CHAPTER XIX

AT HOME.

Home--torn from mine--back to the parental. I will now look back over

the scene, taking a panoramic view of the whole, as it occurred from the

day I left my father's house full of happiness and joy, until I entered

it full of sorrow and suffering.

It is well for mankind that they are forbidden the knowledge of what

will be their destiny. It was well-conceived by a loving father that it

was for our interest to be kept in ignorance of what was in store, for

we, his creatures. And thus it was that I entered upon the duties of the

household, with a lightness of heart equal to that of any matron. In the

humble home (I commence from there) in that beautiful north-west land of

quietness and peace, there was not a ruffle heard, or a rumor sounded,

of what was in store for that industrious little community. We were

living in the bonds of fellowship with all mankind, and we had no fear.

But in all that stillness there was an undercurrent at work that would

soon make itself felt. Dissatisfaction on account of grievances, real or

fancied, was blowing. It had broken out in one place, why should it not

in another. This disaffected spirit was prevalent in all parts of that

country. Who was to blame? who was the cause? direct or indirect, it is

not my intention or desire to say; suffice it is to note, that there

was discontent; and therefore there must have, been grievances, and an

attempt should have been made or an understanding arrived at, whereby

this state of discontent should have been replaced by that of content,

without disturbance. Where there is discontent there must be badness and

suffering, with evils and excesses lying in its wake.

To have removed those grievances was the imperative duty of the

dispensers of law and order and thus avoid those excesses, but it

was not done in time and the inevitable did come swift and sure; the

innocent were made to feel its fury. For that little hamlet by the creek

was entered, and its domestic quietness destroyed and future prospects

blighted. There was a degree of uneasiness felt after we were informed

of the horror of Duck Lake. Two half-breeds, Blondin and Donaire, who

were employed by my husband, were observed in frequent and earnest

conversation with the Indians. Those two had but arrived from the scene

at Duck Lake. For what were they there? Was it to incite the Indians?

Their actions were, to say the least, suspicious.

I will not dwell on the terrible slaughter which followed, it is too

painful a subject, simply stating that I had not believed that anything

so awful would have been perpetrated by either half-breeds or Indians,

until we were taken out of Mrs. Delaney's the second time, and then I

felt that there would be trouble, but not in such a manner as that. When

I was dragged from the death-bed of my husband, who had the ground for

a couch and the canopy of heaven for a coverlet, I was in a bewildered

condition. Half-unconsciously I allowed the Indian to drag me on to his

tepee, and once in, the circumstances which led to my position, flitted

through my brain in quick succession. I then realized that it was most

critical; in a few hours I would be forced to undergo ill-treatment that

would very soon kill me. With those thoughts within my mind, the

tepee opened and a little girl entered, an angel sent by God to be my

deliverer. Although not aware, she was his instrument in taking me

out of danger and placing me in a purer atmosphere. That child was

Pritchard's little girl and I asked her to send her father. He came and

by his influence I was transferred to his care for a while. And when

I entered his tent and there saw Mrs. Delaney, I was overjoyed for a

minute, and then all was a blank; the excitement proved too much for me

and I swooned away. When I returned to consciousness they were all doing

their best for me.

In a short time Blondin came in, (at the commencement of the massacre

he left for our house) he brought with him our waggon, and oxen, and all

the furniture and provisions he could take. Immediately thereafter the

Indians appeared and it was then that he offered them $30 and a horse

for our release. The offer was accepted and I was transferred to

Blondin. The wretch was there with evil intent in his heart. I fully

believe that he felt exultant over the doings of the day. Why did he

go down to our house when that dreadful affair was going on? Why did he

help himself to our goods? _Only_ for a bad purpose. Oh! God I saw

it all. He had everything arranged for me to live with him. All my

husband's things; all my things; and a tent. But I refused to accept him

or his conditions. I resented the infamous proposals as strongly as

I was able, and appealed to John Pritchard for protection and he

generously granted my request. I will never forget his kindness to me as

long as I live: "Yes, Mrs. Gowanlock, you can share my tent, with myself

and family, and I will protect you."

That dated the commencement of the shameful treatment I received at the

hands of Blondin, and whenever Pritchard was absent, it was meted out

to me to the full. Blondin purchased my liberty, that would have been a

good action if prompted by honorable motives, but in the absence of

that it has no weight with me. He was amply repaid, he got our oxen, our

waggon, our provisions, our clothes, we had money there, perhaps he got

that. I have wondered since was it not my money with which he purchased

me. By the help of God I was saved from him; and a life worse than

death. If the worst had come I would have drowned or killed myself; but

it did not. "God moves in a mysterious way."

During the next two months I was called upon to witness heart-rending

scenes; first the brutal treatment of the dead bodies of our husbands',

as well as cruelty to ourselves; for even under Pritchard's care we were

not safe and did not know what minute would be our last. Not content

with murdering them in cold blood, they must needs perform diabolical

deeds which causes me to shudder when I think of it. They danced around

them with demoniac glee, kicking and pulling them in every direction,

and we were the unwilling witnesses of such behaviour. And when we

had them buried under the church they burned it down, with dancing and

yelling, accompanied with hysterical laughter. The sight was sickening

to me and I was glad they moved in the direction of Fort Pitt, leaving

that place with all its associations of suffering and death. But when I

heard that they intended to take the Fort, and destroy more life, I felt

that I would rather remain where we were than witness any more scenes of

so sad a nature. I have no happy tale to tell for this period was filled

with woe and pain.

I will not enumerate further the trials I had to undergo day after day,

but will pass rapidly on until the gladsome note was sounded by our

hostess Mrs. Pritchard the "police are here." God delivered us again.

It is unnecessary to itemize in detail what passed from that time until

I reached Ontario. I have told my tale, simple and truthful, and what

remains for me now is my old home, my old associations, and my old

life--the lines are hard to bear--"Thy will not mine be done."

Once I thought my cross to heavy,

And my heart was sore afraid,

Summoned forth to stand a witness

For the cause of truth betrayed.

"Send, O Lord," I prayed, "some Simon,

As of old was sent to Thee."

"Be a Simon," said the Master,

"For this cross belongs to me."

Still is crucified my Saviour,

I myself must a Simon be;

Take my cross and walk humbly

Up the slopes of Calvary.

TO ONE OF THE ABSENT.

You bade me good-bye with a smile, love,

And away to the west wild and drear;

At the sound of war's bugle shrill calling

You went without shadow of fear.

But when I complained of your going,

To face dangers untold in the west;

You chided me gently by singing:

"Encourage me dear 'twill be best."

"I know you will miss me each hour

And grieve when I'm far, far away:

But its duty's demand and I'm ready:

Could I show the white feather to-day?

Oh! Now, you're my own bright eyed blessing

And show the true spirit within:

Those eyes now so fearlessly flashing

Shall guide me through war's crash and din."

With your men you went cheerful and willing,

To defend and take peace to the poor

Helpless children and sad prisoned women

Who had homes on Saskatchewan's shore,

And now I'm so proud of you darling

I can worship a hero so brave,

While I pray for your safe home returning;

When the peace flag shall quietly wave.

O'er the land where poor Scott's heartless murderer,

Has added much more to his sin;

By the cold-blooded uncalled for slaughter,

Of Gowanlock, Delaney and Quinn,

Who like many others now sleeping,

Shroudless near the sky of the west,

May be called the sad victims and martyrs

Of Riel who's name we detest.

Many hearts are now mourning their lov'd ones

Who died at their post, true and brave,

In defiance of one heartless rebel,

Who's life not e'en "millions" should save.

So keep your arms strong for the fray dear,

I'll not wish you back 'ere the fight

Shall decide for you, country and comrades,

In favor of honour and right.

Let justice be done now unfailing

Nought but _death_ can atone for his sin;

Let the fate be has meted to others;

By our dauntless be meted to him,

Don't return until quiet contentment;

Fills the homes now deserted out west,

And the true ring of peace finds an echo,

In each sturdy settler's breast.

And when you are homeward returning,

With heart that has never known fear;

Remember the love light is burning,

Unceasingly, constantly, here

And "Bright Eyes" will give you a welcome

Which even a soldier may prize

While the lips will be smiling with pleasure,

That have prayed in your absence with sighs.

And the whole world shall ring with the praises

Of Canada's noblest and best;

Who shoulder to shoulder defended,

And saved the unhappy North-West

While in coming years 'round the hearthstone

Will be told how the dark coats and red,

Put to rout Riel, rebels and half-breeds

And aveng'd both the living and dead.

CLEOMATI.

20 Alexander St., Toronto.

SHOT DOWN.

They died a brutal death on the 2nd of April, disarmed first, and then

shot down. The perpetrators of that outrage were actuated by fiendish

instincts, nevertheless they had an intuition of what was meant by

civilization. How they could have so forgotten the training they had

received religiously and socially to have allowed the lower instincts

of the savage to gain the ascendancy and fell in cold blood--not

extortioners or land-grabbers--but their spiritual advisers; their

superintendent; their farm instructor, and those who had left

comfortable homes in the east in order to carry civilization into

the remote places of the west. The work that they were performing was

calculated to elevate the Indian and make him a better man; taking him

from his miserable mode of living and leading him into a more happy and

prosperous life for this and the next. It is unaccountable, and there

is yet a something that will come to the surface that was the real cause

for this dreadful act. At this point a brief sketch of the lives of some

of those killed would not be out of place.

They numbered nine, the entire male population of that growing little

village. There were T. Quinn, J. Delanay, J. A. Gowanlock, T. Dill, W.

C. Gilchrist, J. Williscraft, C. Gouin and Father Fafard and a priest

from Onion Lake. Mr. Quinn was the Indian agent for that district well

fitted in every particular for the position he held. Mr. Dill kept a

general store and at one time lived at Bracebridge, was a brother of

the member of Muskoka in the local house. Mr. Williscraft came from Owen

Sound where his friends reside. C. Gouin was a native of the north-west.

MR. GOWANLOCK.

