A RACE FOR LIFE IN A BLIZZARD STORM--SAVED BY THE MARVELLOUS
INTELLIGENCE OF JACK--"WHERE IS THE OLD MAN, WHOSE HEAD WAS LIKE THE
SNOW-DRIFT?"
Blizzard storms sometimes assailed us, as on the long winter trails,
with our gallant dogs and faithful companions, we wandered over those
regions of magnificent distances.
To persons who have not actually made the acquaintance of the blizzard
storms of the North-Western Territories, or Wild North Land, it is
almost impossible to give a satisfactory description. One peculiarity
about them, causing them to differ from other storms, is that the wind
seems to be ever coming in little whirls or eddies, which keep the air
full of snow, and make it almost impossible to tell the direction from
which the wind really comes. With it apparently striking you in the
face, you turn your back to it, and are amazed at finding that it still
faces you. Once, when on Lake Winnipeg, we saw one coming down upon us.
Its appearance was that of a dense fog blowing in from the sea. Very
few indeed are they who can steer their course correctly in a blizzard
storm. Most people, when so unfortunate as to be caught in one, soon
get bewildered, and almost blinded by the fine, dry, hard particles of
snow which so pitilessly beat upon them, filling eyes, nose, and even
ears and mouth, if at all exposed.
Once, when crossing Lake Winnipeg, to visit some wild Indians, whom we
found on our arrival in the midst of the hideous ceremonies of a dog
feast, I got caught in a terrible storm. My men had gone on ahead with
all the dogs, to have dinner ready in the camp on the distant shore,
leaving me miles behind, tramping along on snow-shoes. Down from the
north, with terrific fury, came the gale. I tramped on as rapidly as
possible, until I got bewildered. Then I took off one of my snow-shoes,
and, fastening it in a hole cut in the ice, I got ready to tramp in a
small circle around it to keep from freezing to death, when fortunately
I heard the welcome whooping of my Indians, who, seeing my danger, had
quickly turned round, and risking their own lives for mine, for they
could have reached the woods and shelter, aided by the dogs, had
fortunately reached me. There we stopped for hours, until the blizzard
had spent its fury, and then on we went.
I had a remarkable experience in a blizzard, which I will more fully
describe, as our escape was under Providence so much indebted to my
wonderful dog Jack.
I had started on one of my long winter trips to visit the few little
bands of Indians who were struggling for an existence on the Eastern
coast of Lake Winnipeg, and who were always glad to welcome the
Missionary, and to hear from him of the love of the Great Spirit, and of
His Son Jesus Christ. Their country is very wild and rough, very
different from the beautiful prairie regions of the North-West. To keep
down expenses, which in those Northern Missions are very heavy, I had
started out on this long trip with only this young Indian lad as my
companion. But as he was good and true, I thought we could succeed,
since I had been several years in the country, and had faced many a
wintry storm, and slept many nights in the snow.
We had with us two splendid trains of dogs. My leader was a lively,
cunning Esquimaux dog, as white as snow. His name was Koona, which is
the Indian word for "snow"; and he was well named. The other three dogs
of my train were my favourites from Ontario. Two of them were gifts
from Senator Sanford, of Hamilton; the other was kindly sent to me by
Dr Mark, of Ottawa. The other train, driven by Alec, was composed of
some sagacious St. Bernards obtained for me by the kindness of Mr
Ferrier, of Montreal. The largest and most enduring of the eight was
Jack from Hamilton, whose place was second in my train, and who is to be
the hero of this adventure.
We had left our camp-fire in the woods early in the morning, and,
turning our faces towards the north, had hoped that ere the shadows of
night had fallen around us, at least sixty miles of the frozen surface
of Lake Winnipeg would have been travelled over. For a time we were
able to push on very rapidly, keeping the distant points of headlands
well in view for our guidance. Lake Winnipeg is very much indented with
bays, and in travelling we do not follow the coast line, but strike
directly across these bays from point to point. Some of them run back
for many miles into the land, and several of them are from ten to thirty
miles wide. The dogs get so accustomed to these long trips and to their
work, that they require no guide to run on ahead, but will, with
wonderful intelligence, push on from point to point with great
exactness.
On and on we had travelled for hours; the cold was very great, but we
could easily jump off from our dog-sleds and run until we felt the glow
and warmth of such vigorous exercise. After a while, we noticed that
the strong wind which had arisen was filling the air with fine dry snow,
and making travelling very difficult and unpleasant. Soon it increased
to a gale, and we found ourselves in a real North-West blizzard on
stormy Lake Winnipeg, many miles from shore.
