INTO THE WILDERNESS
Emerson was the gateway of the great invasion. Situated just on the
Canadian side of the International Boundary, the "farthest west" of
rail communication, on the threshold of the prairie country, it
seemed the strategical point for the great city which must arise with
the settlement and development of the fertile kingdom of territory
lying between the Lake of the Woods and the Rocky Mountains, and
between the Forty-ninth Parallel and the unknown northern limit of
agriculture. Sixty miles northward, at the junction of the Red and
Assiniboine Rivers, Winnipeg was throwing street-tendrils out from
her main traffic trunk which marked the route the Indian carts had
followed for years as they bore their buffalo hides and pemmican to
the Hudson's Bay Company's post at Fort Garry. Winnipeg was to be on
the main line of the Canadian Pacific Railway--at least, so the
promoters of its town-lot activity affirmed; but Selkirk, still
farther north, was already flourishing in the assurance that the
railway would cross the river at that point. But the Canadian Pacific
Railway as yet existed upon paper; its advance guard were pouring
nitro-glycerine into the rocks of the wild Lake Superior fastnesses,
and a little band of resolute men were risking financial disaster an
indomitable effort to drive through a project which had dismayed even
the Government of Canada. Some there were who said the Canadian
Pacific would never be built, many there were who said that if built
it always be a charge upon the country--that in the very nature of
things it could never become self-supporting.
So while Winnipeg and Selkirk indulged their visions Emerson was
already enjoying to the full the prosperity which accompanied the
inrush of settlers. Although the immigrants were not wealthy as the
term is now understood even in an agricultural community, most of
them had enough money to pay for their outfitting and place them on
their homesteads for operations. Accommodation in Emerson was at a
premium; hotel space was out of the question, and even the barest
rooms commanded mining-camp prices. Those commodities which the
settler must needs have had taken their cue from hotel prices, and
were quoted at figures that provoked much thoughtful head-scratching
on the part of the thrifty and somewhat close-fisted new arrivals
from the East.
Harris left his wife with a company of other women in the Government
immigration building while he set out to find, if possible, lodgings
where she might live until he was ready to take her to the homestead
country. He must first make a trip of exploration himself, and as
this might require several weeks his present consideration was to
place her in proper surroundings before he left. He soon found that
all the hotels were full, and had they not been full the prices
demanded were so exorbitant as to be beyond his reach; and even had
it been otherwise he would have asked her to share the hardships of
the exploration trip rather than leave her amid associations which
were all too apparent in the hotel section of the town. The parasites
and camp-followers of society, attracted by the easy money that might
be wrung in devious ways from the inflowing tide of farmers, were
already represented in force, and flaunted brazenly the seamy side of
the civilization which was advancing into the New West.
Turning to parts of the town which were less openly engaged in
business, legitimate, questionable, or beyond question, Harris
inquired at many doors for lodgings for himself and wife, or for his
wife alone. The response ranged from curt announcements that the
inmates "ain't takin' boarders" to sympathetic assurances that if it
were possible to find room for another it would be done, but the
house was already crowded to suffocation. Great lines of washing in
the back yards, and groups dirty children splashing in the spring
mud, bore testimony to the congestion. The March sun was beating down
with astonishing fierceness and the unside-walked streets were a
welter of slush. In two hours Harris, notwithstanding his stout frame
and his young enthusiasm, dragged himself somewhat disconsolately
back to the immigration building with the information that his search
had been fruitless.
At the door he met Tom Morrison and another, whom he recognized as
the teller of Indian stories which had captivated the children of his
car. Morrison was a man of forty, with a dash of grey in his hair and
a kindly twinkle in his shrewd eyes; his companion was A bigger man,
of about the same age, whose weather-beaten face bore testimony to
the years already spent in pioneer life on the prairie.
"And what luck have ye had?" asked Morrison, seizing the young man by
the arm. "Little, I'll be thinkin', by the smile ye're forcin' up.
But what am I thinkin' of? Mr. McCrae is from 'way out in the Wakopa
County, and an old-timer on the prairie. He knows every corner in the
town, I'm thinkin'--"
"Aleck McCrae," said the big man. "We leave our 'misters' east of the
Great Lakes. An' Ah'm not from Wakopa, unless you give that name to
all the country from Pembina Crossing to Turtle Mountain. Ah'm doing
business all through there, an' no more partial to one place than
another."
