In search of the Stoneys--An Indian avenger--A Sunday at Fort
Edmonton--Drunken Lake carousals--Indian trails--Canyon of the Red
Deer--I shoot my father--Amateur surgeons--Prospecting for
gold--Peter gets "rattled"--A mysterious shot--Friends or
foes?--Noble specimens of the Indian race--A "kodak" needed--Among
the Stoneys--Prospecting for a mission site--A massacre of
neophytes--An Indian patriarch--Back at Victoria again.
Father had been much disappointed at not seeing the Mountain Stoneys
on his previous trip west, as time did not permit of his going any
farther than Edmonton; but now with temporary house finished, hay
made, and other work well on, and as it was still too early to strike
for the fresh meat hunt, he determined, with Peter as guide, to make
a trip into the Stoney Indian country. Mr. Woolsey's descriptions of
his visits to these children of the mountains and forests, of their
manly pluck, and the many traits that distinguished them from the
other Indians, had made father very anxious to visit them and see
what could be done for their present and future good.
Accordingly, one Friday morning early in September, father, Peter and
I left the new mission, and taking the bridle trail on the north
side, began our journey in search of the Stoneys. We had hardly
started when an autumn rainstorm set in, and as our path often led
through thick woods, we were soon well soaked and were glad to stop
at noon and make a fire to warm and dry ourselves. Continuing our
journey, about the middle of the afternoon we came upon a solitary
Indian in a dense forest warming himself over a fire, for the rain
was cold and had the chill of winter in it.
This Indian proved to be a Plain Cree from Fort Pitt, on the trail of
another man who had stolen his wife. He had tracked the guilty pair
up the south side to Edmonton, and found that they had gone eastward
from there. I told him that a couple had come to Victoria the day
before, and he very significantly pointed to his gun and said: "I
have that for the man you saw." We left him still warming himself
over his fire, and, pushing on, reached Edmonton Saturday evening.
Father held two services on Sunday in the officers' mess-room, both
well attended.
Monday morning we swam our horses across the Saskatchewan, and
crossing ourselves in a small skiff, saddled and packed up, and
struck south on what was termed the "Blackfoot Trail." Within ten
minutes from leaving the bank of the river we were in a country
entirely new to both father and me. We passed Drunken Lake, which
Peter told us had been the usual camping-ground of the large trading
parties of Indians who periodically came to Edmonton. They would
send into the Fort to apprise the officer in charge of their coming
to trade. He would then send out to them rum and tobacco, upon which
followed a big carousal; then, when through trading, being supplied
with more rum, they would come out to this spot, and again go on a
big drunk, during which many stabbing and killing scenes were
enacted. Thus this lake, on the sloping shores of which these
disgraceful orgies had gone on for so long, came to be called Drunken
Lake. Fortunately at the time we passed there the Hudson's Bay
Company had already given up the liquor traffic in this country among
Indians. We passed the spot where Mr. Woolsey and Peter had been
held up by a party of Blackfeet, and where for a time things looked
very squally, until finally better feelings predominated and the wild
fellows concluded to let the "God white man" go with his life and
property.
Early in the second day from Edmonton, we left the Blackfoot trail,
and started across country, our course being due south. That night
we camped at the extreme point of Bear's Hill, and the next evening
found us at the Red Deer, near the present crossing, where we found
the first signs of Stoneys. The Stoneys made an entirely different
trail from that of the Plain Indians. The latter left a broad road
because of the _travois_ on both dogs and horses, and because of
their dragging their lodge poles with them wherever they went. The
Stoneys had neither lodge poles nor _travois_, and generally kept in
single file, thus making a small, narrow trail, sometimes, according
to the nature of the ground, very difficult to trace.
The signs we found indicated that these Indians had gone up the north
side of the Red Deer River, so we concluded to follow them, which we
did, through a densely wooded country, until they again turned to the
river, and crossing it made eastward into a range of hills which
stretches from the Red Deer south. In vain we came to camping places
one after another. The Indians were gone, and the tracks did not
seem to freshen. It was late in the afternoon that the trail brought
us down into the canyon of the Red Deer, perhaps twenty miles east of
where the railroad now crosses this river. The banks were high, and
in some places the view was magnificent. In the long ages past, the
then mighty river had burst its way through these hills, and had in
time worn its course down to the bed-rock, and in doing so left
valleys and flats and canyons to mark its work. In the evolution of
things these had become grown over with rich grass and forest timber,
and now as we looked, the foliage was changing color, and power and
majesty and beauty were before us.
