Trip to Whitefish Lake--Mr. Woolsey as a dog-driver--Rolling down a
side hill--Another trip to Edmonton--Mr. O. B. as a passenger--Perils
of travel by ice--Narrow escape of Mr. O. B.--A fraud
exposed--Profanity punished--Arrival at Edmonton--Milton and
Cheadle--Return to Victoria.
Some time in March, Mr. Woolsey, wishing to confer with his brother
missionary, Mr. Steinhauer, concluded to go to Whitefish Lake, and to
take the Steinhauer girls home at the same time. He, moreover,
determined to take the train of dogs Neils had been driving, and
drive himself; but as there had been no direct traffic from where we
were to Whitefish Lake, and as the snow was yet quite deep, we
planned to take our provision trail out south until we would come
near to the point where our road converged with one which came from
Whitefish Lake to the plains. This meant travelling more than twice
the distance for the sake of a good road, but even this paid us when
compared with making a new road through a forest country in the month
of March, when the snow was deep. We were about two and a half days
making the trip, travelling about 130 miles, but, burdened as Ephraim
and I were with three passengers, "the longest way round proved the
shortest way home."
Mr. Woolsey was not a good dog-driver. He could not run, or even
walk at any quick pace, so he had to sit wedged into his cariole,
from start to finish, between camps, while I kept his train on the
road ahead of mine; for if he upset--which he often did--he could not
right himself, and I had to run ahead and fix him up. His dogs very
soon got to know that their driver was a fixture on the sled, and
also that I was away behind the next train and could not very well
get at them because of the narrow road, and the great depth of snow
on either side of it. However, things reached a climax when we were
passing through a hilly, rolling country on the third morning of our
trip. Those dogs would not even run down hill fast enough to keep
the sleigh on its bottom, and I had to run forward and right Mr.
Woolsey and his cariole a number of times. Presently, coming to a
side hill, Mr. Woolsey, in his sled, rolled over and over, like a
log, to the foot of the slope.
There, fast in the cariole, and wedged in the snow, lay the
missionary. The lazy dogs had gently accommodated themselves to the
rolling of the sled, and also lay at the foot of the hill, seemingly
quite content to rest for awhile.
Now, thought I, is my chance, and without touching Mr. Woolsey or his
sled, I went at those dogs, and in a very short time put the fear of
death into them, so that when I spoke to them afterwards they jumped.
Then I unravelled them and straightened them out, and rescuing Mr.
Woolsey from his uncomfortable position, I spoke the word, and the
very much quickened dogs sprang into their collars as if they meant
it, and after this we made better time.
Mr. and Mrs. Steinhauer were delighted to have their daughters home,
and also glad to have a visit from our party. We spent two very
pleasant days with these worthy people, who were missionaries of the
true type. Going back I hitched my own dogs to Mr. Woolsey's
cariole, and thus kept him right side up with much less trouble, and
also made better time back to Smoking Lake.
With the approach of spring we prepared to move down to the river.
We put up a couple of stagings, also a couple of buffalo-skin lodges,
in one of which Mr. Woolsey and Mr. O. B. took up their abode, while
the rest of our party kept on the road, bringing down from the old
place our goods and chattels, lumber and timber, etc. As the days
grew warmer, we who were handling dogs had to travel most of the time
in the night, as then the snow and track were frozen. While the snow
lasted we slept and rested during the warm hours of the day, and in
the cool of the morning and evening, and all night long, we kept at
work transporting our materials to the site of the new mission. The
last of the season is a hard time for the dog-driver. The
night-work, the glare or reflection of the snow, both by sun and
moonlight; the subsidence of the snow on either side of the road,
causing constant upsetting of sleds; the melting of the snow, making
your feet wet and sloppy almost all the time; then the pulling, and
pushing, and lifting, and walking, and running,--these were the
inevitable experiences. Indeed, one had to be tough and hardy and
willing, or he would never succeed as a traveller and tripper in the
"great lone land" in those days.
The snow had almost disappeared, and the first geese and ducks were
beginning to arrive, when suddenly one evening Mr. Steinhauer and
Peter Erasmus turned up, _en route_ to Edmonton; and Mr. Woolsey took
me to one side and said, "John, I am about tired of Mr. O. B. Could
you not take him to Edmonton and leave him there. You might join
this party now going there."
In a very few hours I was ready, and the same night we started on the
ice, intending to keep the river to Edmonton. The night was clear
and cold, and for some time the travelling was good; but near
daylight, when about thirty miles on our way, we met an overflow
flood coming down on top of the ice. There must have been from
sixteen to eighteen inches of water, creating quite a current, and as
we were on the wrong side of the river it behoved us to cross as soon
as possible, and go into camp. There was a thick scum of sharp float
ice on the top of the flood, about half an inch thick. When I drove
my dogs into the overflow they had almost to swim, and the cariole,
notwithstanding I was steadying it, would float and wobble in the
current. Unfortunately, as the cold water began to soak into the
sled, and reached my passenger, Mr. O. B., he blamed me for it, and
presently began to curse me roundly, declaring I was doing it on
purpose. All this time I was wading in the water and keeping the
sled from upsetting; but when he continued his profanity I couldn't
stand it any longer, so just dumped him right out into the overflow
and went on. However, when I looked back and saw the old fellow
staggering through the water, and fending his legs with his cane from
the sharp ice, I returned and helped him ashore, but told him I would
not stand any more swearing.
