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WE started on our plain trip
with commissariat promising nothing more delicate or appetizing than fish
and frozen turnips! Our party consisted of my brother David, Francis, Job
and myself. We took our course southeast, by Sickness Hill and Birch Lake,
and failing to find any fresh tracks of Indians in that direction, we then
made more easterly. While going down the north bank of the Battle River our
fish ran out. This was serious, but we had the turnips left. Soon, however,
we roasted the last of these, and pushed on our course amid deep snow and
cold and stormy weather. An old bull was shot, but we could eat nothing of
him except the heart and tripe and the tongue, Even our dogs declined the
meat. Things were commencing to look blue. That night David produced a small
bag of barley meal which my sister had ground in the coffee mill. Our camp
was jubilant over this, and we heartily enjoyed the small tin of porridge
provided for supper that night. Next day we travelled as rapidly as we
could, but were not in condition for quick time. The barley was going fast,
and we began anxiously to watch the doling out of the slender supply. In the
stress of hunger we were becoming meaner and smaller. I caught myself
looking to see that my brother (lid the square thing in serving out the
little pot of meal gruel, for it was becoming thinner every time. I bit my
lips and felt mortified at myself for being so contemptible. I began to
realize what I had read of men's doings when in sore straits such as seemed
to be coming on us. But we kept on, and the day after the meal was gone we
struck the trail of a large camp, evidently some days ahead of us.
The sight of the trail put
new life into our whole party. We covered several of their day's journeys
before we camped that night, and though hungry and weak were out early the
next day. About ten o'clock we saw a column of smoke rising in the air, and
as we drew nearer saw horses and people moving. Camp was being struck, and
nearly all had gone from the spot as we came up. A little to one side, at
the edge of a bluff of timber, a small group of men were engaged in burying
one of their number. We were just in time to help in the last rites.
Old Maskepetoon was there.
"You come like a ray of sunshine to comfort us, John," whispered the old
Chief, as he warmly gripped my hand. The work of interment went on in
silence. I knew the deceased—son-in-law to old "Great One," one of my
particular friends—a great strong man cut off suddenly in his prime.
Sadly I watched the removing
of the soil. The snow having been cleared away, the dried leaves and twigs
were carefully placed in a hide and put aside. The earth, too, as it was
loosened up, was placed in hides. Then the body was laid in the shallow
grave, and the earth put back in and trampled down until level with the
original surface, after which the leaves and twigs were scattered over the
place, making it look as if it had not been disturbed. The unused earth was
carried away and scattered so as not to appear. All this was done that the
enemy might not discover the grave and desecrate the person of the dead.
Needless to say the food
placed before us by our kind friends was eagerly devoured, but we were
discouraged to find that these people were living from hand to mouth—that
while the buffalo were within from sixty to one hundred and fifty miles
distant, they had not yet attempted to come north. The camp was still
waiting and hoping for this, and in the meantime was existing on the game
secured by hunting expeditions which were ever and anon sent out between the
severe spells of weather. That the camp was sorely in need of food was very
apparent to me as I passed on through the moving crowds to the spot
designated for the fresh camping ground. Already a large number of tents
were placed by those who moved earlier in the day. Reaching these we went at
once into Muddy Bull's lodge, and were gladly received by my old friends
Noah and Barbara. Here I was sorry to hear that old Joseph was in another
lodge close to us, and in a dying condition. I went in to see our "old
standby," and found him very weak, and yet glad to press my hand. "Ah,
John," said he, "I am still a poor weak sinner, for I have longed to be
released from this frail body. I have even asked the Lord to take me home. I
feel I have done wrong. I should bide the Lord's own time." "My dear
Joseph," I answered, "I am sure the good God well understands your case, and
His big heart thoroughly sympathizes with you. He will not misjudge you. Do
not worry about these matters. You have been a faithful servant, and your
reward is near." "I am glad to hear you say so, John; it comforts me to see
you once more. Give my warmest greetings to your father and mother and all
our people at the Mission." Thus spoke my old friend and travelling
companion. Many a long weary mile we had struggled over together, many a
cold camp we had shared. A brave, true, hardy, consistent Christian man he
was, and now here he lay dying of hunger and cold and disease. I would have
delighted in helping him, but except a hymn and prayer, and a few visits
during the two or three days we spent in the camp, I could not do much for
him. It seemed hard to let him die in such straits, but we had neither
medicine nor the food he needed. After several services, a council or two in
Maskepetoon's tent, and visiting in many of the lodges, we started across
country for our homeward trip. During our stay in camp the Indians had
shared with us handsomely. The best they had was given to us, and both dogs
and men felt revived and strengthened. Nor was this all, for when leaving
the good-hearted people made a collection of provisions, and we had with us
about quarter-loads when we left camp.
