Casual visitors--The missionary a "medicine man"--"Hardy dogs and
hardier men"--A buffalo hunt organized--"Make a fire! I am
freezing!"--I thaw out my companion--Chief Child--Father caught
napping--Go with Mr. Woolsey to Edmonton--Encounter between Blackfeet
and Stoneys--A "nightmare" scare--My passenger scorched--Rolling down
hill--Translating hymns.
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
hearts of these wanderers, to bear rich fruit in soul-winning 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 "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 east, 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.
[Illustration: "I got Tom up, and held him close over the fire."]
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 bitter 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 hours 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 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 father 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 with 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 he 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.