We then climbed the bank on the north side, and had to remain there
for two days till the waters subsided. About eight o'clock the
second night the ice was nearly dry, and frozen sufficiently for us
to make a fresh start. We proceeded up the river, picking our way
with great care, for there were now many holes in the ice, caused by
the swift currents which had been above as well as beneath for the
last two days. My passenger never slept, but sat there watching
those holes, and dreading to pass near them, constantly afraid of
drowning--in fact, I never travelled with anyone so much in dread of
death as he was.
Morning found us away above Sturgeon River, and as the indications
pointed to a speedy "break up," we determined to push on. Presently
we came to a place where the banks were steep and the river open on
either side. The ice, though still intact in the middle, was
submerged by a volume of water running nearly crossways in the river.
Some of our party began to talk of turning back, but as we were now
within twenty-five miles of Edmonton, I was loath to return with my
old passenger, so concluded to risk the submerged ice-bridge before
us. I told Mr. O. B. to get out of the cariole; then I fastened two
lines to the sled, took hold of one myself, and gave him the other,
telling him to hang on for dear life if he should break through. I
then drove my dogs in. Away they went across, we following at the
end of the lines, stepping as lightly as we could, and as the dogs
got out on the strong ice they pulled us after them.
Having crossed, I set to work to wring out the blankets and robes in
the cariole, Mr. O. B. looking on. At the bottom there was a
parchment robe--that is, an undressed hide. This, I said, I would
not take any further, as it was comparatively useless anyway, but
now, soaked and heavy, it was an actual encumbrance.
"You will take it along," said Mr. O. B.
"No, I will not," said I; but as there was good ice as far as I could
see ahead, I told him to go on, and that I would overtake him as soon
as I was through fixing the things in the sled. Reluctantly he
started, and by-and-by when I came to the hide I found it so heavy
that I did as I said I would, and pitched it into the stream. When I
came up with Mr. O. B., instead of stepping into the cariole, he
turned up everything to look for the hide, and, not finding it, began
to rave at me, using the foulest and most blasphemous language.
I merely looked at him and said, "Get in, or I will leave you here."
He saw I was in earnest, and got into the sled in no good humor, and
on we drove; but as I ran behind I was planning some punishment for
the old sinner, who had posed as such a saint while with Mr. Woolsey.
Very soon everything came as if ready to hand for my purpose. As we
were skirting the bank we came to a place where the ice sloped to the
current, and just there the water was both deep and rapid. Here I
took a firm grip of the lines from the back of the cariole, and
watching for the best place, shouted to the dogs to increase their
speed. Then I gave a stern, quick "Chuh!" which made the leader jump
close to the edge of the current, and as the sled went swinging down
the sloping ice, I again shouted "Whoa!" and down in their tracks
dropped my dogs. Out into the current, over the edge of the ice,
slid the rear end of the cariole. Mr. O. B. saw he dare not jump
out, for the ice would have broken, and he would have gone under into
the strong current. There he sat, his eyes bulging out with fear as
he cried, "For God's sake, John, what are you going to do?" while I
stood holding the line, which, if I slackened, would let him into the
rapid water, from which there seemed to be no earthly means of rescue.
[Illustration: "There he sat, his eyes bulging out with fear."]
After a while I said, "Well, Mr. O. B., are you ready now to
apologize for, and take back the foul language you, without reason,
heaped on me a little while since?" And Mr. O. B., in most abject
tones and terms, did make ample apology. Then slackening the line a
little, I let the sled flop up and down in the current, and finally
accepted his apology on condition that he would behave himself in the
future. My dogs quickly pulled him out of his peril, and on we went.
Presently we were joined by Mr. Steinhauer and Peter, who had gone
across a point, they having light sleds, which enabled them to make
their way for a short distance on the bare ground.
We reached Edmonton that evening, and I was glad to transfer my
charge to some one else's care. I was not particular who took him,
for, like Mr. Woolsey, I was tired of the old fraud.
The Chief Factor said to me that evening, "So you brought Mr. O. B.
to Edmonton. You will have to pay ten shillings for every day he
remains in the Fort."
"Excuse me, sir," I answered, "I brought him to the foot of the hill,
down at the landing, and left him there. If he comes into the Fort I
am not responsible."
Shortly after this Lord Milton and Dr. Cheadle came along en route
across the mountains, and Mr. O. B. joined their party. If any one
should desire more of his history, these gentlemen wrote a book
descriptive of their journey, and in this our hero appears. I am
done with him, for the present at any rate.
Spring was now open, the snow nearly gone, and we had to make our way
back from Edmonton as best we could. I cached the cariole, hired a
horse, packed him with my dog harness, blankets, and food, and thus
reached Victoria, which father had designated as the name of the new
mission. My dogs, having worked faithfully for many months, and
having travelled some thousands of miles, sometimes under most trying
circumstances, were now entering upon their summer vacation. How
they gambolled and ran and hunted as they journeyed homeward!