John Alexander Gowanlock, one of the Frog Lake martyrs, was born in the

City of Stratford, Province of Ontario, on the 17th of April, 1861. He

was the youngest son of Mr. Jas. Gowanlock, of East Otto, Cattaraguas

County, New York State. He has three brothers living, and one sister,

A. G. and J. Gowanlock of Parkdale, Ontario, R. K. Gowanlock, of Oscoda,

Michigan, and Mrs. Daisy Huntsman, of Tintern, Co. Lincoln. From a boy

he was a general favorite, quiet and unassuming, yet withal, firm and

decided in his opinions. After leaving Stratford he resided for some

time in Barrie, and then went to the Village of Parkdale, where he

resided until he left for the north-west.

Being in ill-health (at the age of 19), his physician and aunt, Dr. J.

K. Trout, of Toronto, advised a change of climate, and acting upon

that advice left for that great country. After a short residence every

symptom of disease had vanished, and upon his return some eighteen

months after, he felt and was a new man in every particular. In three

months time he returned to the land of his adoption. By honesty and

energy he succeeded well. He took hold of every kind of work that he

thought would pay. He became farmer, mill-builder, speculator, surveyor,

store-keeper and mill-owner in succession, buying and selling, and

at the same time pushing further west. His greatest success was in

Battleford, the Indians of that district would flock to his store,

because they knew they could get a good article at a reasonable price.

Last year the Government wanted mills for the reserves in the region

of Frog Lake, and after negotiating with them for some time he finally

decided, in conjunction with Mr. Laurie, to accept the offer made, the

Government giving them the sum of $2,800 as an inducement.

In the month of October of last year, he began operations, which, if

those poor, deluded savages, who did not know when they were well off,

had allowed him to finish, would long ere this been a hive of industry

and a blessing to those Indians. He visited Ontario the same year,

buying all the machinery necessary for the mills and superintending its

shipment. He also took unto himself a wife from among the fair daughters

of Ontario, and never a happier couple went forth to brave the cares of

life. Both young and fell of energy.

But they were not allowed to enjoy their domestic bliss long. The sad

event which terminated with him being murdered, along with eight others,

being still fresh in the memory of all; it was a sudden call, but he was

prepared for it. An oath was never uttered by him, nor did he know the

taste of liquor, a temperance man in the full meaning of the term. He

also took a hearty interest in church matters having been one of the

managers of the Battleford Presbyterian Church. Wherever he went he

did good, in a gentle and kind way; and he will be remembered by both

Indian, half-breed and settler, as one who never took advantage of them

in any way, and the very soul of honor.

Not himself, but the truth that in life he had spoken,

Not himself, but the seed that in life he had sown,

Shall past to the ages--all about him forgotten,

Save the truth he had spoken, the things he had done.

MR. GILCHRIST.

One of the victims of the Frog Lake massacre was William Campbell

Gilchrist, a native of the village of Woodville, Ontario, and eldest son

of Mr. J. C. Gilchrist, Postmaster of that place. He was an energetic

young man, of good address, and if spared would have made his mark in

the land of promise. Prior to going there, he held situations in various

parts of this province, and they were all of such a nature, as to make

him proficient in the calling of his adoption, he had splendid business

ability and with a good education, made progress that was quite

remarkable for one of his years, at the time of his murder he was only

in his twenty-fourth year.

He was clerk for Mr. E. McTavish of Lindsay, for some time; he then

returned to his home to take a situation which had been offered him by

Mr. L. H. Staples, as assistant in his general store; he afterwards went

to the village of Brechin as Clerk and Telegraph Operator, for Messrs.

Gregg & Todd. While there he formed the acquaintance of Mr. A. G.

Cavana, a Surveyor, and it was through his representations that

he directed his steps to the great unknown land. Shortly after his

acquaintance with Mr. Cavana, that gentleman received a government

appointment as surveyor in the territories, taking Mr. Gilchrist with

him in the capacity of book keeper and assistant surveyor; they left

in the spring of 1882. He was well fitted for the position, for besides

being an excellent penman, was an expert at figures; when the winter set

in, he remained there, taking a situation in a store in Winnipeg, and

when the summer opened out he again went with Mr. Cavana on the

survey, (1883) on his way home in the autumn he fell in with Mr. J. A.

Gowanlock, who induced him to remain with him as clerk, with whom he

never left until that sad morning on the 2nd of April, when he was shot

down in his strength and manhood. He was a member of the Presbyterian

church having confessed at the early age of 14 years. It was his

intention to enter the Manitoba College as a theological student.

PART II.

PREFACE.

Several friends have asked me to write a sketch of my life and more

especially of my adventures in the North-West. At first I hesitated

before promising to comply with the request. There is a certain class of

orators who, invariable, commence their public address by stating that

they are "unaccustomed to public speaking." It may be true in many

cases, but most certainly no public speaker was ever less accustomed

to address an audience, than I am to write a book. Outside my limited

correspondence, I never undertook to compose a page, much less a book.

But, if any excuse were necessary, I feel that the kindness of the

people I have met, the friendliness of all with whom I have come in

contact, during the last eventful half-year, would render such excuse

uncalled for. I look upon the writing of these pages as a duty imposed

upon me by gratitude. When memory recalls the sad scenes through which

I have passed, the feeling may be painful, but there is a pleasure in

knowing that sympathy has poured a balm upon the deep wounds, and that

kindness and friendship have sweetened many a bitter drop in the cup of

my sorrow and trouble.

"There is a tide in the affairs of men," sang England's great Bard, but

we never know when it is about to turn, or if that turn will be the ebb

or the flow of happiness. "The veil of the Future is woven by the hand

of Mercy." Could I have but caught a glimpse through its folds, some

three years ago, I might not have the story to tell that you, kind

reader, will find in this short work. I might not be, to-day, mourning

the loss of a dear husband.

But who can judge of the ways of Divine Providence? For His own

wise ends has the Almighty permitted such things to take place: and

submissive to His will, I feel that instead of repining, I should return

Him thanks for my Own life and preservation; and, under God, I must

thank my friends one and all!

If this little sketch should prove instructive or even interesting to

anyone I will feel doubly repaid. The scenes I have to describe, the

story I have to tell, would require the pen of a Fenimore Cooper to

do them justice. Feeling myself unable to relate all I experienced

and suffered, in an adequate manner, I will merely offer the public, a

simple, truthful, unvarnished tale and for every fact thereof, I give my

word that it is no fiction, but real truth.

With this short preface I will now crave the indulgence of my readers,

while they peruse the following pages.

THERESA DELANEY.

MRS. DELANEY.

CHAPTER I.

MY YOUTH AND EARLY LIFE.

AS the principal object of this work, is to give an account of my

experiences in the North-West, and my many adventures during the last

few months, I would deem it out of place to detain my readers with any

lengthy description of my birth-place or any details of my younger days.

I have noticed many false reports that have been circulated through

the press, upon the different situations and conditions in the

North-West--whether as to the whites, the half-breeds, or the Indians.

In the second chapter I will give a truthful version of what I saw,

heard and know. Still I cannot well enter upon this work, with justice

to myself or to my late husband, without informing my readers whence we

came and how our lots happened to be cast together amidst the scenes of

our new home, and upon the theatre of the fearful tragedy in which we

played such important parts.

My grandfather, Henry Marshall Fulford, while yet a young man, about the

year 1812, came from Woburn Massachusetts, and established his home on

the Aylmer road, near Bytown, the Ottawa of to-day, where he carried on

an extensive lumbering and farming business. My father was born there,

and it was also the place of my own birth. Our home was situated about

two miles and a half from Aylmer, and about five miles from the present

capital of the Dominion.

In those days Ottawa was called Bytown. No one then dreamed that it

was destined to become the capital and the seat of the future Federal

government of the country. The town, for it was then a town, was small

and far from attractive, and the surrounding country was not very much

inhabited. The lumbering operations constituted the staple commerce, and

the shanties were the winter homes of the greater number of the people.

Nearly all my life, except the last three years, was spent at home. I

never travelled much, and in fact, never expected to become a traveller,

and above all, an unwilling heroine in the North-West troubles. I had

several sisters and brothers. I was the eldest of the family, and

as such, for many years had to devote my time to household cares. My

school-days seem now the pleasantest period of my early life. Since then

I have known many ups and downs; but never felt the same peace of mind

and gayness of spirit that I have felt in days now gone. I might say

that I have lived three distinct lives. From my birth until the day of

my marriage, which took place on the 27th of July, 1882, I led a uniform

life. Few, if any changes, marked each passing year. The seasons came

and went, and the winter's snow fell and the summer's sun ripened the

golden harvests, and days flowed into weeks, weeks into months, months

into years, and year succeeded year as I felt myself growing into

womanhood. The changes in my life were few and my troubles so small,

that memory had scarcely ever to recall a dark or dreary scene and hope

always beckoned me on to the future.

The only events that seemed to stand out, landmarks in the past, were

two deaths in the family--the first my eldest brother and the second my

dearly beloved and much lamented father.

Had it not been for these two events I might drop a veil over all the

past and consider merely that I had lived through such a number of

years:-these years, like the great desert of the east, would stretch

back, an unbroken tract, with no object to break the monotony of the

scene. But, as the kirches tombs or monuments of Arabia, rise up in

solemn grandeur from out the loneliness of the plain, casting their

shadows of the sandy waste, so these two monuments or tombs appear upon

the level scene of my uneventful past. Could I, then, have caught one

glimpse adown the valley of the "Yet to be," what a different picture

would have presented itself to my vision! A confusion of adventures, a

panorama never ending, ever shifting, of an eventful life.

My second life might be called a period from my wedding day until the

third of April, 1885. And the third, the last and most eventful life, is

that of three months--April, May and June, 1885. To the second important

period in my career I will consecrate the next chapter and to the third

and final part of my life will be devoted the last chapter.

My husband was born in Napean, in the Province of Ontario, about the

end of 1846. Physically speaking, he was a man of very fine appearance.

Over six feet in height and weighing about two hundred and ten pounds.

His youth was spent in his native place, where he went to school

and where he commenced his life of labor and exertion. I don't know,

exactly, when it was that I first met him; but I must have been quite

young, for I remember him these many years. He was, during the last ten

years that he lived in the Ottawa valley, foreman for different lumber

firms. Naturally gifted to command, he knew the great duty of obedience,

and this knowledge raised him in the estimation of all those whose

business he undertook to direct. And owing to that good opinion, he

received a general recommendation to the government, and in the year

1879, he was appointed Indian instructor for the north-west. Like my own

life, his was uneventful. Outside the circle of his friends--and that

circle was large--he was unknown to the public. Nor was he one of those

who ever sought notoriety. His disposition was the very opposite of a

boastful one.

