Into the timber country again--Craving for vegetable food--Wild
rhubarb a treat--I shoot a big beaver--My horse objects to carrying
it--A race for the life of my child--Terrific fight between my dogs
and a huge wolverine--Reach Pigeon Lake and find father
there--Anxiety felt for our party--A meagre bill of fare--A visit to
Victoria--I narrowly escape drowning--Father leaves for Ontario,
taking with him my three sisters--Francis leaves us to return to
Victoria--My varied offices among the Indians.
On the twenty-sixth day from our leaving the points of timber we
again entered them, and as all in our party were "forest people,"
there was joy in every heart. We are tremendously governed by
sentiment. Our spirits like the barometer rise and fall, subject to
environment. And now with carts and travois and pack-animals loaded,
and with our stock and scalps intact, we were once more in the outer
stretchings of the great northern woodlands. Moreover, we were so
hungry for something vegetable that we eagerly partook of the first
edible food that was found. We roasted and boiled and ate freely of
what is known as the wild rhubarb, and also ate the inner bark of the
poplar and drank the sap.
I remember with what joy I came upon a bed of wild rhubarb as we were
approaching the timber. Flinging myself from my horse, I cut a bunch
of the rhubarb, and quickly making a willow fire, roasted and ate
ravenously of it, and felt it did me good. The same afternoon, as
our party was travelling on, I rode away to one side to watch for
beaver. The ripple of the water breaking over the dam told me where
they were. Fastening my horse I quietly drew near, and by and by
heard the splash of one as he came out of his house into the pond.
Presently I saw the beaver swimming towards me, and, waiting my
chance as he drew near, I shot him.
But now that I had my beaver I found that the horse I rode would not
let me place him on his back. I worked for a long time to pacify the
sensitive brute, but of no avail. Finally I determined to tie the
end of my lariat to the beaver, and mounting first, pull him into the
saddle; and after a lot of backing and plunging I finally succeeded
in landing the beaver across in front of me, and thus rode on into
camp, but determining all the way to take a quieter horse the next
time I went beaver hunting.
On we rolled, crossing the streams tributary to the Battle River, and
when we had crossed the river, I concluded to send Francis round by
the new cart road we had made in coming out, while with my own family
I should strike straight in by Bear's Hill for Pigeon Lake and the
Mission. All of the Indians who had not carts would come the same
way, but follow more slowly.
While on this trip I had two experiences worth relating. I was
riding ahead and had my little daughter Flora in the saddle with me.
My sleigh dogs, who were now big and fat, were with me. Presently,
passing near a shallow lakelet, I caught sight of a moulting goose
making for the grass. Dropping my little girl down by the path, and
telling her to pick flowers and stay quiet, that "papa would come
back soon," I galloped over to the spot where I saw the goose
disappear. Of course, all the dogs came with me, and very soon we
found the goose. I quickly wrung its neck, and remounting my horse
dashed back to where my child was, and away bounded the pack of dogs
also. The goose hunt had excited them, and they were racing one
another; and now I saw that if I did not reach the child before they
did, the strong possibility was the wild brutes would tear the little
one to pieces. The race was short and quick, but my intense fear
made it seem like an age.
The dogs and I reached the child about the same time, and I flung
myself from the horse and clutched my little girl, and then fairly
danced for joy that I had her safe in my arms again.
Going on we came to Bear's Hill Creek, and as the day was warm both
horse and dogs began to drink. As I sat in the saddle talking to my
child, I happened to look down the stream, and there I saw a big
wolverine come out to the water's edge to quench its thirst. Close
to me was a hound called Bruce. I quietly said "Bruce," and pointed
down the creek. The quick-eyed fellow saw the wolverine, bounded
away, and was close upon him before the wolverine saw him. Then he
made a jump for the brush, but Bruce ran his nose between his enemy's
hind legs and fairly turned him over with the impetus of his run.
Then the whole pack came up, and I sat on my horse and looked on a
terrific fight between the dozen dogs and the one wolverine. It did
not seem fair, but the wolverine was a big fellow and a born fighter,
and he was fighting for his life. He scratched and bit every one of
those dogs, and held his own for some time, but at last a big black
dog, a powerful brute, got his massive jaws on both sides of the
wolverine's brain and crunched it right in, and the wild fellow was
dead. I verily believe that in all the big North-West there will not
be a single mourner for him, such is the Ishmaelitish record of these
animals.
As we were approaching the lake the next afternoon I noted fresh
tracks coming up from the Edmonton and Victoria trail. Anxious to
see whose these might be, I urged on my horse, and when I came in
sight of the house I saw some horses standing at a smudge, and
recognized them as belonging to our people at Victoria. This made me
jubilant, and I gave a regular Indian "whoop," and then I heard
father say, "There, that is John." As I jumped from my horse father
and a young man, by the name of James Connor, ran out of our little
home overjoyed to see me. Away down at Victoria word had come of
several serious battles between the tribes. Scalps and horses had
frequently changed owners, and strange rumors had come in from the
plains. These had become connected with our small party, and our
people were so intensely anxious about us that father and James had
started for Pigeon Lake, and finding the place deserted were now
setting nets and drying fish in order to go out on our trail and seek
us.