Presently we were at the foot of the long hill, or rather series of
hills, and found ourselves on the beach of the river. Peter at once
went to try the ford. Father and I sat on our horses side by side,
watching him as he struck the current of the stream. Flocks of ducks
were flying up and down temptingly near, so father shot at them as he
sat on horse-back. I attempted to do the same, but the cap of my gun
snapped. I was about to put on another cap when my horse jerked his
head down suddenly, and as I had both bridle-lines and gun in the one
hand, he jerked them out, and my gun fell on the stones, and, hitting
the dog-head, went off. As there was a big rock between my horse and
father's, slanting upwards, the discharge of shot bounding from this
struck both father and his horse.
[Illustration: "The discharge of shot, bounding from this, struck
both father and his horse."]
"You have hit me, my son!" cried my father.
"Where?" I asked anxiously, as I sprang from my horse to my father's
side, and as he pointed to his breast, I tore his shirt open, and saw
that several pellets had entered his breast.
"Are you hit anywhere else?" I asked; and then he began to feel pain
in his leg, and turning up his trousers I found that a number of shot
had lodged around the bone in the fleshy part of his leg below the
knee.
In the meantime the horse he was riding seemed as if he would bleed
to death. His whole breast was like a sieve, and the blood poured in
streams from him. Peter saw that something was up and came on the
jump through the rapid current, and we bound up father's wounds,
turned his horse loose to die--as we thought--and then saddling up
another horse for father we crossed the river in order to secure a
better place to camp than where we then were. To our astonishment,
the horse followed us across, and went to feeding as though nothing
had happened.
We at once set to work taking out the pellets of shot. This was of a
large size and made quite a wound. We took all out of his chest, and
some from his leg, but the rest we could not extract, and father
carried them for the rest of his life. We bandaged him with cold
water and kept at this, more or less, all next day.
During the intervals of waiting on father, we burned out our
frying-pan, and prospected for gold. We found quite a quantity of
colors, but as this was a dangerous country, it being the theatre of
constant tribal war, a small party would not be safe to work here
very long; so it will be some time before this gold is washed out.
No one can tell how thankful I was that the accident was not worse.
The gun was mine; the fault, if any there were, was mine. With
mingled feelings of sorrow and gladness, I passed the long hours of
that first night after the accident. Father was in great pain at
times, but cold water was our remedy, and by the morning of the
second day we moved camp out of the canyon up to near the mouth of
the Blind Man's River.
The next morning we were up early, and while I brought the horses in,
father and Peter had determined our course. I modestly enquired
where we were going, and they told me their plan was to come out at a
place on our outbound trail, which we had named Goose Lakes, because
of having dined on goose at that place. I ventured to give my
opinion that the course they pointed out would not take us there, but
in an altogether different direction. However, as it turned out,
Peter was astray that morning, and got turned around, as will
sometimes happen with the best of guides. After travelling for some
time in the wrong direction, as we were about to enter a range of
thickly-wooded hills, the brush of which hurt father very much, I
ventured to again suggest we were out of our way. Peter then
acknowledged he was temporarily "rattled," and asked me to go ahead,
which I did, retracing our track out of the timber, and then striking
straight for the Goose Lakes, where we came out upon our own trail
about noon. After that both father and Peter began to appreciate my
pioneering instincts as not formerly.
Most of this time we had been living on our guns. In starting we had
a small quantity of flour, about two pounds of which was now left in
the little sack in which we carried it.
Saturday afternoon we crossed Battle River, and arranging to camp at
the "Leavings," that is, at a point where the trail which in after
years was made between Edmonton and Southern Alberta, touched and
left the Battle River, Peter followed down the river to look for
game, while father and I went straight to the place where we intended
to camp. Our intention was to not travel on Sunday, if we could in
the meantime obtain a supply of food. Reaching this place, father
said to me, "Never mind the horses, but start at once and see what
you can do for our larder." I exchanged guns with father, as his was
a double barrel and mine a single, and ran off to the river, where I
saw a fine flock of stock ducks. Firing into them, I brought down
two. Almost immediately I heard the report of a gun away down the
river, and father called to me, "Did you hear that?" I said "Yes."
Then he said, "Fire off the second barrel in answer," which I did,
and there came over the hill the sound of another shot. Then we knew
that people were near, but who they were was the question which
interested us very much. By this time I had my gun loaded, and the
ducks got out of the river, and had run back to father. Peter came
up greatly excited, asking us if we had heard the shots. We
explained that two came from us, and the others from parties as yet
unknown to us. "Then," said he, "we will tie our horses, and be
ready for either friends or foes."
Presently we were hailed from the other bank of the river, and
looking over we saw, peering from out the bush, two Indians, who
proved to be Stoneys. When Peter told them who we were, there was
mutual joy, and they at once plunged into the river, and came across
to us. Their camp, they informed us, was near, and when we told them
we were camped for Sunday, they said they would go back and bring up
their lodges and people to where we were. They told us, moreover,
that there were plenty of provisions in their camp, that they had
been fortunate in killing several elk and deer very recently--all of
which we were delighted to hear.
