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I HAD at this time summering
with me my sister, Mrs. Hardisty, and her children. One day a courier came
in from Fort Canton instructing me to send Mrs. Hardisty and family down to
that point, and as all the Hudson's Bay Company's posts and forts were parts
of our missions and circuits, and as this gave me the opportunity of
visiting Fort Pitt and possibly Fort Canton, and also of meeting any Indians
who might be em route to or fro, I concluded to take her and children down
the river in the skiff. Arranging to have her horses and two of mine driven
across country in the first place to Fort Pitt, we embarked and began our
journey down stream. In less than two days we had made Fort Pitt, which I
judge is from one hundred and eighty to two hundred miles by the winding of
the river; but such was the current, and so continuous was our movement day
and night, without loss of time, that we did better than a hundred miles in
a day. Here we heard that Mr. Hardisty had passed west, hoping to meet his
wife and children, of course never thinking of their coming by river.
Knowing that he would return to this point when he met our men and horses,
we waited and I had full opportunity W do some mission work. Here traded the
Plain and Wood Crees, the Chippewyans of the Beaver River and north country,
the Saulteaux and the Cree, and sometimes even Blackfeet came to this post.
In my time noted Indians, such as Sweet Grass, Big Bear and Little Pine,
made this their headquarters. A big trade in provisions was generally done
here, and both wood and plain furs were taken in large quantities; many a
boat-load of furs and pemmican went down the Saskatchewan annually from Fort
Pitt. Several times in my journeyings I had been privileged to preach the
Gospel in the mother-tongue to people who up to these times had never heard
it. Nomads, wanderers out of the ages, a strange, mysterious people they
were, and how solemnly and earnestly they would look into my eyes as I came
to them in their own language with this new and wonderful evangel. This
present occasion was no exception, and I held services with a mixed crowd of
tribes and peoples. God only knows if any permanent good was done as to
Christianity, but in the meantime, at any rate, they were made to understand
something aboit law and civilization, and, I do hope, of Christ and heaven.
Hardisty came in Sunday
afternoon and thus relieved me of going any farther. We visited a good part
of Monday and then parted, my friends going east and I west. It was a lovely
evening, and alone with my two horses, Bob No. 1 and Archie, either
following the other and not needing to be led, my equipment a leather shirt,
trousers and blanket, and my gun and ammunition and some dried meat as
provision all on my saddle, so that my free horse was indeed free, on we
went and near dark crossed Frog Creek and camped. I have already told my
readers I never was made to be alone; I have always found myself in such
condition under protest. I remember I was unusually lonely that night. I
hobbled my horses, and as they moved off to better grass I made a fire and
roasted some dried meat, and nibbling at it thought one man thirty-five
miles from the nearest of his kind, so far as he knows, is entirely too far
away, and I wondered how some are so constituted as almost to enjoy
solitude. Then I became aware that a pair of eyes were fastened on me. A
casual glance over my shoulder caught a movement, and gripping my gun I
awaited developments. Presently I saw that the object looking down from the
brink of the hill was a big timber wolf. This was a relief, for if he was
alone I did not fear him; so I threw more wood on the fire, renewed my
attention to the dried meat, and by and by moved away and spread my
saddle-blanket, then wrapping myself in my own blanket I lay down with gun
at hand and fell asleep to waken as the day sky came with all nature around
me and myself as well covered with heavy dew. Breaking another bit of meat,
I ate as I went for my horses, which had ascended the hill and hobbled some
distance. Soon I was back again, and saddling up was off on the lope in the
fresh of the morning, while all the earth and its luxuriant vegetation was
glistening with moisture, which, as the sun appeared, flashed and brightened
the whole scene. I said to myself, "I will do well if I reach Saddle Lake
to-day." A vigorous trot, a few miles of canter alternating, and in three
hours changing horses, on I went across valleys and over plains, in and out
and through and between islands of timber, all the white keeping a sharp
lookout on the distant horizon, and as much as possible on everything within
this, myself always its centre. Thus across Moose Creek and the Dog Rump and
the immense stretches of country this side and between and beyond them, on
and on past Egg Lake No. 2, and by the early evening I had made Saddle Lake,
with self and horses still fresh.