Father embraced me as if I had come from the dead, and James was only
a little less demonstrative. They were at their meal when they heard
my shout, and here is the bill of fare:
WOODVILLE MISSION, PIGEON LAKE.
DINNER, JULY, 1867.
Boiled Jackfish without salt.
Boiled Rhubarb without sugar.
DESSERT.
Thinking and planning and talking about loved ones, said to be
massacred, but of which there is no certainty.
Father brought us news from the outside world, and of the people on
the Saskatchewan. He said he was ready to start for Ontario, and was
going to take my three sisters with him that they might go to school.
He was arranging with Mr. Steinhauer to come as often as he could to
Victoria during his absence, and he hoped I would visit them when I
could.
The next afternoon I accompanied father and Jim on their return
journey. We camped for the night with Francis at the edge of the
dense and heavy timber, beyond which point we had not as yet been
able to bring our carts. From here, as father said provisions were
not plentiful at Victoria, we took a cart with about half a load, and
went on in a blinding rain-storm, camping that night in a flood, with
no tent and but a small covering for the cart.
[Illustration: "I succeeded in getting hold of the end of a tree."]
The next day we had a lively time crossing the White Mud. When,
after packing everything across on horseback, and holding the
provisions up over our shoulders, I afterwards undertook to drive
across with the empty cart, we were swept away by the raging current,
and I became separated from both horse and cart. My heavy leather
clothes impeded my movements, and I came very near swinging around
the point for the last time in this world. Finally, when nearly
exhausted with fighting the wild stream, I succeeded in getting hold
of the end of a tree which extended out into the stream, and made the
shore in safety. Our horse and cart fortunately, too, came out on
the right side, and after some mending of harness we proceeded on our
way.
We kept on the south side of the Saskatchewan and ferried at
Victoria. Since father left to look for us no word had reached
Victoria either of him or of us, and our arrival was hailed with joy.
Everybody around the Mission was busy preparing for father's long
trip east. He contemplated driving all the way to St. Paul on the
Mississippi; and to start on such a trip in those days of bridgeless
and ferryless streams, and with very few supply depots, required no
little preparation, the chief items of which, however, were horses
and pemmican, and plenty of self-help, backed up by a strong faith in
God. Father was pretty well supplied with these essentials.
He took with him my three sisters and Miss Tait, daughter of the
Hudson's Bay Company officer stationed at Victoria. He also had two
Indian boys he intended to leave where he might meet railway or steam
transport. We were very busy for three or four days in getting
things ready for this long trip, and then we saw them off, and came
back to the Mission house feeling lonely enough, especially mother.
Father would be at least a year absent, and she would sorely miss her
three bright girls whose clatter and romp and play had gladdened and
illumined the isolated home so often, in spite of many anxious
periods of suspense and patient waiting. No doubt it was a
tremendous sacrifice on her part to see them go so far away, and that
for years; but, as was consistent with her whole life, she meekly
bore these trials and went on with her work as usual.
Returning, I fell in with a party travelling to Edmonton, and from
there I struck out alone for Pigeon Lake, but chanced to meet Francis
at the limit of our cart road, packing in the provisions, etc., to
the Mission. I found all well, and quite a number of Indians in from
different points, but these, as usual, did not remain long, but soon
were scattered. It was about this time that Francis concluded to go
back to Victoria, and with the exception of one Indian family and a
couple of boys I was training we were alone; but as we knew camps
were here and there to the south of us, we felt comparatively safe
from the enemy. I say the enemy, but our enemies were not always
easy to locate, for the whole country was in a lawless condition, and
whims and moods, or trouble and disappointment, might make us enemies
at any time. It was best always to be on the alert; to trust in
Providence and "keep our powder dry" was always in order.
To put up hay was the next consideration, and my boys and I went at
it in earnest. Wooden forks, and poles wherewith to handle and
stack, were all we had, but nevertheless we made a good supply of
hay, and by the time we were through the Indians began to come in.
From the last of August until winter was fairly upon us our
congregations were usually large. Our work evidently was telling,
for there was very much less conjuring and gambling, and the people
were awakening to a better life.
Our duties to and amongst these people were manifold. We had to
supply the object lesson in all new industries. In fishing, net
making and mending, chopping and sawing, planting and weeding, and
even in economical hunting, we found that we must not only take a
part but lead. I was doctor, lawyer, judge and arbitrator, peace
commissioner, pastor, teacher and brother man. Many a perplexing
case of sickness made us feel our ignorance, but we did our best.
Crees and Stonies were constantly quarrelling over horses or women,
and it was my duty (so everybody seemed to think) to step in and
interfere and investigate. Charges of secret poisoning and of
conjuring loved ones to their death were frequent, and many a solemn
time we spent in disabusing ignorant minds of groundless suspicions,
and also many an hour we labored to explain the benefit of Christian
civilization in the ordering of the lives of a community.
Some of the strongly conservative pagans and ardent gamblers and
staunch polygamists and wild "devil-may-cares" at times vigorously
resented (as well they might) our interference. But such men as Adam
and Jacob and Mark, among the Stonies who then frequented that part
of the country; and of the Crees, Samson, Paul and others stood by us
loyally, and our influence grew apace. John, "the young preacher,"
was becoming quite an authority among the wandering tribes.