|
WITH the first approach of
winter, the majority of the Indians re-crossed the Saskatchewan and pitched
southward for buffalo. Some waited until the ice-bridge was formed, and a
few went northward into the woods to trap and hunt for fur; but it rarely
happened that there were no Indians about the place. Strangers, having heard
that missionaries were settling on the river near the "Hairy Bag," (which
was the old name for a valley just back of the mission house, given to it
because it had been a favorite feeding-ground for buffalo) would come out of
their way to camp for a day or two beside the new mission, and see for
themselves what was going on and what was the purpose of such effort. Many a
seed of truth found lodgment in the hearth of these wanderers, to bear rich
fruit in soul-winfling in later days.
Then the missionary became
noted as a "medicine man," able to help the divers diseased. Many of these
were brought from afar that they might reap the benefit of his care. Then
all the hungry and naked hunters, those out of luck, upon whom some spell
had been cast (as they believed) so that their nets failed to catch, their
guns missed fire, and their traps snapped, or their dead-falls fell without
trapping anything—where else should these unfortunates go- for help and
advice and comfort but to the CC praying man." And thus with our large
party, and the very many other calls upon our commissariat, it kept some of
us on the jump to gather provisions sufficient to "keep the pot boiling."
Already, because of the snow
coming earlier, we had hauled most of our fish from the lake, fairly rushing
things after we had the road broken. Generally two trips were made in three
days, and now and then a trip a day. Away at two or three o'clock in the
morning; forty miles out light, then lashing a hundred or more frozen
whitefish on our narrow dog-sled, and home again the same evening with the
load, yoked to hardy dogs and still hardier men. One such trip was enough
for any weakling or faint-heart who might try it.
Owing to the great demands
upon our larder, already referred to, early in December of this winter
(1863) we found our supply of fresh meat nearly exhausted, and so determined
to go out in search of a fresh supply. Already a good foot of snow was on
the ground around Victoria, and there was more south and ease, where the
Indians and buffalo were, but this did not stop us from starting out. The
party consisted of father, Peter, Tom, a man named Johnson, and myself. We
took both horses and dogs. The second day out we encountered intensely cold
weather, and this decided us to strike eastward into the hills along the
south of the chain of lakes. The third day we killed two bulls, and as the
meat was very good, father told Tom and I to load our sleds and return to
the mission, and to come right back again.
Off we started with our
loads, but as we had a road to break across country our progress was slow.
We had no snowshoes, and I had to wade ahead of the dogs, while Tom brought
up the rear. That night was one of the coldest in my experience, and I know
what cold means if any man does. Tom and I had each a small blanket. We made
as good a camp as we could by clearing away the snow and putting down a lot
of frozen willows. We kept up a good fire, but the heat did not seem to have
any radiating power that night—an almost infinite wall of frosty atmosphere
was pressing in on us from all sides. Putting our unlined capotes beneath
and the two blankets over us, we tried to sleep, for we had travelled
steadily and worked hard all the day. I went to sleep, but Tom shivered
beside me, and presently woke me up by exclaiming: "John, for God's sake
make a fire! I am freezing!" I hurried as fast as I could, and soon had a
big blaze going. Then I got Tom up and held him close over the fire, rubbing
and chafing, and turning him all the while, until the poor fellow was
somewhat restored. Looking gratefully at me, he then noticed that I had
neither coat nor mitts on. I had not felt the need of these, so startled and
anxious was I because of my comrade's condition. We did not try to sleep any
more that night, but busied ourselves in chopping and carrying logs for our
fire, and religiously keeping this up.
With the first glimmer of day
we were away, and steadily kept our weary wading through the deep, loose
snow. About eight in the evening we came out on the trail leading to the
mission, and would have been home by midnight, only that I had to make
another fire about ten o'clock, and give Tom another thawing out to save his
life. He was a slight, slim fellow, and the hitter cold seemed to go right
through him; but he was a lad of real grit and true pluck.