Maskepetoon thoroughly
enjoyed our visit, and it was at his suggestion that the collection of food
was taken up. He said, "Tell your father that we are still hopeful of the
buffalo taking a turn northward, and of making robes and provisions and
coming into the Mission in the spring well loaded. Tell him to pray for us.
We send him and those at the Mission our heartfelt greetings."
We had not made more than
eight or ten miles on our way when we had the good fortune to come across
Maskepetoon's son just as he had killed two bulls. These were in fairly good
flesh, and the generous fellow told us to help ourselves. We each took about
a hundred pounds of fresh meat from his kill, and thanking him went on our
way. That afternoon we had a wide plain to cross with snow deep and the cold
searching. Frozen noses and chins and cheeks were common, and we were
constantly telling one another to rub and helping to rub until the clear
white gave place to the natural color.
By dark we reached the first
point of woods, and were disappointed to find that there was no dry timber
of any size to be found; but as there was no road we concluded to camp and
do the best we could. And now the cold was bitterly cutting. Work as hard as
we might we still were constantly freezing. The few little dry willows we
found were barely sufficient to start our fire, but the frost was so keen
that the green trees blazed up as if dry, and in turns we cut them down and
carried in and stood around that blaze. There was no thought of trying to
sleep; we were afraid to risk it.
We boiled some of the bull's
meat, and I very well remember, as I stood before that big brush fire, with
a robe over my shoulders to break the wind, that my piece of meat, but now
out of the boiling soup, though not very big, was frozen before I had eaten
more than half of it. I was astonished at this, but found that my companions
were having similar experiences. No sleep, no rest; steadily all night long
we fought the storm and cold. To make matters more dismal, if possible,
about an hour after midnight we heard parties approaching our camp, and when
these came up, found that they were bringing poor Joseph's frozen body to
take it to the Mission for burial.
It was all of one hundred and
fifty miles to the Mission. There was no road, the snow was unusually deep
and the weather intensely cold; yet here were two Indians with a dog-sled
upon which was stretched the inanimate body of their friend, and they were
willing in the face of great difficulty to undertake this long journey, Just
because their friend had signified a wish to be interred beside the Mission.
Who will say after this that these people have no sentiment?
Now there were six of us to
keep the fire burning, and in relays of two we chopped and carried until
daylight came, when in gladness we resumed our journey. At any rate we would
have plenty of dry wood for the rest of the trip. What food we carried was
not of the best. Having no fat in it, it had not the quality essential to
keeping out the cold. It takes the heart out of most men to struggle on day
after day under such conditions, and in my case there was a complication of
troubles, for during the second day out of Maskepetoon's camp I was taken
with my first and only attack of" snow .shoe sickness." This is a
contraction of the tendons and sinews of the instep, and is exceedingly
painful, worse, indeed, than toothache or even earache. It kept me from
resting at night, and when we went out of our noon or night camps I would
hop along on one foot 'with the help of a pole, until in sheer weariness I
would force my foot to the ground. Our dogs were so thin and weak that they
could not draw me on the sled.
Five days of cold and pain
and extreme hardship brought us to the Mission. While our friends were glad
to see us, they were sorely disappointed that our food report was not more
encouraging. There was nothing for the settlement but to he content with
potatoes and parched barley for some time to come. During our absence young
Hamilton had died, and we buried old Joseph beside him. For some years of
this life he could say with him of old, "I know that my Redeemer liveth."
And in full hope we laid his mortal remains in the ground, once more to
recline on the breast of mother-earth.
Two days at Victoria, and
Francis and I and my brother David again set out for Pigeon Lake. There had
been no travel, and the snow had deepened so that every step of the road had
to be broken. But in spite of this we made the lake in four days, and found
our families still alone but well. For thirty-three days their isolation had
been complete, and during the latter half of the period their anxiety great.
What signified that we had brought little or no provisions? We had reached
home, and with four days' rations ahead. From the purely material standpoint
our trip had been a miserable failure. We had spent our strength for naught,
had undergone untold hardships, and the financial results were nil. But is
it not written that "man doth not live by bread only"? We had brought
consolation to the sorrowing and dying; we had conveyed to Maskepetoon and
his large camp, during a desponding time in their experience, the kind
brotherly greetings of the big Church we represented, and the love and
profound sympathy of the larger Christianity we professed. We had preached
the Gospel of hope and joy to multitudes; we had made men and women forget,
for a time at least, their present hunger and cold and pain and suffering,
as we told them of that better land where these conditions did not exist. We
had been privileged during that trip to sound the glad tidings in ears
hitherto strange to such sublime teaching. And if these were some of the
present and tangible results of our journey, who will estimate the fruitage
of eternity? Verily to men of humble faith such work as ours is a continual
paradox. We are hungry, yet always feasting; we are tired and weary, yet
constantly gaining strength; we are sad, yet full of joy; we are at times
despondent, still ever rejoicing. Verily this Gospel of our Christ is a
perennial benediction. |