Near sundown, while going
over a high range of hills, I witnessed a grand celestial battle. Two heavy
thunder-clouds were coming rapidly together, the meeting promising to take
place right over my course. I alighted and belted my blanket about me,
leaving the upper part to pull over my head; then, resuming my ride, saw the
wonderful fight in the heavens above. Lightning flashed and artillery
roared, and down came a torrent of rain, until the jump of my horse was one
continuous splash. And now the scene was sublimely grand: flash and crash
and roar and rumble, and then another louder and angrier discharge, and thus
these atmospheric legions approached each other, each jagged cloud seeming
to reach out to the skirmishing lines of the other. Suddenly they gripped,
and the heavens opened their floods, and splash, splash went my horse's feet
until we were on the bridge of the White Mud and only nine miles from home.
Then I jumped down, and unsaddling my horse I caught the other, and
bestriding him was away through the jack-pines, a narrow strip of sandy
]and, and across the Smoky Creek and through the valley and over the hill,
and down into Victoria and home. The bracing effect of that northern air may
be imagined when I remark that neither myself nor horses were tired, and yet
since morning we had come one hundred and three miles—not guesswork but
actual measurement. Not sleeping much the night before, and being drenched
through to the skin for some hours in the evening, I was in prime condition
for sleep; indeed I awoke only when our people were preparing the table for
dinner. Dressing I went out to look at my horses, who met me with a whinny
and a look that said, "Well, we are ready to go on," and I rubbed their
noses and slapped their backs and went into dinner.
At this time my sister Libbie,
afterwards Mrs. Young, and my two eldest daughters, Flora and Ruth, were
with me. But one day who should turn up out at the hay-field where I was
working but my brother David, who blushed as he told me that he had not come
alone, having brought with him a wife. Of course I was glad, for his sake as
also for my own, as they would for this year, I hoped, make their home with
me in the Mission house. I put away my scythe for the rest of the afternoon,
and went in with David to be introduced to my new sister, whom I found to be
a bright, fresh, healthy young Scotch-Canadian woman, daughter of a sturdy
pioneer of the second degree—first in Ontario and now in Manitoba. I found
the two women already well acquainted, and no wonder, for they were but two
of the same kind in an immense stretch of country. David and his bride had
driven nine hundred miles on their honeymoon trip, and coming on fast had
left their cart and outfit far in the rear. David had the latest news from
the outside world: Winnipeg was starting, settlers were coming in, the
change had begun. He had brought with him some new arms which were
significant of a change.
The next morning we took my
two horses and David's light rig, and he and I started on a flying trip to
Edmonton. We have the news of the world, and only some weeks old; we are not
selfish, we must share it with father and mother and friends at Edmonton; at
any rate we will be back for Sunday. "Good-bye, girls," and we are away in a
whirl of dust. This is my first ride in a three-spring waggon for many
years; it quite intoxicates me, and Bob and Archie are wondering what kind
of vehicle they are pulling behind them. The waters have subsided, and we
fairly bowl along, and early next day are telling the news of Winnipeg and
Toronto and London, yea, the world, to a listening company at Edmonton.
Turning back the next morning, we are at Victoria the following day and at
work again.
This had been a season of
almost absolute rest from tribal war in this north land. The buffalo had
kept out on the plains and had been quite numerous; this wild people, too,
had seen so much of death in the last year that they were weary of trouble
and longed to have rest for a season. However, as autumn advanced the
buffalo came north, and with them the camps, and hovering near and on the
trails of these the war-parties. We were every little while hearing of fresh
skirmishes, and were glad enough when our settlement began to fill up for
the winter.