Often I heard tell of the north-west. But I never took any particular

interest in the country previous to his appointment and departure for

his new sphere. I knew by the map, that such a region existed--just as

I knew that there was a Brazil in South America, or a vast desert in

the centre of Africa. Our statesmen were then forming plans to build the

great Pacific Road, that band of iron which was soon destined to unite

ocean to ocean. However, I never dreamed that I would one day visit

those vast regions, the former home of the buffalo, the haunt of the

prairie-chicken and the prairie-wolf. It never dawned upon me, that as I

watched the puffing of the engine that rushed along the opposite side

of the Ottawa from my home, that, one day, I would go from end to end of

that line,--pass over those vast plains and behold the sun set, amidst

the low poplars of the rolling prairies,--listen to the snort of the

same engine as it died away, in echo, amongst the gorges of the Rockies.

My husband had been three years, previous to our marriage, in the

north west. His first winter was spent at "Onion Lake," there being no

buildings at "Frog Lake." In fact, when he arrived there, "Frog Lake"

district was a wilderness. During those three years I began to take some

interest in that "land of the setting sun,"--but, as yet, I scarcely

imagined that I would ever see the places he described. In 1882, my

husband returned to Ottawa and his principal object in coming, was to

take me, as his wife, away with him to his new home.

We were married in Aylmer on the 27th July, 1882. Our intention was to

start for the wilds on the first day of August. In the next chapter I

will take up that second period of my life and strive to describe our

trip and what we saw, learned and experienced during the following three

years.

My readers will have to excuse what may seem egotism on my part, in

speaking so much about myself and my husband. But as the subject demands

that I should detail, all that can be of any public interest, in my

short life, it would be difficult to write my story and not appear, at

times, somewhat egotistical.

This first chapter must necessarily be short, when one has nothing to

write about it is hard to fill up pages, and my life, and that of my

husband, so far as I know, were most uneventful up to the day of our

union, when

"We joined the hands of each other.

To move through the stillness and noise

_Dividing_ the _cares_ of existence,

But _doubling_ its _hopes_ and its _joys_."

My younger days seem to have passed away like a quiet dream, leaving but

a faint memory behind; but my last period of life resembles more some

frightful night-mare and I often wonder can it be true that I have

passed through such scenes or is the whole affair a fevered vision of

the night!

Now that I am safely home again with my good dear mother beside me, my

fond brothers and sisters around me, it would appear as if I had never

got married, never left them, never saw the north-west, never suffered

the exposure, loss, sorrow, turmoil, dangers and terrors of the late

rebellion. But fancy cannot destroy the truth--the real exists in spite

of the ideal, and, as I enter upon my description, faint and imperfect

as it may be, I feel my hand shake with nervous excitement, my pulse

throb faster, my heart beat heavier, as scene after scene of the great

drama passes before me, clear and perfect as when first enacted. Had I

only the language at my command, as I have the pictures before me, at

my summons--I feel that I could do justice to the subject. But as I

was never destined to be an authoress and my powers of composition were

dealt out to me with a sparing hand, I can but express my regret that an

abler writer does not hold my pen. A cloud has come over my life-dream.

The angel of death passed by and in the shadow of his wing a heavy and

better stroke was dealt. It may not be of much interest to the public

to know how I feel over my loss, but if each one would, for a moment,

suppose the case their own and then reflect upon what the feeling must

be. Let them attempt to write a cold, matter-of-fact statement of

the events, to detail them simply as they took place, without giving

expression to sentiments of sorrow, I think that, at least, ninety-nine

out of every hundred would fail, and the one who could succeed would

appear, in my mind, a person without heart or feeling, unable to love

and unworthy of affection.

I will strive to push on to the end of my undertaking without tiring

my readers, with vain expressions of sorrow, regret or pain; but do not

expect that I can relate the story from first to last, without giving

vent to my feelings.

There is one pleasure, however, in knowing that I have no complaints to

make, no blame to impute, no bitter feelings to arouse, no harsh words

to say. But on the contrary, I will try not to forget the kindness,

sympathy, and protection, that from one source or another were tendered

to me.

I hope this little book will please all who read it; amuse some;

instruct others; but I pray sincerely that not one of all my readers

may ever be placed in the painful situation through which I have passed.

Methinks some good prayers have gone up to heaven for me, and that the

Almighty lent an attentive ear to the supplications; for like the angel

that walked through the flaming furnace to protect the just men of old,

some spirit of good must have stood by my side to guide me in safety

through the fiery ordeal and to conduct me to that long wished for haven

of rest--my old home on the Aylmer Road.

CHAPTER II

MY MARRIAGE LIFE.

My wedding took place in the usual manner: the same congratulations,

presents, kisses, well-wishes all the world over. I need not dwell upon

the event any further.

On the 1st August, 1882, my husband took the train at Ottawa, _en route_

for the North-West. As far as the first portion of our trip is concerned

I have little or nothing to say, I could not see much from the car

window and every place was new to me and, in fact, one place seemed as

important as another in my eyes.

We passed through Toronto and thence to Sarnia, and on to Chicago. We

crossed to Port Huron and proceeded at once to St. Paul. This was

our first stoppage. We spent a day in St. Paul, and, indeed, the

city deserves a day, at least, from all who travel that way. It is a

beautiful place. However, it seemed to me much on the same plan and in

the same style as all the Western American cities. From St. Paul's we

went on to Winnipeg. I must say that I was not very favourably impressed

by my first visit to this metropolis of the North-West On my homeward

trip I found vast changes for the better in the place. Still it may have

been, only to my eye that the city appeared far from clean and anything

but attractive. I must admit that it was rainy weather--and oh! the mud!

I have heard that there are two classes of people leave Quebec after a

first visit--the one class are those who caught a first glimpse of

the Rock City on a beautiful day. These people are unceasing in their

admiration of Quebec. The other class are those, who came into the city,

for the first time, on a rainy day, when the streets were canals and

mud was ankle deep. It would be impossible to convince these people that

Quebec was anything but a filthy, hilly, crooked, ugly, unhealthy

place. I may be of the latter class, when I refer to Winnipeg. But most

assuredly I am not prejudiced, for since my last passage through that

city I have changed my idea of it completely.

From Winnipeg we proceeded by rail to Brandon and thence, by

construction train, to Troy. We were then four hundred miles from

Winnipeg and we had four hundred miles to travel. But our cars ceased

here. At Troy we got our tent ready, supplied ourselves with the

necessaries upon such a journey, and getting our buckboard into order,

we started upon the last, the longest and yet pleasantest part of our

voyage.

How will I attempt to describe it! There is so much to tell and yet I

know not what is best to record and what is best to leave out.

Half a day's journey from Troy we crossed the Qu'Appelle river. The

scenery upon the banks of that most picturesque of streams would demand

the pencil of a Claude Lorraine, or the pen of a Washington Irving to

do it justice. Such hills I never before beheld. Not altogether for size

but for beauty. Clad in a garb of the deepest green they towered aloft,

like the battlement of two rival fortresses--and while the sun lit up

the hills to our right, the shades of mid-day deepened upon the frowning

buttresses to our left. Every tree seemed to have a peculiar hue, a

certain depth of color completely its own. Indeed, one would imagine

that Dame Nature had been trying a gigantic crazy quilt and had flung it

over the bed of the Qu'Appelle valley, that all who went by might admire

her handiwork.

I might here remark that the days of the summer are longer, in the

north-west, than in the Ottawa district. In fact, we used to rise

at three o'clock in the morning and drive for three hours before our

breakfast. It would then be grey dawn and the flush of approaching

day-light could be seen over the eastern hills. At nine o'clock in the

evening it would be twilight The days of midwinter are proportionately

shorter.

The road we had to travel was a lovely one: at times it might be a

little rough, but indeed it could well compare with most of the roads

in our more civilized places. Nearly every night we managed to reach

a clump of bushes or shelter to camp. Except for two days, when on the

"Salt Plains," when like the caravans in the deserts of the east we had

to carry our own fuel and water.

We crossed the South Saskatchewan at Aroline--or the "Telegraph

Crossing," also known as Clark's Ferry--from the man who kept the ferry,

and who made the new trail running to the Touchwood Hills. We again

crossed the North Saskatchewan near Fort Pitt--which is thirty-five

miles from our destination.

We went by the river road, and after we crossed the salt plains, and

got into the woods at Eagle Creek, we had a splendid trip through a rich

fertile abundant farming country. The houses are not very attractive,

but the farms are really fine. I will dwell upon this question at a

greater length presently.

That less confusion may take place, I will sub-divide this chapter

into three sections. In the first I will speak of the farms and

farmers--their homes and how they live; in the second, I will describe

our own home and its surroundings; and in the third, I will speak of the

Indians under my husband's control, and tell how we got along during the

three years I was there.

THE FARMERS AND THEIR FARMS.

It would be out of place and even impossible for me, at present to give

you any figures relating to the crops and harvests of the North-West.

Suffice, to say that for two summers, at Frog Lake, in my husband's

district, we raised wheat that was pronounced by competent judges to

equal the best that ever grew in Ontario.

The land is fertile and essentially a grain-bearing soil. It is easy to

clear, and is comparatively very level. There is ample opportunity to

utilize miles upon miles of it, and the farms that exist, at present,

are evidences of what others might be. No one can tell the number of

people that there is room for in the country. Europe's millions might

emigrate and spread, themselves over that immense territory, and still

there would be land and ample place for those of future generations. We

were eight hundred miles from Winnipeg, and even at that great distance

we were, to use the words of Lord Dufferin, "only in the anti-chamber of

the great North-West."

The country has been well described by hundreds, it has also been

falsely reported upon by thousands. At first it was the "Great Lone

Land,"--the country of bleak winter, eternal snow and fearful blizzards.

Then it became a little better known, and, suddenly it dawned upon

the world that a great country lie sleeping in the arms of nature, and

awaiting the call of civilization to awaken it up and send it forth on

a mission of importance. The "boom" began. All thoughts were directed to

the land of the Rockies. Pictures of plenty and abundance floated before

the vision of many thousands. Homes in the east were abandoned to rush

into the wilds of the West. No gold fever of the South was ever more

exciting, and to add thereto, they found that the government proposed

building a line of railway from end to end of the Dominion. Then the

Frazer, Saskatchewan, Red River and Assiniboine became household words.

