We visit Edmonton--Nature's grand cathedral--Adventure with a buffalo
bull--A trip to Pigeon Lake--Racing with dog-teams--An infidel
blacksmith--Old Joseph proves an unerring guide--Caching our
provisions.
About the last of February father determined to visit Edmonton, and
mother also went for a change. Father took Joseph's dogs, and drove
himself. Peter, with the team Susa had been using, drove the cariole
in which mother rode. I had charge of the baggage and camp equipage,
the provisions, and the wood-work of a plough which we were taking to
the blacksmith's to have ironed. We kept the river all the way and
made the hundred or more miles in less than two days. It has always
seemed to me in travelling, up or down our ice-bound northern rivers,
either by night or by day, that a solemn, reverential feeling well
befitted the scene. The long gentle sweeps, and the succeeding
abrupt turnings of the river's windings; the high and sometimes
precipitous forest-covered banks, always like great curtains casting
shade and gloom and sombre colors; the fitful gleaming of sun or
moon, or the brilliant flashes of the aurora light; the howling-of
the timber wolf or the barking of a family of coyotes, sending echoes
to reverberate through the canyons formed by tributary streams--all
these could not fail to impress the traveller. To me, thoughtless
and light-hearted as I was in those early days, there always came a
feeling as though I were in the aisles of a tremendous cathedral.
[Illustration: "The brilliant flashes of the aurora light."]
The great temple was completed. The Master Architect was satisfied.
The glorious creation calmly waited. By and by the thronging
multitudes would enter. In the meantime in humble faith and trust we
worshipped. From a little ledge of bank in the thickly clustering
pines, while our camp-fire lit up the nook with ruddy glow of warm
light, our evening song of praise made the steep banks and the tall
woods ring with lofty cheer.
We spent the Sabbath at Edmonton, father attending to his duties as
chaplain and our whole party enjoying for a day or two the sojourn in
the depot fort or miniature metropolis of this great West; then back
down the great river, reaching home early the afternoon of the second
day, which enabled Joseph, Susa, and myself to make ready for an
early start the next morning to the Indian camps.
During the first part of March we made several trips of various
distances, and fairly rushed the provisions and meat into our
storehouse at the Mission. On one occasion, on our outward journey,
as we were dashing through some scrub timber, a small tree which had
been bent almost to the ground by the weight of some horse-sleds
passing in, and had its sharp end projecting into the narrow road,
caught me on its point and tore me from the sled on which I was
stretched. At first I feared my ribs were pierced, but on
examination found only my coat and shirt torn and the skin but
slightly abrased. Driving on, congratulating myself on my escape
from what might have been serious injury, presently as my dogs swung
round a point of bush what should I see but a great buffalo bull,
standing with his nose right over the track. Already my dogs were
beside him, and feeling that it was too late to attempt to stay our
course, or to throw myself from the sled, I called to them to go on,
which they did, jerking me along at a jump right under the monster's
head. I can assure you, my reader, that for the moment my heart was
in my mouth. But now as we were safe I stopped the dogs, and shouted
to Susa, who was coming next, and in the meantime succeeded in
driving the huge fellow away from our track.
When we reached home from that trip, while I was unloading my sled, I
told Larsen, the carpenter, about the bull blocking the road, and he,
noticing that my coat and shirt were torn, rushed off and told our
party that John had been gored by a mad bull. Mother came rushing
out to see what was wrong with her boy, and I had quite a time
explaining about the tree and the bull. I note this incident in
passing to show how stories are made up from imagination.
March of 1865 was a stormy month. The snow deepened, and many a hard
piece of road we had to encounter. About the middle of the month we
made another trip to Pigeon Lake. The readers of "SADDLE, SLED AND
SNOWSHOE" will remember that Oliver and myself had visited the lake
in December of 1864. Now our purpose was to take in some provisions,
together with the plough, which was being ironed at Edmonton. As old
Joseph knew the country well, we hoped to find a straighter road than
the one we had taken before.
It was storming heavily, with the snow drifting in good style, as
early one morning we took the river for the journey. Our party had
heavy loads, and we were glad when Smith, who was with us in 1863 and
1864, and who had recently come home from Edmonton, drove up with a
flashing train of dogs and a light load, and signified his intention
of accompanying us as far as Edmonton. We thought he would take a
generous share in making the road, but in this we were sorely
disappointed, for Mr. Smith and his five dogs kept well back in the
rear. All day long Susa and I in turn ran ahead on snowshoes. The
storm seemed to increase in strength, but our hardy dogs trotted
steadily on up the river, and we camped for the night above the
Vermilion, which was the half-way post on the road to Edmonton. The
stormy March wind howled around in fierce gusts, and the snow swirled
in all directions, but in the comparative shelter of our pine camp we
were happy. Starting before daylight, on we went, Susa and myself in
turn ahead, and our friend Smith never once offering to take the
lead. The snow was growing deeper and our progress slower, and it
was with glad hearts that about noon we saw the sign of sleigh tracks
crossing the river, and soon were climbing the bank above the mouth
of the Sturgeon, some twenty-three miles from Edmonton. "Now we will
have a track; now we will make better time," we said to each other,
as we climbed the bank. Then unhitching our dogs, we turned them
loose to rest, while we chopped wood and made a fire in preparation
for our dinner.
