A Manitoban Travelling-carriage--The Perils of Short Cuts--The Slough of
Despond--Paddy to the Rescue!--"Stick-in-the-Mud" and his
Troubles--McQuade's--An Irish Welcome--Wretched Wanderers.
After many days of packing, general confusion, and disturbing dust,
culminating in breakfast in the kitchen, dinner on a packing-case in the
parlour, high tea at a neighbour's in our travelling-gear, and a night at
the hotel, we rose at five o'clock on the morning of the 5th of June to
be ready for our journey to Clear Water Bay. All the teams, with the
household goods and chattels, had started the day before, except two for
personal baggage, and the one we were to occupy.
Of course we were ready too soon, and hours were spent in standing idly
about, and going to the gate to see if the trams were coming. When they
were at last packed and off, it was decided to be altogether too late for
us to follow until after luncheon which with only an uncertain prospect
of a heavier meal later, we turned into dinner. Then some one remembered
half a dozen forgotten things which it was impossible to do without, and
it was nearly four o clock when our waggon arrived--a springless vehicle
with three narrow seats, and drawn by two broken winded steeds.
After packing all our _impedimenta_ in the waggon there was
literally no room for us. What was to be done? Between our efforts to
make the driver, a stupid, tipsy French half-breed, understand English by
screaming it as loud as we could, the variety of our baggage, and the
curiosity of the passers by, we soon had a small crowd of interested
listeners and apparently sympathizing friends. Finally the livery stable
keeper made his appearance, and after some discussion agreed to exchange
that waggon for a larger one. Jumping into it, he lashed the horses, who
went at a furious pace down the street, proving their powers, but, alas,
scattering the half packed contents of the waggon--rugs, cushions,
blankets, tin kettles, and pails--at irregular intervals over the road.
In half an hour a larger vehicle was brought, and we hastily repacked,
receiving contributions of our property from every one who passed while
the operation was going on, so that it was late in the afternoon before
we left Winnipeg. When we arrived at the river, of course the ferry-boat
was on the opposite side, and we had to wait for its return, which seemed
the climax to the day's worries. We growled audibly, feeling that we were
entitled to do so, having had enough provocation to ruffle the most
angelic tempers. With scarcely room to sit, and nowhere, to speak of, to
put our feet, bodily discomfort helped to put us out of humour.
Can you imagine a three-seated waggon, containing a load of valises,
travelling-bags, a tin box of edibles for a week's journey, tents,
blankets, pans, kettles, pails, a box of earth filled with bedding
plants, a bundle of currant bush slips, a box of cats--being _the_
cat and five kittens--a box of family silver, engineers' instruments,
wraps of every description, provender for the horses, a bag of bread, the
driver's own provisions (it was part of the bargain that he was to "find"
himself), loose articles of all kinds, thrown in at the last moment, five
adults, two children, one small dog and an unhappy-looking canary? This
motley assemblage was stowed away as well as possible, the kettles and
pails being hung at the back and sides, after the fashion of the
travelling tinkers' carts. There certainly was a very emigrant-like
appearance about the whole thing, in spite of the tasteful trimming of
our shade hats.
The ferry-boat came for us at last, and as we drove over the prairie at a
moderate rate, delays having become things of the past, we were for the
next hour almost merry. This transient joy was soon dispelled by our
driver, who, without any warning, turned off the road through some swampy
ground. Pulling up suddenly before an apparently unbroken line of trees,
he craned his neck first one way and then the other in search of an
opening, unheeding the expostulations in French and English with which he
was assailed, until, finding what he sought, and nicking his whip over
the horses' ears, he condescended to reply, "_Je fais le detour!_
Bad, _voila!_" Then, urging his horses on, he charged into the
bushes, and drove along what had been once a cart trail (one could hardly
call it a road), overgrown with underbrush. Long branches met overhead,
and we were kept busy, alternately warding them, off our faces and
holding on to our seats--for the track was a succession of uneven hills,
hollows, and short turns, with which our driver seemed as unacquainted as
ourselves.
About six o'clock we came to the high-road, which crossed the end of our
track--the highroad that has cost our country over thirteen million
dollars--the far-famed and much-talked-of Dawson road. It was some two
feet higher than our rough track, and separated from it by a large mud
puddle, in which, after a lurch to one side and a violent jerk from the
horses, the waggon-wheels sank on the other. A volley of oaths was
discharged by our half-breed, followed by a crack of his long whip, and a
sharp struggle, and then the near horse fell back on his haunches and we
stuck fast. Down rolled the best valise, out sprang Jehu, carrying with
him into the mud our biggest blanket. Mr. C----, in slippers, sat on the
top of the waggon demanding his boots, which where _somewhere_ at
the bottom; somebody else was searching wildly for a rope and axe, which
proved to be _nowhere_; everybody was giving a different opinion on
the best means of extricating ourselves, only uniting in one thing,
namely, abuse of the driver, who stood knee-deep in mud, hitching up his
trousers and muttering something about _le détour_. We women,
meantime, tried to quiet the screaming children, and prevent the
"unconsidered trifles" which filled the corners of the waggon from
falling out--a duty not unattended with danger, as pussy, on guard over
her nursery, and excited by the general _bouleversement_, gave a
spiteful claw to any foot or hand which approached too near her box.
No rope, axe, nor chain, could be found; there was nothing but mud on
every side to unload in, and not a house for miles to shelter us for the
night. Fortunately, before very long a waggon passed on the high-road,
whose occupants were a kindly Irishman, his wife, and child.
"Faith, is it help ye want, yer honour? It's meself never refused help to
any man," said Paddy; and jumping down, he produced a chain. Fastening
the tongue of the waggon to one end, and the horses to the other, he
drove them up to the high-road, where, having firmer foothold, a few
pulls drew us out of the mud-hole. We thanked the old man for his help,
but saw him and his chain depart with regret. Having better horses and a
lighter load, he soon left us far behind.