In this story of a fancied land of plenty, there was much truth, but as

in every case in life, there was much falsehood as well. It suited the

purpose of monied speculators to laud to the skies the North-west in

general. But rich and extensive as the land may be, no man can expect to

make a fortune there, unless through hard labor, never ceasing exertion

and great watchfulness. There, as in all other lands, you must "earn

your bread by the sweat of your brow." That sentence passed on man,

when the first sin darkened his soul, shall exist and be carried into

execution unto the end of time. And no man is exempt, and no land is

free from it. Many have failed in finding riches in the North-West; gold

did not glitter along the highway, nor were precious stones to be picked

up in every foot path. The reason is, because they went there expecting

to have no work to do, merely to sit down, to go to bed, to sleep and

wake up some morning millionaires. But those who put their shoulder to

the wheel and their hands to the plough, turned up as rich a soil

as England's flag floats over, and sowed seeds that gave returns as

plentiful as the most abundant harvests on the continent. It would do

one good to drive along the river road by the Saskatchewan, and observe

those elegant, level, fertile, well tilled farms that dot the country.

It is a great distance to procure materials for building, and as yet the

most of the houses are rough and small, but comfortable and warm, and

sufficient for the needs of the farmers.

Much of the labor is done in the old style, as in my own native place,

before the days of machinery. But soon we will see the mower and reaper

finding their way into the very furthest settlements--and if ever there

was a country laid out for the use of machinery it is certainly the

north-west.

Before many years, there will be good markets for the produce, as the

towns are growing up pretty rapidly and the railroad is lending a great

encouragement to the farmers near the line.

Half a century ago the country was unheard of, save through the Hudson

Bay Company's agents and factors: quarter of a century ago it was

considered a _probably_ future portion of our Dominion. Behold it

to-day! Its cities, its roads, its villages, its farms, its inhabitants!

What then may the immense territory not become before fifty years more

shall have rolled into eternity? I do not feel myself competent to

judge-but I have no doubt but it will become the grainery of the

continent and the supplier of half Europe.

The farmer in the Provinces who has a good farm and who can make a fair

living would be foolish to leave it for the hazard of an attempt in

the new country. But should a person be commencing life and have the

intention of depending upon themselves, their own exertion and energy,

then the sun shines not on a finer land, holding out a broader prospect

than in that great country that lies towards the Pacific.

I have only spoken hurriedly and from a general standpoint of the

farmers, and when I say farmers, I mean white people. The Indian fanning

is of a different nature altogether. That will demand my attention

before I close this chapter.

FROG LAKE AND SURROUNDINGS.

Although the name of the place would indicate that the lake abounded in

frogs, still I have no recollection of seeing any extra number of them

around the place. I think the name comes from a tradition--perhaps in

some age, long lost in the twilight of Indian story, the frogs may have

been more plentiful in that special locality than elsewhere. Twenty

miles for our farm and twelve miles from Fort Pitt is "Onion Lake",

farm, where my husband spent his first winter. I cannot tell how

that place got its name no more than how our district was called

_Aieekesegahagan_. When I first arrived at Frog Lake there were no

buildings excepting my husband's house and warehouse--a shed and garden,

added thereto, formed the whole establishment. These were built by my

husband. Since then, in the course of three years that I was there,

several buildings were put up, until, in fine, our little settlement

became quite a village.

Mr. Quinn's, (the agent) house, and his storehouse, were erected since

I arrived there. Mr. Quinn was the gentleman whose name has appeared so

much in the public prints since the sad events of the second of April

last. When I come to my experience during the last three months of my

North-West life, I will give more fully the story of Mr. Quinn's fate.

There were three reserves near us, the Indians upon which were under my

husband's control--In the next section of this chapter I will refer to

these bands and give what I know about them.

The scenery around Frog Lake is surpassingly beautiful. We lived on Frog

Creek, which runs from the Lake into the North Saskatchewan. In October

last, Mr. Gowanlock, who shared the same fate as my husband, and whose

kind and gentle wife was my companion through all the troubles and

exposures of our captivity and escape, began to build a mill two miles

from our place, on the waters of Frog Creek. He put up a saw mill and

had all the timber ready to complete a grist mill, when he was cut short

in his early life, and his wife was cast upon the mercy of Providence.

They lived two miles from us. Many of those whom I knew were mill hands.

Gilchrist who was killed, was an employee of Mr. Gowanlock.

Frog Lake is pretty large. I know that in one direction it is twelve

miles long. In the centre of the lake is a large island, that is clothed

in a garb of evergreen. The pine and spruce upon it are extra large,

sound and plentiful. In fact it would be difficult to find a place where

better timber for building and other purposes, could be cut. The place

is gradually becoming developed, and when I consider all that has been

done, in the way of improvement, since I first went there, I would not

be surprised to learn, that in the near future, the principal parts of

the country shall be under cultivation, that the clang of the mill shall

be heard upon every stream, and that down the Saskatchewan may float the

produce of a fresh, a virgin, a teeming soil, to supply the markets of

the Old World, and to supplant the over-worked fields of the eastern

countries.

Also since my arrival at the Frog Lake Reserve, the priest's house, the

school house and church were built. Even there in the far west, away so

to speak, from the atmosphere of civilization, beyond the confines of

society, we have what Sir Alexander Selkirk mourned for so much, when

alone on Juan Fernandez--_Religion_. Even there, the ministers of the

Gospel, faithful to their duties, and mindful of the great command to

"go forth and teach all nations,"--leaving their homes and friends in

the land of the east, seek out the children of those Indian tribes, and

bring to them the lights of faith and instruction. Untiring in their

exertions, indefatigable in their labors, they set a glorious example,

and perform prodigies of good. The church was small, but neat, although

its ornaments are few, still I am sure that as fervent and as acceptable

prayers went up, like incense, towards heaven, and blessings as choice,

like dew, fell upon the humble worshippers, as ever the peal of the

cathedral organ announced, or as ever descended upon the faithful

beneath the gorgeous domes of the most splendid Basilicas. Memory

still often summons up before me the scenes of silent, dusky, faithful

children of the forest, kneeling in prayer, and with mingled feelings of

awe, wonder, admiration and confidence, listening to the divine truths

as explained in their own language, by the missionaries. But the picture

becomes dark, when I reflect upon the fate of the two good men whose

sad story I have yet to tell. Most assuredly theirs was a _confession of

blood_--and dying at their posts, faithful to their mission, relieving

the soul of an expiring Christian when the hand of death fell upon them.

Theirs must have been a triumphal entry into heaven, to the kingdom

of God! The great cross that the 90th Battalion placed over the united

graves of the victims of the Frog Lake massacre, is a fitting emblem and

a worthy monument; its base rests upon the soil that covers their union

in the grave, but its summits points to where their souls are united

above.

I will now take up the question of the Indians under my husband's

control, and I will tell how they got along, improved, and were

contented and happy. That will bring me to my last and all important

chapter--the one which will contain the story so tragically mournful.

THE INDIANS AS THEY ARE

It would not become me, perhaps, to comment upon the manner in which the

country is governed, and the Indians instructed, for I am no politician.

In fact I don't know one party from another except by name. But I cannot

permit this occasion, the last I may ever have, to go past without

saying plainly what I think and what I know about the north-west and its

troubles.

The half-breeds, or whites or others may have real or imaginary

grievances that they desire to see redressed. If they have, I know

nothing about them; I never had anything to do with them and maybe I

could not understand the nature of their claims, even if explained to

me. But be that as it may--even if I did know aught I would not feel

myself justified in writing down that which I could only have learned by

hear say. But there is one thing I do know and most emphatically desire

to express and have thoroughly understood and that is the fact, _the

Indians have no grievances and no complaints to make_. Their treatment

is of the best and most generous kind. The government spares no pains to

attempt to make them adopt an agricultural life, to teach them to rely

upon their own strength, to become independent people and good citizens.

Of the Indians I can speak openly for I know them thoroughly. There may

be, here and there, a bad man amongst them; but as a people they are

submissive, kind, and, if only from curiosity, they are anxious to

learn. My husband remarked that according as they advanced in their

agricultural knowledge that they commenced to have a liking for it. And

I noticed the same in the young squaws whom I undertook to instruct in

household duties.

Many an English, Scotch or Irish farmer, when he comes poor to Canada

and strives to take up a little farm for himself, if he had only one

half the advantages that the government affords to the Indians, he would

consider his fortune forever made. They need never want for food. Their

rations are most regularly dealt out to them and they are paid to

clear and cultivate their own land. They work for themselves and are,

moreover, paid to do so--and should a crop fail they are certain of

their food, anyway. I ask if a man could reasonably expect more? Is it

not then unjust to lead these poor people into a trouble which--can but

injure them deeply! If half-breeds have grievances let them get them

redressed if they chose, but let them not mix up the Indians in their

troubles. The Indians, have nothing to complain of and as a race they

are happy their quite home of the wilderness and I consider it a great

shame for evil-minded people, whether whites or half-breeds, to instill

into their excitable heads the false idea that they are presecuted by

the government. In speaking thus I refer to _our_ Indians that is to say

those under my late husband's control. But if all government agencies

and reserves are like that at Frog Lake, I hesitate not to say, that the

government is over good to the restless bands of the west.

I have no intention in my sketch to use any names--for if I mention

one of my friends I should mention them all and that would be almost

impossible. No more will I mention the names of any persons who might

be implicated in the strange and dishonest acts that have taken place

previous to, during and since the outbreak. Yet I feel it a duty to

present a true picture of the situation of the Indian bands and of the

two great powers that govern in the country and whose interests are the

very opposite of each other.

These two governing parties are the Hudson Bay Company and the Dominion

Government. There is not the slightest doubt, but their interests are

directly opposed. The company has made its millions out of the fur trade

and its present support is the same trade. The more the Indians hunt the

more the Company can make. Now the Government desires to civilize them

and to teach them to cultivate the soil. The more the Indian works on

his farm the less the Company gets in the way of fur. Again, the more

the Government supplies the Indians with rations the less the Company

can sell to them.