If these had been the days of the "kodak," I would have delighted in
catching the picture of those young Indians as they stood before us,
exactly fitting into the scene which in its immensity and isolation
lay all around us. Both were fine looking men. Their long black
hair, in two neat braids, hung pendant down their breasts. The
middle tuft was tied up off the forehead by small strings of ermine
skin. Their necks were encircled with a string of beads, with a
sea-shell immediately under the chin. A small thin, neatly made and
neatly fitting leather shirt, reaching a little below the waist; a
breech cloth, fringed leather leggings, and moccasins, would make up
the costume; but these were now thrown over their shoulders as they
crossed the river. Strong and well-built, with immense muscular
development in the lower limbs, showing that they spent most of the
time on their feet, and had climbed many a mountain and hill, as they
stood there with their animated and joyous faces fairly beaming with
satisfaction because of this glad meeting, and that the missionary
and his party were going to stay some time with them and their
people, they looked true specimens of the aboriginal man, and almost,
or altogether (it seemed to me) just where the Great Spirit intended
them to be. I could not help but think of the fearful strain, the
terrible wrenching out of the very roots of being of the old life,
there must take place before these men would become what the world
calls civilized.
Away bounded our visitors, and in a very short time our camp was a
busy scene. Men, women, and children, dogs and horses! We were no
more isolate and alone. Provisions poured in on us, and our
commissariat was secure for that trip. To hold meetings, to ask and
answer questions, to sit up late around the open camp-fire in the
business of the Master, to get up early Sunday morning and hold
services and catechize and instruct all the day until bedtime again
came, was the constant occupation and joy of the missionary, and no
man I ever travelled with seemed to enter into such work and be
better fitted for it than my father. Though he never attempted to
speak in the language of the Indian, yet few men knew how to use an
interpreter as he did, and Peter was then and is now no ordinary
interpreter.
These Indians told us that the Mountain Stoneys were away south at
the time, and that there would be no chance of our seeing them on
this trip; that in all probability they would see the Mountain
Indians during the coming winter, and would gladly carry to them any
messages father might have to send. Father told them to tell their
people that (God willing) he would visit their camps next summer;
that they might be gathered and on the look-out for himself and party
sometime during the "Egg Moon." He discussed with them the best site
for a mission, if one should be established for them and their
people. There being two classes of Stoneys, the Mountain and the
Wood, it was desirable to have the location central. The oldest man
in the party suggested Battle River Lake, the head of the stream on
which we were encamped, and father determined to take this man as
guide and explore the lake.
Monday morning found us early away, after public prayer with the
camp, to follow up the river to its source. Thomas, our guide for
the trip to the lake, was one of those men who are instinctively
religious. He had listened to the first missionary with profound
interest, and presently, finding in this new faith that which
satisfied his hungry soul, embraced it with all his heart. Thus we
found him in his camp when first we met, and thus I have always found
the faithful fellow, during thirty-two years of intimate knowledge
and acquaintance with him.
We saw the lake, and stood on the spot where some of Handle's
neophytes were slaughtered by their enemies. This bloody act had
nipped in the bud the attempt of Benjamin Sinclair, under Mr. Rundle,
to establish a mission on the shore of Pigeon Lake, only some ten
miles from the scene of the massacre, and drove Ben and his party
over two hundred miles farther into the northern country. We were
three days of steady travelling on this side trip, and reached our
camp late the evening of the third day.
Two more services with this interesting people, and bidding them
good-bye, we started for home by a different route from that by which
we had come. Going down Battle River, we passed outside the Beaver
Hills, skirted Beaver Lake, and passing through great herds of
buffalo without firing a shot--because we had provisions given us by
the Indians--we found ourselves, at dusk Saturday night, about
thirty-five miles from Victoria. Continuing our journey until after
midnight, we unsaddled, and waited for the Sabbath morning light to
go on into the mission.
Early in the morning, as we were now about ten miles from home, we
came upon a solitary lodge, and found there, with his family, "Old
Stephen," another of the early converts of our missionaries. I had
often heard Mr. Woolsey speak of the old man, but had never met him
before. As he stood in the door of his tent, leaning on his staff,
with his long white hair floating in the breeze, he looked a
patriarch indeed. We alighted from our horses, and after singing a
hymn father led in prayer. Old Stephen was profoundly affected at
meeting with father. He welcomed him to the plains and the big
Saskatchewan country, and prayed that his coming might result in
great good.
As we were mounting our horses to leave him, the old man said: "Yes,
with you it is different; you have God's Word, can read it, and
understand it. I cannot read, nor do I understand very much, but I
am told that God said, 'Keep the praying day holy,' and, therefore,
wherever the evening of the day before the praying day finds me, I
camp until the light of the day after the praying day comes," and
fully appreciating the old man's consistency, we also could not help
but feel rebuked, though we were in time for morning service at the
mission, and home again once more.