On we jogged, sometimes on the road, but more often off it, driving
through every clump of trees that grew in our way, as the roots gave some
firmness to the swampy ground. Now and then, when returning to the road,
the waggon would almost stick, but, after a lunge, pull, and struggle,
attended by a volley of French from our Jehu and a screech from the
women, it righted itself again. A little later we passed the teams that
had left Winnipeg so long before us in the morning; one of them was stuck
deep in the mud, and the drivers were just parting company--the first, a
French Canadian, declining to help the second, an Irish Canadian boy,
whose good-natured face was a picture of dismay, as he stood
contemplating the scene of disaster. The Frenchman declared that he had
stuck three times, and had to unload both teams twice, and he wasn't
going to do it again; so he whipped up his horse and left poor young
"Stick-in-the-Mud," as we dubbed him, to his fate. Promising to send a
yoke of oxen from McQuade's, five miles further on, where we intended
putting up for the night, we also left him, but not without regret. I
could not help feeling sorry for the poor boy out there alone on the
prairie, perhaps for the whole night, as it was by no means certain that
the hoped-for yoke of oxen would be forthcoming. But the lad was so
civil, and evidently so determined to make the best of things, that
fortune favoured him. A mile further on we met a long train of carts, and
Mr. C---- shouted to the driver of the first to go and help
"Stick-in-the-Mud," promising to pay him for his services. By this time
it was getting dark, the mosquitoes were troublesome, and the children
were hungry and cross, and we joyfully hailed the first glimmer of the
lights at McQuade's. But though in sight of the haven where we would be,
our troubles were not yet over. Crossing a broken culvert not half a mile
from the house, one of the horses fell in, and we all had to get out and
walk, an annoyance which we felt to be the "last straw" on our
much-enduring backs.
McQuade's is merely a farmhouse on the main road. But in the usual
condition of those roads it is the first stopping-place from Winnipeg,
and McQuade's, or "Little Pointe du Chêne," as it is sometimes called, is
familiar to all the engineers on the staff of that part of the Canada
Pacific Railway. The yard was full of the teams which had left Winnipeg
the day before, and the kitchen, or general living room, was crowded with
teamsters, who, however, when we appeared, withdrew to a dark little
cook-house a few yards from the door.
The room vacated for us was low-roofed, with unplastered ceiling, whose
rafters were hung with bunches of garden herbs. Two narrow windows were
set sideways in the wall, their deep window-seats serving as bookcase and
sideboard: holding the Bible and almanac, the old lady's best bonnet, a
pot or two of preserves, a nosegay of spring flowers, and a tea-caddy. An
old-fashioned four-post bedstead stood in one corner, covered with a
patchwork quilt; in another was an impromptu bed, spread on the floor,
and occupied by a woman and two children, apparently asleep. A table,
covered with oil-cloth, with some cups and saucers on it, stood between
the bed and a dresser cupboard, containing rows of shining milk-pans,
piled one on the top of the other and separated by a board. Behind the
house door a flight of narrow steps led "up ter chamber," as the old
woman in the rocking-chair informed us; and underneath these stairs was a
primitive washing apparatus, consisting of a bench holding a basin and
two wooden pails, with a long towel hanging from a stick.
The farmer bustled in and out, greeting some of us as old friends,
summoning Alice, the maid-of-all-work--a down-trodden, stupid-looking
girl of fourteen--to make up the fire and get the kettle boiling, and
putting his head into the doorway, "just to tell the missus," as he
ushered us in. "The missus," a kindly-looking old Irishwoman in a white
cap and kerchief, wriggled over in her chair to greet us, for she was
"set fast by the rheumatism," and could not rise. But from long
confinement to her chair she had learnt to get about in it very well; her
natural energy expending itself on shuffling all over the room, screaming
to Alice to know "why that there kettle didn't boil?" and generally
making us welcome in her way.
"There's lots of milk--plenty; you're welcome to it; and there'll be
boilin' water presently. If I could only get a holt of that Alice, I'd
make things lively for her! I'm wore out with her entirely. If you've
brought your own provisions all right; but there have been so many
travellers by lately, there isn't a bite in the house, till me eldest
darter comes and bakes for me to-morrow." Yes, she had seven darters, all
well married round about, blessed be God! and they came turn and turn
about to look after the old people, do the work, and see after things,
while she just kept the bit thing Alice to do the chores and wait on her;
but she warn't much good.
Thus our hostess ran on, until the horse was extricated, and we got
possession of our rugs and provisions. The boiling water appearing at the
same time, we soon sat down to tea; and, as it was too late to pitch our
tent that night, we spread our rugs and blankets on the two bedsteads "up
ter chamber"--a mere unfurnished garret--and were soon in bed.
Not long afterwards, hearing a great deal of laughter downstairs, I
listened, and gathered that "Stick-in-the-Mud" had arrived, and the men
were chaffing him for having paid the half-breed two dollars for lending
him two oxen for five minutes to extricate his train.
Tired as I was, the mosquitoes were so attentive that I found it
impossible to sleep. About midnight "that wretched Alice" crept up the
stairs, and lay down in a corner, partitioned off from the rest of the
garret by a grey blanket nailed to the rafters. I am sure she did not
undress much, nor could she have slept long, as she was downstairs again
before three o'clock, and I heard the old woman rating her from her bed.
When we descended at about six, the men and teams were all gone, and the
tenants of the floor bed had taken advantage of an offered ride to help
them on their way. Poor woman! she was journeying from Detroit, to the
work on "15," to join her brother. She had been a month on the road, and
had still another week or ten days of walking before her.