We struck the prairie trail at Saint Paul in 1868.
We, that is my young wife and I in company with some other missionaries
and teachers, were to travel many hundreds of miles upon it, in order
that we might reach the wigwam haunts of the Indians in the northern
part of the Hudson Bay Territories, to whom we had been appointed to
carry the glorious Gospel of the Son of God.
We were to follow up the work begun by men of sublime faith and heroic
courage, and to carry it still farther into more remote regions where as
yet the sweet story of a Saviour's love had never been heard. We had
confidence enough in God to belief that if fur-traders could travel
along these trails, and live in those lonely remote regions for from the
blessings of civilisation, and in order to make money by trading with
the Indians put up with the hardships and privations incident to such a
life, we could make equal sacrifices for Christ's sake, to carry the
Glad Tidings of His great love to those who had never heard the wondrous
Story.
After about three weeks journeyings, we had travelled as far as we could
by steamboat and railroad, and were at the extreme limit of these
splendid methods of civilised locomotion. From this point onward there
was nothing before us but the prairie trail. On and on it stretched for
hundreds of miles, away and away to the land of the north wind. Over
its winding undulating course, long years ago, the hardy pioneers of the
new world adventured themselves; and as they bravely pushed on they were
filled with amazement and awe at the vastness of the great and
illimitable prairies.
Following closely in their trail, and even sometimes themselves the
pioneers, came those early heroic priestly followers of Loyola, eager
and anxious to meet and to make friends of the wild Indians of the
plains and forest, that among them they might plant the cross, and,
according to their belief, by the simple rite of baptism induct them
into the bosom of Mother Church.
In later years much of the romance of the great Trail had worn away.
Commerce and Trade with their multiplied activities had so taken
possession of it that when first we saw it in 1868, the long trains of
noisy creaking Red River carts, and the great canvas-covered wagons of
the adventurous immigrants, were the most conspicuous sights on its
dusty stretches. Occasionally bands of Indian warriors, plumed and
painted, were seen upon it, dashing along on their fiery steeds, out on
some marauding adventure, or more likely, on the lookout for the vast
herds of buffalo that still swarmed in the regions farther west, like
"the cattle on a thousand hills."
It was one of those perfect days in the lovely month of June when we
left the thriving young city of Saint Paul, and with our canvas-covered
wagons, and fourteen picked horses, really entered on the trail. As we
left the frontier city, thus severing the last link that bound us to
civilisation, we realised most vividly that now we were entering upon
our missionary work.
Thirty days were we on this Prairie Trail. Not all of them were of that
rare beauty of the first. Fierce thunderstorms several times assailed
us when it was not always possible to protect ourselves from the
terrible downpour of rain. One night a genuine cyclone wrecked our
camp; tents and wagons with their varied contents went careering in
erratic courses before its irresistible power.
Our way was beset with dangers: bridgeless streams had to be crossed;
prairie fires had to be fought, or wildly run away from treacherous
quicksands sometimes spread most invitingly on either side of the
miserable looking trail, lured the unwary traveller to trust himself on
their smooth and shining surface. But woe to the foolish ones who left
the trail for the quicksands: unless speedily rescued by the united
strength of friends, horses and travellers would soon be swallowed up;
so the warning cry of the guide was ever: "Keep in the trail!"
Thus we journeyed on, sometimes in the sunshine, and sometimes in the
storm. Every morning and evening we had our family prayers. The
Sabbaths were rest days for all--sweet and precious days, when out in
the sunshine on the glorious prairies, we, a little company of
missionaries and teachers--worshipped God: they were as the days of the
Son of Man on earth.
Thirty days on such a trail could not pass without some strange
adventures, and we had our share of them with white men and with
Indians.
A talkative parrot in our party nearly frightened the lives out of some
very inquisitive and superstitious Indians and French half-breeds. They
had stopped their ox-carts one day at the same spot where we, coming in
the opposite direction, were resting for the dinner hour. Hearing about
the wonderful parrot, they crowded around to see her. Polly stood their
inquisitive gazings for awhile, then, apparently somewhat annoyed, with
wings ruffled, sprang forward as far as she could in her large cage, and
shouted out:
"Who are you?"
