A Journal extract, dated August 25th, 1920, states briefly that:
"The Rev. Mr. Haythornthwaite while burning old tree stumps at the
back of the Mission allowed the fire to run on, thereby setting
alight the adjoining bush."
That day, a Wednesday, was excessively hot, and, as the whole summer had
been very warm, all the bush and undergrowth must have been perfectly
dry. At 2 o'clock in the afternoon the cry of "Fire" went up, and from
the southwest end of the island a big column of smoke began to darken
the air, blowing in the direction of the Post.
For some minutes the natives stood gazing and then the realization that
the Island was afire broke upon them. Something akin to panic set in.
Canoes were loaded. Food, blankets and tents were thrown haphazardly
into them, and they were swiftly paddled to the opposite bank of the
river by the fear-stricken natives.
Imagine the scene: The river dotted with canoes, with their
multicoloured loads; the roar of the ever-increasing fire, as it was
fanned by a slight breeze, and the strange stillness that pervaded the
Post, which can be sensed only in a deserted place.
The servants returned as soon as their families were safely "entrenched"
on the other side of the river, and each with his axe hurried to the
scene of the outbreak.
In company with Mr. Gaudet, our Post Manager, I went to see the progress
made by the fire. Often we were compelled to change our route through
the bush on account of the terrific heat and the choking, blinding
smoke. In many places great patches of undergrowth were blazing quite a
distance from the body of the fire, sparks having been blown ahead by
the wind.
The roar of the fire was deafening as it caught fresh trees, shooting
great lurid tongues of flame up their entire thirty feet. Darker and
darker grew the air; the heat became fiercer; the fire advanced as if to
satisfy its terrible hunger by enveloping the entire Island in its
scorching clutch; and as we walked back to the deserted Post thoughts of
having to abandon it ran through our minds.
However the wind dropped, and the little band of fire fighters worked
hard to accomplish their task. Had the wind risen, the whole island
would have been devastated.
All that night, and the succeeding five days and nights, gangs of
natives (who had by this time got over their fright) and servants
watched the fire until it was successfully stamped out.
[Illustration: _Assembly of Indians who received H.B.C. Long Service
Medals at Fort Alexander_]
[Illustration: _Robust sons of Post manager W. A. Murray, at Fort
Alexander, Manitoba_]