Perhaps our wisest plan would have been, at the commencement of the
storm, to have turned sharply to the east, and got into the shelter of
the forest as quickly as possible. But the bay we were crossing was a
very deep one, and the headland before us seemed as near as the other
end of the bay; and so we thought it best to run the risk and push on.
That we might not get separated from each other, I fastened what we call
the tail rope of my sled to the collar of the head dog of Alec's train.
After Alec and I had travelled on for several hours, no sign of any land
appearing, we began to think that the fickle blizzard was playing us one
of its tricks, and that we had wandered far out into the lake. We
stopped our dogs out there in the blinding, bewildering storm.
"Alec!" I shouted, "I am afraid we are lost."
"Yes, Missionary," he replied, "we are surely lost."
We talked about our position, and both had to confess that we did not
really know where we were or which way we ought to go.
The result of our deliberation was that we could do no better than trust
in the good Providence above us, and in our dogs before us.
As it was now after midday, and the vigorous exercise of the last few
hours had made us very hungry, we opened our provision bag, and, taking
out some frozen food, made a fairly good attempt to satisfy the keen
demands of appetite. We missed very much the good cup of hot black tea
we should have had if we had been fortunate enough to reach the shore,
and find some wood with which to make a fire.
After our hasty meal we held a short consultation, in which the fact
became more and more evident to us, that our position was a very
perilous one, as we were becoming blinded by the driving particles of
fine snow that stung our eyeballs and added much to our bewilderment.
We found that we did not know east from west, or north from south, and
would have to leave the dogs to decide on their own course, and let them
go in any direction they pleased.
I had a good deal of confidence in my dogs, as I had proved their
sagacity. To Jack, the noblest of them all, I looked to lead us out of
our difficulty; and he did not disappoint our expectations. I suppose I
acted and talked to my dog in a way that some folks would have
considered very foolish. When travelling regularly, the dogs are only
fed once a day, and that when the day's work is done. However, it was
different that day, as in the blinding gale Alec and I tried to eat our
dinner. As Jack and the others crowded around us, they were not
neglected, and with them we shared the food we had, as there was a great
uncertainty whether another meal would ever be required by any one of
us.
As usual in such emergencies, Jack had come up close to me, and so,
while he and Alec and I, and the rest of us, men and dogs, were eating
our dinners, I had a talk with him.
"Jack, my noble fellow," I said, "do you know that we are lost, and that
it is very doubtful whether we shall ever see the Mission House again?
The prospect is that the snow will soon be our winding sheet, and that
loving eyes will look in vain for our return. The chances are against
your ever having the opportunity of stretching yourself out on the wolf
rug before the study fire. Rouse up yourself, old dog, for in your
intelligence we are going to trust to lead us to a place of safety."
The few arrangements necessary for the race were soon made. Alec
wrapped himself up as comfortably as possible in his rabbit-skin robe,
and I helped him to ensconce himself securely on his dog-sled. I tied a
rope from the end of my sled to the collar of his leader dog, so that
our trains might not get separated. Then I straightened out the trains,
and, wrapping myself up as well as I could on my sled, I shouted
"Marchez!" to the dogs.
I had as leader dog the intelligent white Esquimaux, "Koona." As I
shouted the word for "Go," Koona turned his head and looked at me, as
though bewildered, and seemed to be waiting for "Chaw" or "Yee," the
words for "right" and "left." As I did not know myself, I shouted to
Jack, who was second in the train, "Go on, Jack, whichever way you like,
and do the best you can, for I do not know anything about it." As Koona
still hesitated, Jack, with all the confidence imaginable, dashed off in
a certain direction, and Koona with slackened traces ran beside him,
very willing in such an emergency to give him all the honour of
leadership.
For hours the dogs kept bravely to their work. The storm raged and
howled around us, but not for one moment did Jack hesitate or seem to be
at fault. Koona had nothing to do but run beside him; but the other two
splendid dogs in the traces behind Jack seemed to catch his spirit, and
nobly aided him by their untiring efforts and courage. The cold was so
intense that I had grave fears that we should freeze to death. We were
obliged so to wrap ourselves up that it was impossible with so much on
us to run with any comfort, or to keep up with the dogs whilst going at
such a rapid rate. Frequently would I shout back to my comrade, "Alec!
don't go to sleep. Alec, if you do, you may never wake up until the
Judgment morning." Back would come his response, "All right, sir; then
I'll try to keep awake."
Thus on we travelled through that wintry storm. How cold, how
relentless, how bitter were the continuous blasts of the north wind!