The effect upon the superstitious half-breeds, and Indians, was about as
though His Satanic Majesty had suddenly appeared among them. They
rushed away, and nothing that we could do would induce any of them to
look at the bird again.
Another adventure, most unique and startling, occurred on this trip ere
we had proceeded many days on the trail.
"You had better keep a sharp eye on those splendid horses of yours, or
you may wake up some fine morning and find them missing."
This was rather startling news and caused a good deal of excitement in
our camp.
The speakers were some scouts from the United States army, who were
making a hurried trip from the head waters of the Missouri where the
troops had gone to quell some Indian disturbance. They were now on
their way to Saint Paul with dispatches for Washington.
Each night of our journey we had, in true western style hobbled our
horses and left them to roam about and feed on the luxuriant grasses.
This hobbling is merely the tying of the forefeet loosely together with
soft leather thongs so that the animal in moving has to lift up both
forefeet at once. Its movements being thus necessarily slow, there is
no roaming very far from the camp. Having had no fear of danger, we had
been very careless, leaving everything unguarded.
The terrible Sioux massacres a few years before in these very regions,
were now being forgotten. It is true that as we journeyed, the ruins of
the destroyed, and in many places, not yet rebuilt homesteads of the
settlers, were vivid reminders of those dreadful frontier wars, when
over nine hundred white people lost their lives. The Indians were now
however far to the north and west of us, so that we had no fears as we
leisurely moved along. Hence, it was somewhat startling when these
picturesquely garbed scouts halted in our midst, and warned us to have a
guard over our horses; telling us, that, the most notorious band of
horse thieves was in the neighbourhood, and was rumoured to have heard
that there was a party with some magnificent horses in the prairie
country, and that doubtless, even now, they were on the lookout for us
upon some of the trails.
After a short halt for a hurried meal, our bronzed well-armed visitors
left us. The last we saw of them was as they galloped away southward on
the trail.
Immediately a council was called, when it was decided to move on to the
vicinity of Clearwater, and there remain until all the final
preparations for our long trip were completed. Our horses were turned
loose and hobbled during the day, but were not allowed to stray very far
from the camp. Watchful eyes were ever upon them, and also scanning the
prairies for suspicious intruders. Before sundown they were all
gathered in and securely fastened in a large barn that stood out upon
the prairie, the sole building left of a large farmstead: all the other
buildings, including the dwelling house, had been burned during the
Indian wars. No survivors or relatives had as yet come to claim the
deserted place, and so the rich prairie grasses had almost covered with
their green verdure the spot where the destroyed buildings once stood;
and now all that remained to tell of former prosperity was this solitary
old barn.
The men of our party were appointed to watch the barn during the night
and protect the horses against all intruders. Two well armed persons
were thought a sufficient guard for each of the eight or ten nights that
we remained in that vicinity. One night a young man of our party and I
were appointed to watch. He most thoroughly equipped himself with
several varieties of weapons, resolved to be prepared for any emergency.
I trusted to a quick-firing breech-loading rifle.
We gathered in the horses from the prairies, and were leading them
toward the barn when we met the leader of our party, a man past middle
life, most of whose years had been spent among the Indians, and in the
great west.
Looking at us who were to be the guards of the horses that night, he
said, with a sneer:
"Queer guards are you! I have some young Indians that could steal any
horse in that crowd to-night from under your very nose."
Stung by the sneers of this man, for it was not the first time that he
had tried to wound, I replied with perhaps too much emphasis:
"Mr -- I have the best horse in the company, and I will give him to
you, if either you, or any Indian living, can steal him out of that barn
between sundown and sunrise."
My comrade and I carefully fastened our horses along one side of the
barn where they could stand comfortably, or lie down on some old prairie
hay during the night. Then we examined the barn. At one end were the
usual large double doors sufficiently wide and high to admit of the
entrance of a wagon loaded with hay or sheaves of grain. At the other
end was a small door which we securely fastened on the inside. We then
carefully examined the building for other places of ingress to make sure
that there were no openings sufficiently large for even a naked savage
to squeeze through. When thoroughly satisfied with our survey, we
collected a quantity of dried hay, and made ourselves some comfortable
seats, where we could, without being seen, command the large end doors:
one of which was fastened inside with a hook and staple, while the other
had only the usual wooden latch.