Two buffalos are not given for a glass of whiskey--one-third highwines

and two-thirds water--as when the Company had full sway. The fire-water

is not permitted to be brought to them now. No longer have the Indians

to pay the exorbitant prices for pork, flour, tea, &c., that the Company

charged them. The Government has rendered it unnecessary for them

to thus sacrifice their time and means. Did the Company ever try to

civilize or christianize the Indians! Most certainly not. The more

they became enlightened the less hold the Company would have upon them.

Again, if it were not for the Government, the lights of the gospel would

scarcely ever reach them. The more the Government civilizes them and

developes the country, the less plentiful the game becomes, and the less

profit the Company can make. Therefore it is that I say, the interests

of the Company and those of the Government are contradictory. The former

wants no civilization, plenty of game, and Indians that will hunt all

the year around. The latter require agriculture, the soil to be taken

from the wild state, the rays of faith and instruction to penetrate the

furthest recess of the land, and to have a race that can become worthy

of the dignity of citizens in a civilized country. So much the worse

for the Government if the Indians rebel and so much the worse for the

Indians themselves; but so much the better for the Company's interests.

I have my own private opinions upon the causes of the rebellion but do

not deem it well or proper to express them. There are others besides the

half-breeds and Big Bear and his men connected with the affair. There

are many objects to be gamed by such means and there is a "wheel within

a wheel" in the North-West troubles.

As far as I can judge of the Indian character, they are not, at all, an

agricultural people--nor for a few generations are they likely to become

such. Their habits are formed, their lives are directed in a certain

line--like a sapling you can bend at will and when grown into a tree you

can no longer change its shape-so with them. From time immemorial they

have ranged the woods and it is not in the present nor even the next

generation that you can uproot that inclination. Take the negro from

the south and place him amongst the ice-bergs of the arctic circle and

strive to make him accustomed to the hunting of the seal or harpooning

of the walrus;--or else bring down an Esquimaux and put him into a

sugar-cane plantation of the topics. In fact, take a thorough going

farmer from the old-country and attempt to accustom him to hunt moose

and trap beaver. He may get expert at it; but give him a chance and he

will soon fling away the traps and pick up the spade, lay down the rifle

and take hold of the plough. So it is with the Indians--they may get a

taste for farming, but they prefer to hunt. Even the best amongst them

had to have a month every spring and another month every fall to hunt.

And they would count the weeks and look as anxiously forward to those

few days of freedom, of unbridled liberty, as a school-boy looks forward

to his mid-summer holidays.

Yet, in spite of this hankering after the woods and the freedom of the

chase, they are a people easily instructed, quick to learn, (when they

like to do so), and very submissive and grateful. But they are very,

very improvident. So long as they have enough for to-day, let to-morrow

look out for itself. Even upon great festivals such as Christmas, when

my husband would give them a double allowance of rations, they would

come before our house, fire off their guns as a token of joy and thanks,

and then proceed with their feast and never stop until they had the

double allowance all eaten up and not a scrap left for the next day.

In my own sphere I was often quite amused with the young squaws. They

used to do my house-work for me. I would do each special thing for

them--from cleaning, scrubbing, washing, cooking to sewing, fancy work,

&c. and they would rival each other in learning to follow me. They would

feel as proud when they could perform some simple little work, as a

child feels when he has learned his A. B. Cs. With time and care, good

house-keepers could be made of many of them, and it is too bad to see

so many clever, naturally gifted, bright creatures left in ignorance and

misery. I think it was in Gray's Elegy that I read the line: "How many

a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its fragrance on the desert

air."

When I look back over these three years, I feel a pang of more than

sorrow. Ours was a happy home; I grew to like my surroundings, I became

fond of my Indian protegees, and to crown all, in December last, Mrs.

Gowanlock came to live near us. I felt that even though a letter from

home should be delayed, that I would not feel as lonesome as before.

My husband was generous to a fault. He was liked by all the bands;--our

white neighbours were few, but they were splendid people, fast and true

friends, and I might say since Mrs. Gowanlock arrived, I felt at home; I

looked upon the place as my own, and the Indian children as my children;

the same as my husband looked upon the men as his care, and they

regarded him as a father. It was no longer to be a lonely life. It was

to become a life of usefulness, joy, labor, peace and contentment. Such

was the vision I had of the future, about the middle of last winter! But

who knows what is in store for us! "There is a Providence that shapes

our ends, rough-hew them as we will!"

I will here quote a few lines from deposition given at Regina: "When he,

(my husband) first came up here, he had five bands to look after until a

year ago, when the Chippewans were taken from his supervision and given

to Mr. John Fitzpatrick. A little later, Mr. Fitzpatrick was transferred

to another jurisdiction, and the Chippewans came again under my

husband's care. He then had to look after the Chippewans, Oneepewhayaws,

Mistoo-Kooceawsis and Puskeakeewins, and last year he had Big Bear's

tribe. He was so engaged when the outbreak took place. All the Indians

were very peacably inclined and most friendly to us all. My husband

was much respected, and really beloved by all under his care, and

they seemed to be most attached to him. We were, therefore, greatly

astonished at their action towards us, but after all it was only

Big Bear's followers that showed their enmity towards us. These too,

pretended to be most friendly, and have often told us, 'that but for my

husband they would have starved.'"

With this, I close my second chapter, and will now, in the third offer

my readers a picture of the scenes from the first of April last until

the close of the struggle.

CHAPTER III.

THE NORTH-WEST TROUBLE.

There are scenes that are hard to properly describe. There are parts

of our lives that can never be reproduced or transmitted to others

upon paper. As Father Abram J. Ryan, the Poet Priest of the South so

beautifully tells us:

"But far on the deep there are billows,

That never shall break on the beach;

And I have heard Songs in the Silence,

That never shall float into speech;

And I have had dreams in the Valley,

_Too lofty for language to reach."_

So with me and my story. However I may have succeeded so far in

expressing what I desired to convey to the public, I feel confident that

I am far from able to do justice to this last chapter. The events crowd

upon my mind in a sort of kaliedescope confusion and scarcely have the

intention of giving expression to an idea, than a hundred others crop

up to usurp its place in my mind. Although I will tell the story of the

tragic events as clearly and as truthfully as is possible, still I

know that years after this little sketch is printed, I will remember

incidents that now escape my memory. One has not time, or inclination,

when situated as I was, to take a cool survey of all that passes and

commit to memory every word that might be said or remark that might

be made. Notwithstanding the fear I have of leaving out any points of

interest or importance, I still imagine that my simple narrative will

prove sufficient to give an idea, imperfect though it may be, of all

the dangers we passed through, the sufferings we underwent, and the

hair-breadth escapes we had.

Up to the 30th of March, 1885, we had not the faintest idea that a

rebellion existed, nor that half-breeds and Indians were in open revolt.

On that day we received two letters, one from Captain Dickens, of Fort

Pitt, and one from Mr. Rae, of Battleford. Mr. Dickens' letter was

asking all the whites to go down to Fort Pitt for safety as we could not

trust the Indians; and Mr. Rae's letter informed us of the "Duck Lake"

battle and asking us to keep the' Indians up there and not let them down

to join Poundmaker. When we were informed of the great trouble that was

taking place, Mr. and Mrs. Gowanlock were apprised of the fact and they

came up to our place for safety. My husband had no fear for himself, but

he had slight misgivings as to poor Mr. Quinn's situation. Mr. Quinn was

the agent in that district and was a Sioux half-breed. Johnny Pritchard,

his interpreter, was a Cree half-breed. My husband decided at once not

to go to Fort Pitt. It would be a shame for us, he thought, to run away

and leave all the Government provisions, horses, &c., at the mercy of

those who would certainly take and squander them, moreover he feared

nothing from the Indians. His own band were perfectly friendly and

good--and not ten days previous, Big Bear had given him a peace-pipe or

_calumet_, and told him that he was beloved by all the band.

However, knowing the Indian character so well, and being aware that the

more you seemed to confide in them the more you were liked by them, he

and Mr. Quinn concluded to hold a council with the chiefs and inform

them of the news from Duck Lake, impressing upon them the necessity of

being good and of doing their work, and not minding those troublesome

characters that were only bringing misery upon themselves.

Consequently, on the first of April, the council was held, but to their

great astonishment and dismay, the Indians knew more than they did about

the affair, and, in fact, the Indians knew all about the troubles,

long before news ever reached us, at Frog Lake, of the outbreak. At the

council were "Aimasis" (The King-bird), one of Big Bear's sons and "The

Wandering Spirit." They said that Big Bear had a bad name, but now that

he had a chance he would show himself to be the whiteman's friend. All

day, the 1st of April, they talked and held council, and finally the

Indians went home, after shaking hands with my husband. They then told

him that the half-breeds intended to come our way to join Riel! that

they also intended to steal our horses, but that we need not fear as

they (the Indians) would protect us and make sure no horses would be

taken and no harm would be done. They also told us to sleep quiet and

contented as they would be up all night and would watch. Big Bear,

himself, was away upon a hunt and only got to the camp that night,

we did not see him until next morning. During that day, the Indians,

without an exception, asked for potatoes and of course they got them.

They said we did not need so much potatoes and they would be a treat for

them as they meant to make a big feast that night and have a dance.

Now as to their statement about the half-breeds coming to take horses or

anything else we did not know whether to believe them or not. Of course

it would never do to pretend to disbelieve them. However, the shadow

of a doubt hung over each of us. We knew that the Indians had a better

knowledge of all that was taking place than we had, and since they knew

so much about the troubles, it looked probable enough that they should

know what movements the half-breeds were to make. And moreover, they

seemed so friendly, so good-spirited and in fact so free from any

appearance of being in bad humor, that it would require a very

incredulous character not to put faith in their word.

But on the other hand it seemed strange, that, if they knew so much

about our danger, they never even hinted it to us until our men first

spoke of it to them. However, be these things as they may, we felt

secure and still something told us that all was not well: often to

others as well as to Campbell's wizard,

"The sun set of life, gives them mystical lore--

And coming events cast their shadows before."

