the nights, too, were cold, and sometimes the days
were stormy, but we kept steadily at it. Occasionally my wife would drop
asleep with the steady jog step and the isolation of her vanguard station,
and I would then shout cheerily to her and she would start afresh. By the
tracks I knew that some company of freighters was not far ahead of us. A
considerable portion of the country, too, was newly burnt, and I was feeling
sore because of the careless act of some thoughtless man, and mentally
breathing out threatenings and slaughter against him. We had reached the
eastern border of what are known as the Beautiful Plains, north of where
Carberry is now situated, when 'we met a party coming from the mouth of the
South Branch. The leader was a big lordly-looking Irishman, a friend of
Captain Butler, the author of "The Great Lone Land." At once he shouted out
to me, "Do you know who is starting these abominable prairie fires?" I said,
"No, sir," and he began a tirade against any such person, at the same time
threatening what he would do if he should catch him. While he was speaking I
was looking ahead for Mrs. McDougall and the cart, when away beyond them I
saw a man on foot and alone, and as I was watching him I saw that he stooped
to the prairie, and UI) came a smoke and blaze. The villain was firing the
grass. "There's your man," said I to the wrathful Irishman, and with an oath
he turned his horse and galloped towards the culprit, while I cantered after
my outfit. Presently my big gentleman turned and met us, and asked me to
become his proxy. Said he, "You are going that way; will you just oblige me
by giving that rascal a terrible pounding. I will be forever grateful if you
will," and thus we parted. When we did come up to the half-drunken French
half-breed I asked him where he was going, and he said that his party was
ahead on their way to Fort Ellice, but that they had left him when he was
drunk, and he was burning the grass so they would be without feed on the
return journey. I told him to jump on my cart and ride, and while I did not
pound the half-silly fellow, I did give him a fright which sobered him up.
This pounding some one by proxy is an old trick of others besides the Irish
race, but this time moral suasion, I believe, did better, for the fellow
promised me he would never again be so foolish and wicked.
It was late when we came up
to the Fort Ellice party at Miry Creek. I saw that the whole party were more
or less under the influence of whiskey, so I prudently kept the creek
between us and camped a little lower down. I had noticed about dark a fire
in the distance to the south-westward, and this was another reason for my
stopping short of crossing the creek. About nine o'clock the wind brought
this fire down on us at a great rate, and had the effect of sobering up to
some extent my friends on the other side of the creek. Standing out as I did
with my horses, I could see their frantic moves to round up their stock and
load up the carts; then there was a cry of dismay and some one shouted
"Powder! powder!" and in frantic haste they ran two of their carts down into
the creek up to the axles, and soaking the blankets, covered the carts with
them. It was a dark night, but this wild rushing flame with its clouds of
reflecting smoke rolling down upon us was a gorgeous sight. I saw that I
might save a few acres of feed by firing before the oncoming flash of flame
reached us, and I went to work and succeeded in keeping the fire from my
camp. In this I was much helped by the camp to the windward of me, for these
worked hard to protect their camp, and the spot being much used, the grass
was short and close cropped, which favored us in our efforts. Like ten
thousand demons in robes of flame the big fire swept past us—the creek was
but a tiny check—and on westward it rolled, leaving all quiet in our
vicinity. My wife had seen her first prairie fire and still lived, and at
this she was at the time much surprised.
Early the next morning we
forded the deep Miry Creek in safety, pushed on across the Little
Saskatchewan and skirted along the south shore of Shoal Lake. Had one dry
camp only between there and Bird Tail Creek. This was harder on our horses
than on us, as we had a can of peaches, but we were very glad of a cup of
tea at the Bird Tail Creek next morning. Before we reached that point,
however, I experienced quite a shock. Something went wrong with the cart,
and while I was fixing it Mrs. McDougall drove on, and with the windings of
the road between the islands of timber was soon lost to sight. When I did
start I rode right into a lot of hard-looking Sioux, and as I was in no mood
to palaver with them until I could see what had happened in front, I was
surrounded by these fellows, who rode back with me. Then when we met their
women and children and whole camp moving, and still no sign of the democrat
nor my wife, I hustled that cart and those horses through the crowd, and was
indeed glad to catch sight of the waggon-cover shaking as usual, for Mrs.
McDougall had never let up on the steady jog. She was all this time serenely
unconscious of what was happening, and it was well, for these were the
fugitives from the massacre in Minnesota and a most lawless lot of Indians.
I turned loose all the Stoney I was worth, and found one of the crowd who
spoke a little Cree, and they began to find out that I was not altogether a
tenderfoot. When they had told me where they came from and where they were
going, and sought my approval of same, and when I had given them to
understand that I had come from far, where people were many, and was to go
far, even until I would be with some of their own kin near the Rocky
Mountains, then they produced some papers they were carrying, and were
anxious I should look at these and endorse the same, and thus with much
protestation of mutual regard we parted. I straightway galloped after my
wife and the cart and horses, and was exceedingly grateful to find these
pounding on westward entirely oblivious of the fact that we had just now met
with some of the participants in the horrible massacres of the early
sixties, many of the victims of which we had become acquainted with on our
way into this country; all of these, white and red alike, being the terrible
sacrifice of life caused by the immorality and cupidity of men who had to do
with the Indian Department of the United States. After our day camp we were
glad to unhitch and breakfast beside the beautiful little Bird Tail Creek.
While we were again hitching up, a Hudson's Bay factor and clerk, Messrs.
McDonald and Audey, drove up. Seeing Mrs. McDougall harnessing her horse,
the factor came out with a hearty "That's right, Mrs. McDougall. It does me
good to see you take hold in that way; you will do for the North-West." With
Audey it was, "John, my dear fellow, how glad I am to see you," etc., and
after we had said good-bye and they had gone on, he galloped back in great
haste to apologize for calling me John. Only now had Mr. McDonald told him
that I was duly ordained, and I laughed at his evident discomfiture and
assured him that I was still John, only John; and as he rode away I smiled
at the thought of the hundreds of my Indian friends who would never know me
by any other name than John. |