We moved about and chatted on various subjects during the long beautiful
gloaming, and when the darkness settled down upon us, we made ourselves
comfortable in our assigned positions, and with rides in hand, were
indeed sentinels on the watch. As the excitement of the occasion wore
off, my young companion who was still in his teens, began to feel
exceedingly drowsy. I told him to cuddle down in the hay and go to
sleep for a while, and if there was any appearance of danger I would
instantly awake him. Very soon he was sleeping quietly at my feet. He
had generously requested me to awake him when he had slept an hour or
so, offering then to take my place. Thanking him, I said: "Get some
sleep if you can; there is none, however, for me to-night."--I
remembered too well those taunting words, and could not have slept had I
tried.
As the hours slowly rolled along, I could not but think of the strange
transitions of the last few weeks. Not six weeks before this I was the
pastor of a large church in a flourishing city. Then I was living in a
beautiful home with all the comforts and conveniences of civilisation
around me, where the vigilant policemen paced their various rounds,
while we in peace and safety rested without one thought of danger; now I
was in the far West, away from the society and comforts of other days,
on the boundless plains where dangers lurk, and lawless, thievish
vagabonds abound. Not long ago I was in my own pulpit preaching to
large congregations; now, during the quiet hours of this night, I was
sitting on a bundle of dried prairie grass in an old barn, defending a
lot of horses from horse thieves. Strange transformations are these.
Truly life is a play, and we, the actors, little know what parts we
shall next be called on to assume.
Thus I mused; bub hush! What noise is that? Surely it cannot be that a
cunning horse thief would come so deliberately this beautiful starlit
night and try at the principal door to seek an entrance. No stealthy
Indian clever at horse stealing would begin his operations in such a
way.
But there is the sound, nevertheless. Evidently it is that of a hand
feeling for the latch.
Strict orders had been given at the camp, that under no consideration
should any one of our party approach the barn after dark. So, here was
an intruder who must be promptly dealt with, before he could draw and
fire.
Springing up and lifting the rifle to my shoulder, I waited until the
intruder's hand had found the latch. Then the door swung open and there
he stood; a very tall man, clearly outlined in the starry night.
My first grim resolve was to fire at once. Then there came the thought:
"It is a terrible thing suddenly to send a soul into eternity. Perhaps
he is not a horse thief. He may be some lone wanderer on the prairies,
who, seeing this old barn, desires to get under its shelter out of the
heavy dews. You have him covered with your rifle; even if he is a
desperate horse thief bent on mischief, ere he can draw his weapons, you
can easily drop him."
These thoughts must have flashed through my brains very rapidly for the
man had not yet entered the barn when I had decided on my course of
action.
So, while keeping him covered with my rifle, and with my hand upon the
trigger, I shouted:
"Who's there?"
"It's only Matthew. Surely you ought to know me by this time."
Instead of an enemy, there came stumbling along in the darkness, one of
our young friends from the camp: a school-teacher, going out to instruct
the Indians in the plains of the Saskatchewan.
Groping his way along, he said: "It is awfully close and hot down there
in the camp, and so I thought I would rather come and spend the rest of
the night with you in the barn."
Foolish fellow! he little knew how near he had come to losing his life
by this direct breach of orders.
As I recognised his voice in answer to my challenge, and realised how
near I had come to shooting one of our party, a quick reaction seized
me, and dropping the gun, I sank back trembling like a leaf.
After chatting away at a great rate, he at length settled down in the
hay, and went to sleep without having the slightest idea of the risk he
had run, or of the part I had played in what came so near being a
tragedy.
I continued my watch until relieved at sunrise, and then, with my
comrade, turned over all the horses safe and sound to those whose duty
it was to watch them while they were feeding on the prairies.
There was a row for a time when I reported to the leaders of our company
the visit to the barn. The good-natured delinquent was the subject of a
great deal of scolding, which he bore with an unruffled demeanour. As
he was six feet, six inches and a half in stature, no physical
castigation was administered; nor was any needed; he was so thoroughly
frightened when he heard how he had stood under cover of my rifle with
my finger on the trigger.