Fortunately for Tom and I, it
was between two and three o'clock Sunday morning when we reached the
mission. This gave us the day's rest, otherwise we would have felt in duty
bound to turn right around and go back to our party. Our people at home were
glad to have the fresh meat, and though Mr. Woolsey had then spent eight
years among the buffalo, he pronounced it "good cow's meat." We concluded
thereupon that at any rate it was extra good "bull's meat," and were
satisfied with our part of the work.
A little after midnight Tom
and I set forth on our return. The cold was intense, but we were light, and
running and riding we made a tremendous day of it, coming about noon to
where we had parted from our friends. Following. them up we came to where
they had found the trail of an Indian camp, and gone on it. Carrying on, we
camped when night came, and as we had now a distinct trail, we left our camp
in the night, and a little after daylight had the satisfaction of seeing the
white smoke from many lodges rising high into the cold, clear air in the
distance. This stimulated us, and within two tours we were in the camp and
again with our friends. They had fallen in with a party of Indians from
Whitefish Lake and north of it, and father and party were now in Chief
Child's lodge. Both missionary and people had been having a good time
together. These simple people, having been reached by the Gospel, and having
accepted the truth, were never happier than when receiving an unexpected
visit from a missionary. When the missionary delighted in his work and made
himself as interesting as possible to the people, and spared no pains to
make his visit profitable and educative, as father always did, then their
satisfaction knew no bounds. With their teacher they all became optimistic,
hopeful, and joyous.
Father told me that Chief
Child, our host, had given him some of the finest meat he had ever eaten,
and that our hostess knew how to cook buffalo meat to perfection. Now, as in
my experience amongst buffalo-eating Indians was one year older than
father's, I began to suspect that he had been caught napping, and had eaten
what he would not have indulged in had he known; so I quietly enquired of
Chief Child what he had fed father on. He replied, "We have no variety. He
has had nothing but buffalo meat in my tent;" then, as if correcting
himself, he added, "Perhaps it was the unborn calf meat he found so good."
Just as I thought, said I to myself; now I have a good one on father! Later
on, when he repeatedly spoke of Chief Child's hospitality, I mentioned this,
and father opened his eyes, then quite philosophically said, "Can't help
it—it was delicious anyway."
Father and party were about
ready to start back when we reached the camp, having secured fine loads of
both fresh and dried meats, so we loaded up and started for home. As we with
the dog-trains could travel faster, and make longer distances than the
horses, Peter and Tom and I went on, leaving lather and Johnson to come as
they could. We were home, and had made another trip to the fishery and back,
by the time they got in with their loads.
Mr. Woolsey was now ready to
set out on the missionary tour to Edmonton, usually taken during the
holidays. It had become an established custom for the officers and employees
of the Hudson's Bay Company who desired to come to Edmonton on business or
pleasure to do so at that time, and the missionary had then the opportunity
of meeting people from the outposts as well as those resident in the Fort.
In accord with this purpose
we left Victoria in time to reach Edmonton the day before Christmas. I drove
the cariole as usual, and we had with us a newcomer, one "Billy" Smith, a
man we had known at Norway House, and who had now, somehow or other, drifted
into this upper country. Billy drove the baggage and "grub train."
Simultaneous with our starting for Edmonton, father, Peter and the others
also set out to procure, if possible, another load of meat, as there was no
telling where the buffalo might be driven to in a short time.
We went by the south side,
taking the route I had followed on my lone trip, and arrived at Edmonton on
time. Remaining there during the holiday week, we started back the day after
New Year's. While we were there a small party of Mountain Stoneys came in on
a trade to the Fort. With these was Jonas, one of Rundle's converts, who
understood Cree well, and Mr. Woolsey arranged wii him to return with us to
Victoria, as father and he were very desirous of securing the translation of
some hymns into Stoney. Thus our party was augmented by Jonas and a
companion. The rest of this small party of Stoneys, on their return trip
south, were attacked by the Blackfeet when about fifty miles from the Fort,
and several were killed and wounded on both sides; but the Stoneys, though
much outnumbered, eventually succeeded in driving their enemies away. It may
be that Jonas saved his life that time by coming with our company.
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
lie 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. |