Thus we parted on the night of the first of April, and all retired to

bed, to rest, to dream. Little did some amongst us that it was to be

their last sleep, their last rest upon imagine earth, and that before

another sun would set, they would be "sleeping the sleep that knows

no waking"--resting the great eternal rest from which they will not

be disturbed until the trumpet summons the countless millions from

the tomb. Secure as we felt ourselves, we did not dream of the deep

treachery and wicked guile that prompted those men to deceive their

victims. The soldier may lie down calmly to sleep before the day of

battle, but I doubt if we could have reposed in such tranquility if

the vision of the morrow's tragedy had flashed across our dreams. It is

indeed better that we know not the hour, nor the place! And again, is it

not well that we should ever be prepared, so that no matter how or when

the angel of death may strike, we are ready to meet the inevitable and

learn "the great Secret of Life and Death!"

At about half past-four on the morning of the second of April, before

we were out of bed, Johnny Pritchard and Aimasis came to our house and

informed my husband that the horses had been stolen by the half-breeds.

This was the first moment that a real suspicion came upon our mind.

Aimasis protested that he was so sorry. He said that no one, except

himself and men, were to blame. He said dial they danced nearly all

night and when it got on towards morning that all fell asleep, and that

the half-breeds must have been upon the watch, for it was then that they

came and stole the horses. The two then left us and we got up. About

an hour after, Aimises came back and told us not to mind the horses, as

they would go and hunt for them and bring them back.

I since found out, that as the horses were only two miles away in the

woods, they feared that my husband might go and find them himself and

that their trick would be discovered. It is hard to say how far they

intended, at that time, to go on with the bad work they had commenced.

In about half an hour some twenty Indians came to the house, Big Bear

was not with them, nor had they on war-paint, and they asked for our

guns, that is my husband's and Mr. Quinn's. They said they were short of

firearms and that they wished to defend us against the half-breeds. No

matter what our inclinations or misgivings might then be, we could not

however refuse the arms. They seemed quite pleased and went away. An

hour had scarcely elapsed when over thirty Indians painted in the most

fantastic and hedious manner came in. Big Bear also came, but he wore

no war-paint. He placed himself behind my husband's chair. We were all

seated at the table taking our breakfast. The Indians told us to eat

plenty as we would not be hurt. They also ate plenty themselves--some

sitting, others standing, scattered here and there through the room,

devouring as if they had fasted for a month.

Big Bear then remarked to my husband that there would likely be some

shooting done, but for him not to fear, as the Indians considered him

as one of themselves. Before we had our meal finished Big Bear went

out. The others then asked us all to go up to the church with them. We

consequently went, Mr. and Mrs. Gowanlock, Mr. Dill, Mr. Williscraft, my

husband and myself.

When we arrived at the church the mass was nearly over. The Indians, on

entering, made quite a noise, and clatter. They would' not remove their

hats or head-dresses, they Would not shut the door, nor remain silent,

in fact, they did anything they considered provoking and ugly. The

good priest, the ill-fated Father Fafard, turned upon the altar, and

addressed them. He warned them of the danger of excitement and he also

forbade them to do any harm. He told them to go quietly away to their

camps and not disturb the happiness and peace of the community. They

seemed to pay but little attention to what they heard, but continued the

same tumult. Then Father Fafard took off his vestments and cut short

the mass, the last that he was destined ever to say upon earth; the next

sacrifice he would offer was to be his own life. He as little dreamed as

did some of the others that before many hours their souls would be with

God, and that their bodies would find a few days sepulchre beneath that

same church, whose burnt ruins would soon fall upon their union in the

clay.

The Indians told us that we must all go back to our place. We obeyed and

the priests came also. When we reached the house the Indians asked for

beef-cattle. My husband gave them two oxen. Some of the tribe went out

to kill the cattle. After about an hour's delay and talk, the Indians

told us to come to their camp so that we would all be together and that

they could aid us the better against the half-breeds. We consequently

started with them.

Up to this point, I might say, the Indians showed us no ill-will, but

continually harped upon the same chord, that they desired to defend and

to save us from the half-breeds. So far they got everything they asked

for, and even to the last of the cattle, my husband refused nothing.

We felt no dread of death at their hands, yet we knew that they were

excited and we could hot say what they might do if provoked. We now

believed that the story of the half-breeds was to deceive us and throw

us off our guard--and yet we did not suspect that they meditated the

foul deeds that darkened the morning of the second of April, and that

have left it a day unfortunately, but too memorable, in the annals of

Frog Lake history.

When I now look back over the events, I feel that we all took a proper

course, yet the most unfortunate one for those that are gone. We could

have no idea of the murderous intentions on the part of the Indians.

Some people living in our civilized country may remark, that it was

strange we did not notice the peculiar conduct of the Indians. But those

people know nothing either of the Indian character or habits. So far

from their manner seeming strange, or extraordinary, I might say, that

I have seen them dozens of times act more foolishly, ask more silly

questions and want more rediculous things--even appear more excited.

Only for the war-paint and what Big Bear had told us, we would have had

our fears completely lulled by the seemingly open and friendly manner.

I have heard it remarked that it is a wonder we did not leave before the

second of April and go to Fort Pitt; I repeat, nothing at all appeared

to us a sign of alarm, and even if we dreaded the tragic scenes, my

husband would not have gone. His post was at home; he had no fear that

the Indians would hurt him; he had always treated them well and they

often acknowledged it; he was an employee of the Government and had

a trust in hand; he would never have run away and left the Government

horses, cattle, stores, provisions, goods, &c., to be divided and

scattered amongst the bands, he even said so before the council day.

Had he ran away and saved his life, by the act, I am certain he would

be then blamed as a coward and one not trustworthy nor faithful to his

position. I could not well pass over this part of our sad story without

answering some of those comments made by people, who, neither through

experience nor any other means could form an idea of the situation. It

is easy for me to now sit down and write out, if I choose, what ought to

have been done; it is just as easy for people safe in their own homes,

far from the scene, to talk, comment and tell how they would have acted

and what they would have done. But these people know no more about the

situation or the Indians, than I know about the Hindoos, their mode of

life, or their habits.

Before proceeding any further with my narrative--and I am now about to

approach the grand and awful scene of the tragedy--I will attempt,

as best I can, to describe the Indian war-paint--the costume, the

head-dress and attitudes. I imagined once that all the stories

that American novelists told us about the

war-dance,--war-whoops,--war-paint,--war-hatchet or tomahawk, were but

fiction drawn from some too lively imaginations. But I have seen them in

reality, more fearful than they have ever been described by the pen of

novelist or pencil of painter.

Firstly, the Indians adorn their heads with feathers, about six inches

in length and of every imaginable color. These they buy from the Hudson

Bay Company. Also it is from the Company they procure their paints.

An Indian, of certain bands, would prefer to go without food than be

deprived of the paint. Our Indians never painted, and in fact Big Bear's

band used to laugh at the Chippewans for their quiet manners and strict

observance of their religious duties. In fact these latter were very

good people and often their conduct would put to the blush white people.

They never would eat or even drink a cup of tea without first saying

a grace, and then, if only by a word,--thanking God for what they

received. But those that used the paint managed to arrange their persons

in the most abomonable and ghastly manner. With the feathers, they mix

porcupine quills and knit the whole into their hair--then daub, their

head with a species of white clay that is to be found in their country.

They wear no clothing except what they call loin-cloth or breach-cloth,

and when they, go on the war-path, just as when they went to attack

Fort Pitt, they are completely naked. Their bodies are painted a bright

yellow, over the forehead a deep green, then streaks of yellow and

black, blue and purple upon the eyelids and nose. The streaks are a deep

crimson, dotted with black, blue, or green. In a word, they have every

imaginable color. It is hard to form an idea of how hedious they appear

when the red, blue, green and white feathers deck the head, the body a

deep orange or bright yellow and the features tatooed in all fantastic

forms. No circus clown could ever equal their ghostly decorations. When

one sees, for the first time, these horrid creatures, wild, savage, mad,

whether in that war-dance or to go on the war-path, it is sufficient to

make the blood run cold, to chill the senses, to unnerve the stoutest

arm and strike terror into the bravest heart.

Such was their appearance, each with a "greenary-yellowy" hue, that one

assumes when under the electric light, when we all started with them

for their camp. We were followed and surrounded by the Indians. The two

priests, Mr. and Mrs. Gowanlock, Mr. Gilchrist, Mr. Williscraft, Mr.

Dill, Mr. Gouin, Mr. Quinn, my husband and myself formed the party of

whites. My husband and I walked ahead. When we had got about one acre

from the house we heard shots, which we thought were fired in the air.

We paid little or no attention to them. I had my husband by the arm. We

were thus linked when old Mr. Williscraft rushed past, bear-headed. I

turned my head to see what was the cause of his excitement, when I saw

Mr. Gowanlock fall. I was about to speak when I felt my husband's arm

drop from mine--and he said, "I am shot too." Just then the priests

rushed up and Father Fafard was saying something in French, which I

could not catch. My husband staggered over about twenty feet from me and

then back again and fell down beside me. I bent down and raised his head

upon my lap. I think over forty shots must have been fired, but I could

not tell what side the shot came from that hit my husband. I called

Father Fafard and he came over. He knelt down and asked my husband if he

could say the "confiteor." My husband said "yes" and then repeated the

prayer from end to end. As he finished the prayer, the priest said: "my

poor brother, I think you are safe with God," and as the words died

upon his lips he received his death-wound and fell prostrate across my

husband. I did not see who fired the shot. I only saw one shot fired; I

thought it was for myself but it was for my husband and it finished him.

In a couple of minutes an Indian, from the opposite side, ran up, caught

me by the wrist and told me to go with him. I refused, but I saw another

Indian shake his head at me and tell me to go on. He dragged me by force

away. I got one glance-the last-at my poor husband's body and I was

taken off. After we had gone a piece I, tried to look back-but the

Indian gave me a few shakes pretty roughly and then dragged me through

the creek up to my waist in water--then over a path full of thorns and

briars and finally flung me down in his tent.

I will not now stay to describe my feelings or attempt to give in

language, an idea of the million phantoms of dread and terror; memory

seemed but too keen, and only too vividly could I behold the repetition

of the scenes that had just passed before me. I stayed all day in the

tent. I had the hope that some one would buy me off. Yet the hope was

mingled with dispair. I thought if I could see Alec, one of our own

Indians, that he would buy me, but I could not find out were he was.