After a while the shadows of night fell upon us, and we were enshrouded
in the darkness. Not a pleasant position was that in which we were
situated; but there was no help for it, nor any use in giving way to
despondency or despair. A sweet peace filled my soul, and in a blessed
restfulness of spirit my heart was kept stayed upon God. While there is
life there is hope; and so, with an occasional shout of warning to Alec
to keep awake, and a cheering call to the dogs, who required no special
urging, so gallantly were they doing their work, we patiently hung on to
our sleds and awaited the result. We were now in the gloom of night,
dashing along I knew not where, and not even able at times to see the
dogs before us.
About three hours after dark the dogs quickened their pace into a
gallop, and showed by their excitement that they had detected evidences
of nearness to the shore and safety, of which as yet I knew nothing.
Soon after they dragged us over a large pile of broken ice and snow, the
accumulations of ice cut out of the holes in the lake, where the Indian
families had for months obtained their supply of water for cooking and
other purposes. Turning sharply on the trail towards the shore, our
dogs dashed along for a couple of hundred yards more; then they dragged
us up a steep bank into the forest, and, after a few minutes more of
rapid travelling, we found ourselves in the midst of a little collection
of wigwams, and among a band of friendly Indians, who gave us a cordial
welcome, and rejoiced with us at our escape from the storm, which was
the severest of the year.
We had three days of religious services with them, and then went on our
way from encampment to encampment. Very glad were the poor people to
see us, and with avidity did they receive the word preached.
I felt that it was very slow work. My Circuit or Mission-field was
larger than all England. I was the only Missionary of any Church in
this large field. By canoe or dog-train I could only get around to all
my appointments or out-stations twice a year. Six months the poor souls
had to wait for the messenger and the message.
At one of these Indian encampments on one of these visits I had the
following sad experience. Before I closed the first service I asked,
"Where is the old man whose head was like the snow-drift?" for I had
missed a white-haired old man, who had ever been at all the services,
and had from the time of his conversion manifested the greatest anxiety
to hear and learn all he could about this great salvation. At first he
had opposed me, and was annoyed at my coming among his people.
Ultimately, however, he became convinced of the error of his ways, and
was an earnest, decided Christian. When I arrived at his village,
whether by canoe in summer, or dog-train in winter, I was always
received by this venerable old man with great delight. Not satisfied
with attending all the services held, and being at hand whenever I
taught the Syllabic Characters, that the Indians might be able to read
the blessed Word, he used to follow me like my shadow, and listen very
attentively to all I had to say. It was rather startling, indeed, when
one night, after a hard day of preaching and teaching and counselling, I
kneeled down to pray, ere I wrapped myself up in my camp-bed to get a
little rest, to hear whispered in quiet tones beside me, "Missionary,
pray in Indian, and so loud that I can hear you." In the morning he was
there again, and as I bowed to say my quiet morning prayers there came
into my ears from this old man the pleading words again, "Missionary,
please pray in Indian, and pray out loud, so that I may hear what you
say."
Is it any wonder that I became very much attached to my old friend with
the snow-white hair, who was so hungering and thirsting for the
teachings of the Word? Only twice a year could I then visit him and his
people. I used to remain a few days at each of these visits, and very
busy ones indeed they were. For six months these poor sheep in the
wilderness had been without the Gospel, and as soon as I left they would
have to get along as well as they could on what they had heard. Now
that they had, under the good Spirit's influence, a longing desire to
receive the truth, can any one wonder at their anxiety to learn all they
could from the Missionary during his short stay among them? This
intense desire on their part filled my heart with thankfulness, and
amply compensated for all the sufferings and hardships of the long,
cold, dangerous journeys.
On my arrival at this place, as usual, the Indians had crowded around to
welcome me. I was disappointed at not seeing my old friend. So it was
that at our first meeting, held as soon as possible after my arrival, I
asked the question, "Where is the old man whose head was like the snow-
drift?"
To my question there was no response, but every head was bowed as in
grief and sorrow.
Again I asked: "Tell me, what have you done with the old man with the
snow-white hair?"
Then there was a little whispering among them, and one of them, speaking
out softly, said in the Cree language, "Non pimmatissit;" the English of
which is, "He is not among the living."
The poor Indians, who have not as yet come to understand that death is a
conquered foe, never like to use the word; and so, when speaking of
those who have gone, they say they are "not among the living."
When in this expressive way I learned that my old friend was dead, my
heart was filled with sorrow, as I saw also were theirs. After a little
pause I said, "Tell me how he died."
At first there was a great deal of reluctance to answer this question;
but when they saw I was not only anxious but resolved to know all about
it, they took me into a wigwam where most of his relatives were, and
there a young man, a grandson, got up and told me this pathetic story.