"What is your line of business, Mr. McCrae?" asked Harris.
"Aleck, I said, an' Aleck it is."
"All right," said the other, laughing. "What is your business,
Aleck?"
"My business is assisting settlers to get located on suitable land,
an' ekeing out my own living by the process. There's a strip of
country in there, fifty miles long by twenty miles wide, that Ah know
like you knew your own farm down East. It cost me something to learn
it, an' Ah sell the information for part of what it cost. Perhaps Ah
can do something for you later, along professional lines. Just now,
as Tom here tells me, you're hunting a house for the wife. Ah know
Emerson too well to suppose you have found one."
"I haven't, for a fact," said Harris, reminded of the urgency of his
mission. "I've tramped more mud this morning than would make a good
farm in Ontario, but mud is all I got for my trouble."
"It's out of the question," said McCrae. "Besides, it's not so
necessary as you think. What with the bad time our train made, an'
the good time the stock-train made, an' the fact that they started
ahead of us, they're in the yards now. That's a piece of luck, to
start with. 'S nothing unusual for settlers to be held Up here two
an' three weeks waiting for their freight, an' all the time bills
piling up an' the cash running down in a way that knocks holes in
their pockets."
"But I can't put my wife in a stock-car!" protested Harris.
"There's worse places," McCrae answered, calmly worrying a
considerable section from a plug of black chewing tobacco. "Worse
places, Ah should say. Ah've seen times when a good warm stock-car
would have passed for heaven. But that ain't what Ah have in mind.
We'll all turn in an' get the stock unloaded, hitch up horses, pack a
load, an' get away. Morrison's hired man'll drive his team, an'
Tom'll stay here himself an' look after the rest of the stuff. Ah've
been making a canvass, an' Ah find we have six or seven families who
can be ready to pull out this afternoon. An soon as we get into
settled country, perhaps we can get accommodation, such as it is,
along the way. But my team will go along, with a good tent an' some
cooking outfit. Everyone has bedding, so we're all right for that.
Now, if all hustle we can be started by four o'clock, an' out ten or
twelve miles before we pitch camp. That's far enough for the horses
the first day, anyway. How does it suit you?"
"What do you say, Mr. Morrison?"
"I think Aleck's plan is best. I've my wife and the two girls, and
there's no roof for their heads here. I can find a place for myself,
but I've got to get them started. Ned is a trusty man; he will drive
my team. It suits me."
"But after we get there?" said Harris, "For my part, I don't know
where I'm going. Even with Aleck's help it will take some time to
look up my land and build a place to live in. Mind you," he said, as
if forestalling a question in their minds, "I'm mightily obliged for
the kindness of your offer, and it isn't myself I'm thinking about."
"Hoots, man!" said Morrison. "We ken who you're thinkin' about, right
well. And a poor man ye'd be if ye didn't, for a bonnier lass never
came out of Canada, and that's saying somethin'. But she'll be all
right out there, and a deal better than if you left her here. There's
not many settlers with houses in the country yet, Aleck tells me, but
there's a few, and it's wonderful the e-las-ticity of a shanty on the
prairie."
"Tom's right," said McCrae. "We haven't many of the conveniences of
civilization out there yet, but we haven't the narrowness or vices
either, an' your wife'll be both welcome an' safe in any farmer's
home. Now, if it's all settled," continued McCrae, who had the
leader's knack of suppressing indecision at the psychological moment,
"we'll all turn in with unloading of the stock." Harris ran to tell
his wife that they were to join a party for "the front" that very
afternoon. She received the news joyously. Her only fear had been
that she would be left behind during the weeks in which her husband
made his exploration of the country.
In a few minutes all hands, both men and women, were busy at the
cars. The horses, stiff and sore after their long journey, stalked
rheumatically down the gangway. Feeling solid ground beneath their
feet, they shook their heads vigorously, as though to rid them of the
rumble of the cars, and presently were rolling and stretching in the
warm sun. Dogs limped with muddy paws and boisterous affection upon
masters and mistresses; cows lowed, roosters crowed, and pigs emitted
little grunts, of that supreme happiness peculiar to their race. Many
hands made the work light, and by mid-afternoon six sleighs were
loaded for the journey. All the women and children were to go with
the party; Morrison and one or two men would remain in Emerson,
complete the unloading, and take charge of the effects until the
teams should return from their long journey. McCrae, on account of
his knowledge of the town and of the needs of the journey was chosen
to secure the supplies. His team, which had wintered at Emerson, was
to take the lead, and in his sleigh were a large tent, some cooking
equipment, and an assortment of eatables, consisting mainly of dried
meat, lard, beans, molasses, bread, flour, oatmeal, and tea. McCrae
provided his team and equipment without charge; the cost of the
provisions was reckoned up and divided among the immigrants in their
various proportions to the whole party.