Towards evening I went to Johnny Pritchard's tent and asked him to buy

me. He said he had been trying all day but could not succeed, however he

expected to strike a bargain before night. He had only one horse and

the Indians wanted two horses for me. As good luck would have it, he got

Nolin--another half-breed--to give the second horse. It was all they had

and yet they willingly parted with that _all,_ to save me from inhuman

treatment, and even worse than a hundred deaths. There was a slight

relief in knowing that I was out of the power of the painted devil that

held me, since my husband's death. But we were far from safe. Pritchard

took me to his own tent, and placed me with his wife and family. There

I felt that if there existed any chance of an escape at all I would be

able to take advantage of it. I fully trusted to Pritchard's manliness

and good character, and I was not deceived. He not only proved himself

a sincere friend and a brave fellow, but he acted the part of a perfect

gentleman, throughout, and stands, ever since, in my estimation the type

of God's noblest creatures--A TRULY GOOD MAN.

For three weeks I was watched, as a cat would watch a mouse. All night

long the Indians kept prowling about the tent, coming in, going out,

returning; they resembled, at times, a pack of wolves skulking around

their prey, and, at times, they appeared to resemble a herd of demons as

we see them represented in the most extravagant of frightful pictures.

However, Pritchard spoke to them and their attentions became less

annoying. They may have watched as closely as ever and I think they did,

but they seldom came into my tent and when they did come in, it was only

for a moment. I slept in a sitting position and whenever I would wake

up, in a startled state from some fevered dream, I invariably saw, at

the tent door, a human eye riveted upon me.

Imagine yourself seated in a quiet room at night, and every time you

look at the door, which is slightly ajar, you catch the eye of a man

fixed upon you, and try then to form an idea of my feelings. I heard

that the human eye had power to subdue the most savage beast that roams

the woods; if so, there must be a great power in the organ of vision;

but I know of no object so awe-inspiring to look upon, as the naked eye

concentrated upon your features. Had we but the same conception of that

"all seeing eye," which we are told, continually watches us, we would

doubtlessly be wise and good; for if it inspired us with a proportionate

fear, we would possess what Solomon tells us in the first step to

wisdom--"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom."

But I never could describe all the miseries I suffered during those few

weeks. I was two months in captivity; and eight days afterwards we heard

of Major-General Strange's arrival, I managed to escape. The morning of

our escape seemed to have been especially marked out by providence for

us. It was the first and only time the Indians were not upon the close

watch. Up to that day, we used to march from sunrise to sunset, and all

night long the Indians would dance. I cannot conceive how human beings

could march all day, as they did, and then dance the wild, frantic

dances that they kept up all night. Coming on grey dawn they would tire

out and take some repose. Every morning they would tear down our tent

to see if we were in it. But whether attracted by the arrival of the

soldiers--by the news of General Strange's engagement--or whether they

considered we did not meditate flight, I cannot say--but most certainly

they neglected their guard that day.

Some of them came in as usual, but we were making tea, and they went

off. As soon as the coast was clear we left our tea, and all, and we

departed. Maybe they did not know which way we went, or perhaps they

were too much engaged with their own immediate danger to make chase, but

be that as it may, we escaped. It was our last night under the lynx-eyed

watchers. We went about two miles in the woods, and there hid. So far

I had no covering for my head, and but scant raiment for my body. The

season was very cold in April and May, and many a time I felt numb,

chill, and sick, but there was no remedy for it; only "grin and go

through." In the last part of my captivity, I suffered from exposure to

the sun. The squaws took all my hats, and I could not get anything to

cover my head, except a blanket, and I would not dare to put one on, as

I knew not the moment we might fall in with the scouts; and they might

take me for a squaw. My shawl had become ribbons from tearing through

the bush, and towards the end I was not able to get two rags of it

to remain together. There is no possibility of giving an idea of our

sufferings. The physical pains, exposures, dangers, colds, heats,

sleepless nights, long marches, scant food, poor raiment, &c., would

be bad enough,--but we must not loose sight of the mental anguish, that

memory, only two faithful, would inflict upon us, and the terror that

alternate hope and despair would compel us to undergo. I cannot say

which was the worst. But when united, our sad lives seemed to have

passed beneath the darkest cloud that could possibly hang over them.

When the Indians held their tea-dances or pow-wows in times of peace,

the squaws and children joined in, and it was a very amusing sight to

watch them. We often went three miles to look at a tea-dance, and I

found it as attractive and interesting as a big circus would be to the

children of a civilized place. But I had then no idea of the war-dance.

They differ in every respect. No fire-arms are used at the tea-dance,

and the guns and tomahawks and knives play the principal part in the

war dance. A huge fire throws its yellow, fitful light upon the grim

spectre-like objects that bound, leap, yell and howl, bend and pass, aim

their weapons, and using their tomahawks in a mimic warfare, a hideous

pantomine, around and across the blaze. Their gesticulations summon up

visions of murder, horror, scalps, bleeding and dangling at their belts,

human hearts and heads fixed upon their spears; their yells resemble at

times the long and distant howl of a pack of famished wolves, when on

the track of some hapless deer; and again their cries, their forms,

their actions, their very surroundings could be compared to nothing

else than some infernal scene, wherein the demons are frantic with

hell, inflamed passions. Each one might bear Milton's description in his

"Paradise Lost," of Death:

"The other shape--

If shape it might be called, that shape had none,

Distinguishable, in member, joint or limb:

* * * * *

black it stood as night.

Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as hell,

And shook a dreadful dart.--"

And the union of all such beings might also be described in the words of

the same author.

"The chief were those who from the pit of hell,

Roaming to seek their prey on earth, durst fix

Their seats; long after, next the seat of God,

Their altars, by his altar; gods adored

Among the nations round; and durst abide

Jehovah thundering out of Sion, throned

Between the cherubim; yea of 'en placed

Within his sanctuary itself their shrines,

Abominations: and with cursed things

His holy rites and solemn feasts profaned."

The scenes at the little church the morning of the second of April,-the

massacre of God's anointed priests, the desecration of the temple,

the robbery of the sacred vessels and ornaments, the burning of the

edifice-are not those the deeds of beings not human, but infernal? Is

the likeness too vivid or too true? But in the wild banquet of their

triumph, while still holding the sacred vessels, they were checked as of

old was Belshazzer. Those scenes shall never pass, from my memory, with

Freneau I can say

"And long shall timorous fancy see,

The painted chief, the pointed spear;

And reason's self shall bow the knee,

To shadows and delusions here"

Now that I have passed once more over the trying scenes of the sad and

eventful month of April, I will describe some of the dangers of our

position, how we moved, camped, slept, and cooked. I will come to the

transition from wild adventure to calm security, from the dangers of the

wilderness to the safety of civilization. Once free from the toils

of the Indians and back in the bosom of society, I will have but to

describe our trip home, tell of the kindness received, and close this

short sketch, bid "good-bye" to my kind and patient readers and return

to that quiet life, which God in His mercy has reserved for me.

After our escape, we travelled all day long in the same bush, so that

should the Indians discover us, we would seem to be still with them.

We had nothing to eat but bread and water. We dare not make fire as we

might be detected by the savages and then be subjected to a stricter

_surveillance_, and maybe punished for our wanderings. Thus speaking of

fire makes me think of the signals that the bands had, the beacons that

flared from the heights at stated times and for certain purposes. Even

before the outbreak, I remember of Indians coming to my husband and

telling him that they were going on a hunt, and if such and such a thing

took place, they would at a certain time and in a certain direction,

make a fire. We often watched for the fires and at the stated time we

would perceive the thin column of smoke ascend into the sky. For twenty

and thirty miles around these fires can be seen. They are made in a very

peculiar manner. The Indian digs a hole about a foot square and in that

start the flame. He piles branches or fagots up in a cone fashion, like

a bee-hive, and leaving a small hole in the top for the smoke to issue

forth, he makes a draught space below on the four sides. If the wind is

not strong, that tiny column of blue smoke will ascend to a height often

of fifty or sixty feet. During the war times they make use of these

fires as signals from band to band, and each fire has a conventional

meaning. Like the _phares_ that flashed the alarm from hill-top to

hill-top or the tocsin that sang from belfry to belfry in the Basse

Bretagne, in the days of the rising of the Vendee, so those beacons

would communicate as swiftly the tidings that one band or tribe had to

convey to another. Again, speaking of the danger of fire-making, I will

give an example of what those Indians did with men of their own tribe.

A few of their men desired to go to Fort Pitt with their families, while

the others objected. The couple of families escaped and reached the

opposite side of a large lake. The Indians did not know which direction

the fugitives had taken until noon the following day, when they saw

their fire for dinner, across the lake. They started, half by one side

and half by the other side of the lake, and came up so as to surround

the fugitives. They took their horses, blankets, provisions, and camps,

and set fire to the prairie on all sides so as to prevent the unhappy

families from going or returning. When they thus treated their own

people, what could white people expect at their hands?

The second day after our escape we travelled through a thicker bush and

the men were kept busy cutting roads for us. We camped four times to

make up for the day before, its fast and tramp. We made a cup of tea

and a bannock each time. The third day we got into the open prairie, and

about ten in the morning we lost our way. We were for ever three hours

in perplexity We feared to advance too much as we might be getting

farther from our proper track. About one o clock the sun appeared and

by means of it we regained our right course. At four we camped for the

night. We found a pretty clump of poplars and there pitched our tents

for a good repose. I had just commenced to make a bannock for our tea,

when Pritchard ran in and told me that the police were outside and for

me to go to them at once. I sincerely believe that it was at that moment

we ran the greatest of all our risks. The police had taken us for a band

of Indians, and were on the point of shooting at us when I came out and

arrested the act When they found who we were, they came in, placed their

guns aside, and gave us some corned beef and "hard tack," a species of

biscuit. These were luxuries to us, while out tea and bannock were a

treat to them. We all had tea together, and then we went with them to

the open prairie, where we travelled for about two hours Next morning we

moved into Fort Pitt. It was a glad sight to see the three steamboats,

and both sailors, soldiers, and civilians gave me a grand reception.

It was upon Friday morning that we got into Fort Pitt, and we remained

their until Sunday. On Friday night the military band came down

two miles to play for us. It was quite an agreeable change from the

"tom-tom" of the Indians. Next day we went to see the soldiers drill.