He said: "Missionary, you had not been long gone with your canoe last
summer before Mismis," (the Indian word for "grandfather"), "got very
sick, and after some weeks he seemed to know that he was going to leave
us. So he called us all around him, and said a great many things to us.
I cannot remember them all, as he spoke many times; but I do remember
that he said, `how I wish the Missionary would soon come again to talk
to me and comfort me! But he is far away, and my memory is bad, and I
have forgotten what he used to say to me. My body is breaking up, and
so also is my memory getting bad. Tell him his coming was like the
sunlight on the waters; but it was so seldom that he came that all in my
mind has got so dark, and my memory is so bad, that I have forgotten all
he used to say to me. The good things he used to tell us about the Good
Spirit and His Son, and what we ought to do, have slipped away from me.
O that he were here to help me! Tell him, as long as I was able; I used
to go up to the point of land that runs out into the lake, and watch if
I could see his canoe returning. But it came not. Tell him I have,
since the winter set in, listened for the sound of the bells on his dog-
trains. But I have not heard them. O that he were here to help me! He
is far away; so get me my old drum and medicine bag, and let me die as
did my fathers. But you, young people, with good memories, who can
remember all the Missionary has said to you, listen to his words, and
worship the Great Spirit and His Son, as he tells you, and do not do as
I am doing!'
"Then, as we saw his mind was weak, or he would not have asked for his
old things, we got him the old drum, and put it before him where he was
sitting upon the ground. We also hung up a medicine bag before him in
the wigwam, and he drummed. As he drummed he fell, and as he fell he
died. But his last words were to the young people with good memories to
be sure and listen to the Missionary, and to give up all their old
Indian sinful paganism."
When the young man ceased and sat down again, a deep silence fell upon
us all, as there we were huddled that cold, stormy day in that little
bark tent. An occasional sob from some sorrowing relative was the only
sound heard for several minutes.
My own heart was deeply affected when they told me these and other
things, which I cannot now call up, about the old Indian's death. After
a while I broke the silence by saying, "Where have you buried him?"
They showed me the place. It was where his wigwam had stood. So
terrible is the power of the Frost King in that land in winter, that to
dig a grave out in the open places is like cutting through a granite
rock. And so in his tent, where burned his fire, thus keeping the
ground unfrozen, there they dug his grave and buried him. The wigwam
was removed, and soon the fierce storms swept over the place, and the
snow fell deeply upon it, and there was nothing to indicate that there,
so shortly before, had been a human habitation.
When they had pointed out the place where, underneath the snow-drift,
rested all that was mortal of my old friend, I lingered until the
Indians had sought the shelter of their wigwams from the bitter cold,
and then all alone, except with Him Who hears His people's cry, I knelt
down in the snow and prayed, or tried to pray. But I could only weep
out my sorrow as I thought of this old man's precious soul passing into
eternity under such strange circumstances. With his waning strength he
exhorted his loved ones to be Christians, and yet he himself was
performing some of the foolish and unmeaning rites of paganism, not
because he had much faith in them, but because there was no Missionary
or teacher to keep in his memory the story of Jesus and His wondrous
love!
Never before did the wants and woes of the weary, waiting, wailing
millions of earth's perishing ones rise up so vividly as I knelt there
in the snow. Before me, through my blinding tears, I seemed to see them
pass in dense array,--a dark world, to be illumined; an enslaved world,
to be set free; a sinful world, to be made holy; a redeemed world, to be
saved.
In a spirit that perhaps savoured too much of unbelief I cried out, "How
long, O Lord, how long? Why do Thy chariot wheels delay?"
Saving me from further gloom, came some of the sweet promises of the
Word: and so I prayed for their speedy fulfilment. Earnestly did my
feeble petitions ascend, that the time would soon come when not only all
the poor Indians of the great North-West, but also all the unnumbered
millions of earth's inhabitants who are going down from the darkness of
paganism and superstition to the darkness of the grave, might soon have
faithful teachers to whisper in their ears the story of the Cross, and
point them to the world's Redeemer.
Making all the visits we had arranged for that trip, we returned home.
Months after, when the packet arrived from Manitoba, the sad news, that
had so filled the Church with sorrow, of the death of the heroic George
McDougall reached us. Out on the wild prairies he had been caught in a
blizzard storm. Horse and man seem to have become bewildered, and there
the noble Missionary to the Indians on the great plains laid himself
down to die, and his frozen body was not found until after fourteen days
of diligent search. After my dear wife and I had read the story, and
talked and wept about his death, so sad, so mysterious, so inscrutable,
she said to me, "Where were you during that week?" The journal was
searched, and we were not a little startled at finding that the race for
life we have in this chapter described was in all probability on the
same day as that on which the Reverend George McDougall perished.