Each settler's sleigh carried that which seemed most indispensable.
First came the settler's family, which, large or small, was crowded
into the deep box. McCrae made them pack hay in the bottom of the
sleigh-boxes, and over this were laid robes and blankets, on which
the immigrants sat, as thickly as they could be placed. More robes
and blankets were laid on top, and sacks stuffed very full of hay
served the double purpose of cushioning their backs and conveying
fodder for the animals. Such space as remained was devoted to grain
for the horses, bundles of clothing and boxes of dishes, kitchen
utensils, and family effects. In one of the sleighs a pig was
quartered, and in another was a crate of hens which poked their heads
stupidly through the cracks, blinking at the bright light. Behind the
sleighs were tethered the cattle.
Morrison came up to Harris's sleigh, and gave it an approving
inspection.
"You will all be fine," he said, "and a great deal better than
wearyin' about here. Besides, you're just as well to be away," he
added, in a somewhat lower voice. "McCrae tells me if this sun keeps
up the roads will be gone before we know it, and that means a delay
of two or three weeks. There's been a tremendous snow this winter,
and a steady thaw, what with these north-runnin' rivers, means floods
on the low-lyin' lands, and perhaps in the town itself, McCrae tells
me he's none too sure about the bridge."
At this moment McCrae himself joined the group. "There's only two in
your party, Harris," he said, "an' while Ah don't want to interrupt
your honeymoon, there's another passenger to be taken care of. Dr.
Blain is going with us, and Ah'm going to put him in your charge.
He's a bit peculiar, but Ah don't think he'll give you any trouble.
It's just a case of being too much of a good fellow. One thing Ah
know--he's a doctor. Saw him last fall on a scarlet fever job.
Settler's sod shack, twenty miles from nowhere. Three children down,
mother down, father frantic. Well, Ah now that Blain camped right
there in the thick of it; doctored, nursed, cooked, kep' house--did
everything. An' they're all of 'em alive an' well to-day, or were
when last Ah saw them. So he's worth more'n a speaking acquaintance,
Harris; you may know that better some day. Ah'm going up town for him
now; you can shift your stuff a little an' make room."
The whole party were ready for the road and waiting before McCrae
appeared again. When he came a companion staggered somewhat
uncertainly by his side.
"I'm aw'right, McCrae," he was saying. "I'm aw' right. Shay, whash
thish? Shildren v Ishrul?"
"Come now, Doctor, straighten up. Ah want to introduce you."
"Introdush me? Thash right. Make me 'cquainted wish the ladish. How
juhdo, Princhessh?" he said, stopping and gesticulating before an
imaginary figure. "Thish is Dr. Blain, late of--late of--wash that,
McCrae? Oh, very good. I'm awl right."
Half leading and half pulling, McCrae at last brought the doctor to
Harris's sleigh. "Sorry he's in this shape," he whispered. "He'll
likely go to sleep, an' be all right when he wakes up. Ah can't take
him in my sleigh, an' Ah feel sure you can handle him."
"I'll do the best I can," said Harris, though he was little pleased
with the prospect.
"Straighten up, Doctor," said McCrae, giving him a good poke in the
ribs. "This is Mr. Harris, who you will travel with--Jack Harris. An'
Mrs. Harris."
The doctor had glanced only casually at Harris, but at the mention of
the woman's name he straightened up and stood alone.
"Glad to meet you, madam," he said. "And it's only proper that the
pleasure should be all mine." There was a little bitterness in his
voice that did not escape her ear.
"But indeed I am glad to meet _you_," she answered. "Mr. McCrae has
been telling us something of your work among the settlers. We are
very fortunate to have you with us."
He shot a keen look into her face. She returned his gaze frankly, and
he found sarcasm neither in her eyes nor her voice.