If I am not mistaken there were over 500 men there Sunday, we left per

boat, for Battleford, and got in that night. We had a pleasant trip on

the steamer "The Marquis." While at Fort Pitt we had cabins on board the

very elegant vessel "North West." We remained three weeks at Battleford,

expecting to be daily called upon as witnesses in some cases. We

travelled overland from Battleford to Swift Current, and thence by rail

to Regina. At Moose Jaw, half way between Swift Current and Regina, we

were greatly frightened. Such a number of people were collected to see

and greet us, that we imagined it was Riel and his followers who had

come to take us prisoners. Our fears were however, soon quelled. We

remained four days at Regina; thence we came to Winnipeg. There we

remained from Monday evening until Tuesday evening. Mostly all the

people in the city came to see us, and I cannot commence to enumerate

the valuable presents we received from the open-hearted citizens. We

stopped with a Mrs. Bennett; her treatment to us, was like the care of a

fond mother for her lost children.

We left on Thursday evening for Port Arthur, and thence we came by boat,

to Owen Sound. A person not in trouble could not help but enjoy the

glorious trip on the bosom of that immense inland sea. But, although we

were overjoyed to be once more in safety, and drawing nearer our homes,

yet memory was not sleeping, and we had too much to think off to

permit our enjoying the trip as it could be enjoyed. From Owen Sound we

proceeded to Parkdale by train. Parkdale is a lovely spot just outside

of Toronto. I spent the afternoon there, and at nine o'clock that night

left for home. I said good-bye to Mrs. Gowanlock; after all our sorrows,

troubles, dangers, miseries, which we partook in union, we found

it necessary to separate. And although we scarcely were half a year

acquainted, it seemed as if we had been play-mates in childhood, and

companions throughout our whole lives. But, as we could not, for

the present, continue our hand-in-hand journey, we separated merely

physically speaking--for "time has not ages, nor space has not

distance," to sever the recollections of our mutual trials.

I arrived home at 6 o'clock on Monday morning. What were my feelings as

I stepped down from the hack, at that door, where three years before I

stepped up into a carriage, accompanied by my husband! How different

the scene of the bride leaving three years ago, and the widow returning

to-day! Still, on the first occasion there were tears of regret at

parting, and smiles of anticipated pleasure and happiness--on the second

occasion there are tears of memory, and yet smiles of relief on my

escape, and happiness in my safe return.

My story draws to a close "Like a tale that is told," it possesses,

perhaps, no longer any interest for my readers. Yet, before dropping the

veil upon the past, and returning to that life, out of which I had been

forced by adverse circumstances. Before saying good-bye to the public

forever, I feel that I have a few concluding remarks which I should

make, and which I will now offer to my readers as an _adieu_!

CONCLUSION.

St. Thos A. Kempis, in his beautiful "Imitation of Christ," asks: "who

is it that has all which he wishes for? Not I, not you, nor any man

upon earth." Although, we often are disappointed in our expectations

of happiness, and fail to attain all we desire, yet we have much to be

thankful for. I have passed through more than I ever expected I would be

able to bear; and still I feel most grateful, and I would not close this

short sketch, without addressing a few words to those who are objects of

my gratitude.

Firstly, to my readers, I will say that all I have told you, in these

few passages, is the simple truth; nothing added thereto, nothing

taken therefrom. You have toiled through them despite the poverty of

composition and the want of literary style upon them; and now that the

story is told, I thank you for your patience with me, and I trust that

you may have enjoyed a few moments of pleasure at least, while engaged

in reading.

Secondly, let me say a word to my friends of the North-West, and to

those of Canada, I cannot name anyone in particular, as those whose

kindness was great, yet whose names were accidently omitted, would feel

perhaps, that I slighted their favors. Believe me, one and all, that (in

the words of a great orator of the last century), "my memory shall have

mouldered when it ceases to recall your goodness and kindness, my tongue

shall forever be silent, when it ceases to repeat your expressions

of sympathy, and my heart shall have ceased to beat when it throbs no

longer for your happiness."

The troubles of the North-West have proven that there is no land,

however, happy, prosperous or tranquil it may be, that is totally free

from the dangers of internal revolts,--it has likewise proven that our

country possesses the means, the strength, the energy and stamina, to

crush the hydra of disunion or rebellion, no matter where it may appear.

For like the upas tree, if it is permitted to take root and grow, its

proportions would soon become alarming, while its poisonous influence

would pollute the atmosphere with misery, ruin, rapine and death.

The rebellion is now a thing of the past. It is now a page in Canadian

history. When a few generations shall come and go; our sad story of the

"Frog Lake Massacre," may be totally forgotten, and the actors therein

consigned to oblivion; but, these few papers, should they by any chance,

survive the hand of time, will tell to the children of the future

Canada, what those of your day experienced and suffered; and when those

who are yet to be learn the extent of the troubles undergone, and the

sacrifices made by those of the present, to set them examples worthy

of imitation, and models fit for their practice, to build up for them

a great and solid nation, they may perhaps reflect with pride upon the

history of their country, its struggles, dangers, tempests and calms. In

those days, I trust and pray that Canada may be the realization of that

glowing picture of a grand nation, drawn by a Canadian poet--

"The Northern arch, whose grand proportions,

Spans the sky from sea to sea,

From Atlantic to Pacific--

Home of unborn millions free!"

The heartfelt sympathy of the country has been expressed in many forms,

and ever with deep effect, and has twined a garland to drop upon the

graves of those who sleep to-night away in the wilds of the North-West.

Permit me to add one flower to that chaplet. You who are mothers, and

know the value of your dutiful sons, while living, and have felt the

greatness of their loss, when dead; you, who are sisters, and have known

a brother's affection, the recollection of which draws you at times

to his last resting place, to decorate that home of the dead with

a forget-me-not; you, above all, who have experienced the love and

devotion of a husband, and have mourned over that flower which has

forever faded in death--you will not hesitate in joining with me, as I

express, though feebly, my regret, and bring my sincerest of tributes to

place upon the lonely grave by the Saskatchewan. Its united waters will

sing their _requiem_ while I say with Whittier:

"Green be the turf above thee,

Friend of my better days;

None knew thee but to love thee,

None named thee but to praise!"

END.

REV. ADELARD FAFARD.

Leon Adelard Fafard, as the name denotes, was a French Canadian, born at

St. Cuthbert, in the County of Berthier, Province of Quebec, on the

8th of June 1850. He was a son of Mr. Charles Fafard, cultivator, St.

Cuthbert, and brother of Dr. Chas. Fafard, Jr., Amherst, Montreal. He

entered the College of the Assumption on September 1st, 1864. From early

years, he was devoted to his religion, and an enthusiastic student. He

entered a monastic life on the 28th of June, 1872, and took his first

vows on the 29th of June, 1873, one year later, and his perpetual vows

on June the 29th, 1874.

In the Catholic Mission No. 839, July 3rd, 1885, Monseignor Grandire,

says, Poor Father Fafard belonged to the Diocese of Montreal; he entered

our congregation in 1872, and received his commission for my missions

in 1875. I ordained him priest on December 8th, 1875, and sent him

successively on missions to the savages under the direction of an

experienced father. He was always distinguished for his zeal and

good tact. For nearly two years he was Superior of a district, and by

superhuman efforts succeeded in making a fine establishment by working

himself, as a hired laborer, in order to diminish the expenses of his

district.

Rev. P. Lebert speaks of him as a pious, humble, subdued, very obedient,

full of good will and courage. He adds that he had talent and showed a

good disposition for preaching; his voice was full and strong, and his

health robust. He was beginning to see the fruits of his labors, when

on the 2nd of April, 1885, he was so fouly murdered while administering

consolation to dying men.

MR. DILL.

Geo. Dill, who was massacred at Frog Lake, was born in the Village of

Preston, in the County of Waterloo, Ont., and was at the time of his

death about 38 years of age. At the age of about 17 years, he joined his

brother, who was then trading for furs at Lake Nipissing, in 1864. In

1867 his brother left Nipissing, leaving him the business, which he

continued for a few years, when he left that place and located on a

farm on Bauchere Lake in the Upper Ottawa River. In 1872 he went to

Bracebridge, Muskoka, where his brother, Mr. J. W. Dill, the present

member for the Local Legislature, had taken up his residence and was

doing business. After a short time, he set up business as a general

store at Huntsville, where he remained until 1880; he then took a

situation in a hardware store in the Village of Bracebridge. While

living in Huntsville, he was married to Miss Cassleman, of that place.

They had a family of two children, who are now living somewhere in

Eastern Canada. In 1882, at the time of the Manitoba boom, he went to

see that country, and engaged with a Dominion Land Surveyor, retiring to

Bracebridge again in the winter following, remaining till spring 1883,

he again went to the North-West, and again engaged with a Surveyor; his

object was to secure a good location and settle down to farming, but his

inclination led him to trading again, and after speculating until the

fall of 1884, he left Battleford for Frog Lake.

He was the only trader in the Frog Lake district, and was well respected

by the community generally.

THE SASKATCHEWAN STREAM.

Mr. Delaney while in Ontario on a visit from the North-West, in the year

1882, for the purpose of taking back a bride, gave vent to the following

beautiful words:

I long to return to the far distant West,

Where the sun on the prairies sinks cloudless to rest,

Where the fair moon is brightest and stars twinkling peep;

And the flowers of the wood soft folded in sleep.

Oh, the West with its glories, I ne'er can forget,

The fair lands I found there, the friends I there met,

And memory brings back like a fond cherished dream;

The days I have spent by Saskatchewan stream.

By dark Battle river, in fancy I stray,

And gaze o'er the blue Eagle Hills far away,

And hark to the bugle notes borne o'er the plain,

The echoing hills giving back the refrain.

Ah, once more I'll go to my beautiful West,

Where nature is loveliest, fairest and best:

And lonely and long do the days to me seem,

Since I wandered away from Saskatchewan stream.

Ontario, home of my boyhood farewell,

I leave thy dear land in a fairer to dwell,

Though fondly I love thee, I only can rest,

'Mid the flower strewn prairie I found in the West.

And as by the wide rolling river I stray,

Till death comes at night like the close of the day,

The moon from the bright starry heavens shall gleam

On my home by the banks of Saskatchewan stream.