After awhile Smith came up, and seeing the track ahead, had the
impudence to drive his dogs past us and place his sled on the road
ahead of ours, which action said louder than words, "Now, gentlemen,
I will show you my heels from here to Edmonton." Susa and I looked
at each other and winked, as much as to say, "Well, Mr. Smith, it is
still twenty-three miles to the Fort, and perhaps we will be there as
soon as you."
While we felt rather hard toward this man, who with his light load
and fresh dogs had sneaked behind thus far, still this was our camp,
and for the present he was our guest, so we treated him accordingly.
However, when lunch was over and he had his last dog hitched, ours
was also, and old Joseph stood with whip in hand, putting the last
coal into his pipe, and pressing it down with his fingers. In so
doing there was a spirit manifest in the action and attitude of the
old stoic which seemed to say, "Well, young man, when you reach
Edmonton, I expect to be there also."
When Smith said "Marse" John and Susa and Joseph said "Marse"
likewise; and away we went, climbing the banks and on up the sloping
valley of the Big Saskatchewan. It was a glorious day for the
testing of muscle and wind and endurance on the part of men and dogs.
The clouds hung low. The gusts came quick and strong. The track was
fast drifting full, the footing was bad, the sleds pulled heavily.
Even before we reached the summit of the long incline to the river,
Smith's dogs began to show distress. Old Draffan was rubbing against
his heels all the time with his traces loose, as much as to say to
Smith and his dogs, "My three companions are more than able to keep
up to you, though our load is much the heavier," and Susa and Joseph
were right up. Presently Smith ran up to thrash his dogs, and I saw
my chance; so did old Draffan, and with a quick "Chuh" my noble dogs
sprang past, and once more we had the road, and on we went.
Gradually widening the distance between us and Smith, I knew that
both Susa and Joseph would also watch their opportunity to pass. At
any rate with even one ahead our credit as a travelling party was
safe. After two or three miles of steady run in the loose snow, I
looked back, and was delighted to see that Susa and Joseph had passed
Smith and were coming on splendidly; and now our quondam companion
was far in the rear. I waited for my men, and when they came up we
congratulated ourselves, while old Joseph made us laugh when he said,
referring to Smith, "He likes being behind anyway; let him have what
he likes so much." And on we went to the Fort, reaching there a long
time before our friend did.
The same evening I met with what was to me a new experience. I had
gone to the blacksmith's shop to see about the plough, and the
blacksmith began to question me as to what we intended to do at
Pigeon Lake. I told him that father hoped to establish a Mission
there. "Oh," said he, "you want to delude some more people with your
fanciful stories about God and heaven and hell."
"Why," said I, "do you not believe in God?"
"No, I do not," was the emphatic answer I received, and a strange
feeling came over me. I was afraid of that man, and took the plough
away as quickly as I could.
The wild storm, the lonely night, the savage beast, or even more
savage man, how often I had come in contact with these, and all this
had not worried me very much. But here was something new and awful
to my young and unsophisticated mind. No God! I found it hard to
shake off the thought suggested by that man's expression.
The next day, when we were away from the Fort on our journey, I told
my companions. Susa's eyes fairly bulged with astonishment, and
Joseph said, "He must be without any mind," and we dismissed the
subject; but as my father thoroughly believed in God, and we were
abroad to do his bidding along the line of that faith, we tied on our
snowshoes and took the straight course for Pigeon Lake. Old Joseph
now became guide. This was the scene of his young manhood. Here he
had trapped beaver (ever and anon we crossed the creeks and saw the
dams), here he had tracked and slain many a moose and elk. In this
vicinity huge grizzlies had licked the dust at the crack of his old
flintlock. Long years ago he had helped to make this small winding
trail which he now hoped to pick up and to keep to the lake. Big
fires and wonderful growth had changed the scene. More than twenty
years had elapsed since this road was frequented, but with unerring
memory and skill the old man picked up the road, and on we went
slowly through the deep snow, across bits of prairie, and while all
around looked the same, without a miss we would again enter the bush
on the unused trail. It must have taken centuries to develop a brain
capable of thus having photographed upon it the topography of a
country.
Saturday night found us some seven or eight miles from the lake and
in a dense forest, with the snow about three feet deep on the level.
Here we camped for Sunday, and again I noticed Joseph's consistent
Sabbatarianism, for except for supper he never ceased to chop and
pack wood until midnight, and thus obviated our working any on the
Sabbath. From early morn this Indian had been tramping down the deep
snow ahead of our trains, and working his brain in order to pick up
the old trail. He had lifted thousands of pounds of snow in the
course of the long day's travel, and now he willingly and gladly
works until midnight to provide wood for our camp, which, being an
open one, consumes a very large quantity. And all because it is
written, "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." I do not know
what my readers will think about this, but I do know what I thought
at the time, and it was this: I would undergo hardship and danger
with such a man beside me a great deal rather than live in the same
house in comfort and plenty with the man who a few days since said to
me, "I do not believe there is a God."
We spent the Sabbath quietly, and early Monday morning continued our
way, reaching the site of the proposed Mission about noon. Here we
found the cache Oliver and I had made, still secure, but surrounded
with the tracks of a wolverine, who thus far had been baffled. Into
this cache we put the balance of the provisions we had brought, and
making it doubly secure, as we thought, placed the plough on top, and
then retraced our steps back to the camp we had left in the morning.
From this we reached Edmonton Tuesday night, and were home early
Thursday afternoon.