"Help me in, McCrae," he said. "I'm a bit unsteady...There now, my
bag. Don't move, Mrs. Harris...I think we are quite ready now, are we
not?"
"Most remarkable man," whispered McCrae to Harris. "Wonderful how he
can pull himself together."
McCrae hurried to his own sleigh, called a cheery "All ready!" and
the party at once proceeded to get under way. This was not
accomplished without difficulty. The cattle showed no disposition to
follow the sleighs, but hung back, pulling on their ropes with
amazing strength. One or two, in an excess of stubbornness, sat down
in the snow and had to be dragged bodily. The settlers had three or
four dogs along, but it was not considered safe to let them get at
the cattle, lest the frightened animals should break their ropes and
occasion further delay. The situation was only relieved by a number
of men following behind, prodding vigorously and twisting the tails
of the most recalcitrant. Presently the cows began to swing along,
and, finding that no harm befell them, they soon settled into a slow
but steady gait, and gave no more trouble until they began to tire
with their travel.
The horses, too, had their own difficulties. Jaded and nervous with
their long trip in the cars, and strange to the air and surroundings,
they fidgeted and fretted, and soon the sweat-line was creeping up
their backs. The sleigh trails stood high over the level of the
surrounding prairie, and the horses were continually slipping off.
The snow packed in hard balls under their feet, and at intervals the
drivers were obliged to get out and clear it away. The March sun,
which had shone down with such fierce heat during the middle of the
day, now swung far to the westward, facing the travellers over an
ocean of snow stretching away into the unknown. The day grew colder;
women and children drew blankets tighter about them, and huddled
lower in the sleighs to escape a sharp wind that slipped silently
down from the north, carrying a ground-drift of icy particles in its
breath.
Harris's thoughts were on his team, on the two cows trudging behind,
and on the multiplicity of arrangements which his new life would
present for decision and settlement. But his wife gazed silently out
over the ocean of snow. The rays of the sun fell gratefully on her
cheeks, pale and somewhat wan with her long journey. But the sun went
down, and the western sky, cloudless and measureless, faded from gold
to copper, and from copper to silver, and from silver to lead.
Turning uncomfortably in her crowded seat the girl could see, far
beyond the last of the teams, the road over which they had travelled,
stretching away until it lost itself, a point in the gathering
darkness. To the west it lost itself over the shoulder of the
prairie... The men had ceased to shout to each other; the cattle
plodded uncomplainingly; silently they moved in the midst of a
silence expanding into the infinite. It was her first sight of the
prairie, and a strange mixture of emotions, of awe, and loneliness,
and a certain indifference to personal consequences, welled up within
her. Once or twice she thought of home--a home so far away that it
might have been in another planet. But she would not let her mind
dwell on it for long. She was going to be brave. She had talked with
the other women on the train and in the town. They were women from
Ontario farms, some of them well into middle life, women who had
known the drudge of unremitting toil since childhood. Their speech
was faulty; their manners would not have passed muster amid her old
associations; but their quiet optimism was unbounded, their courage
was an inspiration. She too would be brave! For the sake of the brave
man who sat at her side, guiding his team in the deepening darkness;
for the sake of the new home that they two should build somewhere
over the horizon; for the sake of the civilization that was to be
planted, of the nation that must arise, of the manhood and womanhood
of to-morrow--she would be brave. Deep in her heart she swore she
would be brave, even while a recreant tear stole forth unbidden and
froze into a little pearl of pathos on her cheek.
A bright star shone down from the west; one by one they appeared in
the heavens...It grew colder. The snow no longer caked on the horses'
feet; the sleigh-runners creaked and whined uncannily.
Suddenly a strange sound came down on the north wind--a sound that
made the girl who had just been vowing to be brave nestle still
closer to the big man at her side, and his arm fell protectingly
about her. It was a succession of sharp barks like those of a dog,
but the barks presently ran together in a long, doleful howl that
rose in a high crescendo on the night air, and then slowly died away
into a minor note that seemed to echo back and forth across the
plain. As it died out in one point of the compass it was taken up in
another, until the little party wending its way in the darkness
seemed altogether surrounded by it.
"What is it?" whispered the girl. "What is it, Jack? Do you know?"
"I don't know," said the man. "It sounds like--wolves."
"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Harris," said a quiet voice. Looking around
they found the doctor sitting up in the sleigh. He had fallen asleep
as soon as the journey started, and they had almost forgotten his
presence.
"Don't be alarmed," he repeated. "Their howl is the only terrifying
thing about them. Prairie wolves are very different from their
cousins of the woods. They fill the night air with their howling, but
they are cowardly brutes and would rather run than fight."
"I suppose you have had some strange experiences with animals of the
prairies," said the girl, with a brave effort to appear at ease, but
before the doctor could answer the team came to a sudden stop. The
sleigh in front was obstructing the road, and the party closed up in
solid formation.
"Camp Number One," called Aleck McCrae, from the head sleigh. "The
horses and cattle are tired, an'--"
"And the captain is hungry," put in Ned Beacon. "Isn't that right?"
"Well, Ah _am_ nursing a young appetite," admitted Aleck, exhibiting
the slack of his belt. "Now, run these sleighs up in two rows," and
Aleck indicated where he wanted them placed. "It's hard on the horses
an' cattle, after the warm cars, but they'll stand it tonight if
they're well blanketed. To-morrow night we'll be among the
Mennonites, with a chance of getting stable room."
Under Aleck's direction the sleighs were run up in two rows, about
twenty feet apart, facing the north. Two sleighs were then run across
the opening at the north end, so that altogether they formed a
three-sided court. Men with shovels quickly cleared the snow from the
northerly portion of the court, and there the tent was pitched. On
the south side of the tent, where they were sheltered from the north
wind, the horses and cattle were lined up as closely as they could be
crowded. Horse blankets, buffalo robes, rag carpets, and even family
bedding, were tied about the animals. The horses were supplied with
hay and oats and the cattle with hay alone, and after eating they lay
down for the night, and were soon blowing and heaving in a warm fog
of comfort.
Meanwhile inside the tent was a scene of great activity. The ground
was covered with blankets, robes, and bedding. A lantern from the
centre pole sent wedge-shaped shadows darting back and forth; the
camp stove was set up, and a fire from wood which McCrae had brought
along was soon crackling in it. Pots and pans were produced; women
eager to be of service swarmed about the stove, and children, free at
last of their muffling wraps, romped in high-laughtered glee among
the robes or danced back and forward with the swinging shadows.
"Now this won't do at all," said McCrae, returning from an inspection
of affairs outside. "Too many cooks, you know. Ah want one woman
here. Everybody else sit down."
The captain's word was recognized as law. He selected an able-looking
settler's wife as assistant cook, while the others, men, women, and
children, sitting down, seemed to fill the tent to the limit of its
capacity.
Savoury smells soon were coming from hot frying-pans, as sliced ham,
with bread and gravy, was served up in tin plates and passed about
the tent. Everybody--married men and women, maidens and young men,
girls, boys, and little children--was ravenously hungry, and for a
few minutes little could be heard but the plying of the viands. But
as the first edge of hunger became dulled the edge of wit sharpened,
and laughter and banter rollicked back and forward through the tent.
The doctor, now quite sober, took a census, and found the total
population to be twenty-eight. These he classified as twelve married,
eight eligible, seven children, and himself, for whom he found no
classification.
"You have a head for figures, Harris, I think," he said. "How much
space can be allotted to each?"
Harris found that the tent was twelve by eighteen feet, and that
about eight feet of floor space would be available for each person,
if they moved the stove out.
"The space is sufficient, but the ventilation isn't," said the
doctor, as he set about opening ventilator flaps. "If I am to be
responsible for your health there are just two rules to follow. Do
whatever Aleck McCrae tells you, and don't be afraid of fresh air,
even with frost in it."
The tin plates had gone back to McCrae, and were returning, loaded
this time with bread and molasses. A steaming cup of tea accompanied
each plate. Fortunately there was milk for the children, two of the
cows having contributed this important item of the commissariat.
When the meal was over and the dishes washed and packed, Aleck made
another round of the camp before settling down for the night.
Meantime mothers gathered their families about them as best they
could; the little ones sleepily mumbled their prayers, and all hands,
young and old, nestled down like a brood of tired chickens under the
white wings of the protecting tent. Outside the ground-drift sifted
gently about the sleighs, the cows sighed in contentment, and the
wolves yapped to each other in the distance.