This was the autumn of my
wonderful crop of potatoes and barley. In the spring I said to myself, "I
don't know much about farming, but I believe in this country I can make no
mistake about potatoes and barley;" so I went to work and hauled out all the
manure about the place, and then ploughed deep, for I had a good team of
work horses that had been trained on a farm. Then I sowed my potatoes and
handled them in my own way, in the summer weeded and tilled them, and in
autumn the promise was rich. But a large camp of Plain Crees came in and
settled for a couple of weeks just outside and above the mission field, and
presently it was told me, "John, they're stealing your potatoes," and I
said, "Ke-yam" (" Never mind,") and my very indifference stopped the
stealing in a large measure. Presently I thought I would ask this whole camp
to help me dig up my crop. Accordingly I said to the chief, Big Bear, and
some of his head men, "To-morrow I want to take up my potatoes; will you
tell the people to help me?" and they promised to do so. - I made my
arrangements, team, waggon, bags, etc., and the next day we went at it, men,
women and children. Soon the potatoes, in piles, and heaps, and bags, were
all over the ground. I selected some young men to load and unload, and did
no more myself than drive about superintending the work. The way those
potatoes were dug and picked and cleaned and dusted and bagged was a
caution, also the way my loading crew worked was splendid. The whole thing
was new to these buffalo-eaters; the wonderful crop, this strange
four-wheeled iron-bound cart, this most obedient team of horses. Some of
them had never taken part in such sport in all their history, and all day I
took the fertility of the soil, and the response to agriculture, industry,
and the beneficence of the Creator as my texts, and from the vantage ground
of the waggon, with reins in hand and rushing things, I lectured and
preached every little while to listening crowds. This was a first-class
object lesson; every little while some one would say, "John, look! " and
there going for camp would he a woman or girl bending under the weight of
potatoes inside her blanket, and I merely said, carelessly, "Ke-yam, ke-yam."
Indeed there was no need to worry over a few potatoes—the ground was full of
them.
All day we hauled in that
short distance. The Mission was in possession of a huge cellar which some
miners had made as an expression of gratitude to father, and into this we
sent the potatoes like a deluge. All day the sneaking of back-loads off to
camp went on, and in the evening there still remained fully one-fourth of
the field undug. Then I sent for the chief and told him I was grateful for
the help his people had given me, and that I was satisfied that he might now
dismiss them home to camp and tell them that I would give his camp the
balance of the field to dig for themselves. There were loud acclaims at this
announcement, and the chief sent the people home on the jump, promising a
fair start for all in the morning. And I can assure my reader that in the
morning that field was a sight, and further, I will venture to say that no
spot in the British realm had any better pulverizing and cultivating than
that one during that season. I once and for all time demonstrated that
potatoes could be grown on the Saskatchewan.
Following on the heels of the
smallpox of last season, the mumps were the fashionable disease of this
year; several had died of them, and the type was a severe one. Some time in
October an old Indian brought me word of buffalo near at hand, and as I had
two Indian boys with me we hunted up our horses, and crossing a waggon and
two carts, took with us a couple of running horses and started out after
meat. Already I had premonitions of mumps and felt very miserable;
nevertheless I went on, and meeting with much success in my hunt, was soon
loaded up with fine meat. But oh, how I suffered I Presently I was unable to
sit on my horse. This would have been a glorious trip, both for the
supplying of our need for fresh meat and for the sport connected therewith,
had it not been for those abominable mumps and my sublime inexperience
concerning them. As it was I did the very worst I could have done, and
intensified the disease, as doubtless did numbers of others, some of whom
died in consequence.
For the home journey I had to
lie stretched out on top of the waggon, and in the two days we occupied in
travelling it seemed to me I died many times; every rut and knoll was
torture to me, and when I reached Victoria my brother David was so shocked
with my appearance that he at once despatched a courier to Edmonton for
father. Then an old half-breed, Peter Whitford, came to see me and took me
in hand and helped me, and when father arrived I was able to meet him up the
road, and he smiled as we shook hands and said that he almost expected as
much, but was so startled by David's despatch that he hurried down. We were
glad to see him. This was his first introduction to his new daughter, Annie.
He had ridden in a hurry ninety miles over a rough country, and would now
return and make no fuss about it, nor lose much time in this journey of one
hundred and eighty miles. Verily this big country gave men to take on big
ideas of life and work. This last summer had been to father a busy onco, but
now the humble mission-house at Edmonton was ready for occupancy, some
out-buildings erected, and the start on the church made. Much mentaI. worry,
much hard physical labor, everything done by hand —chopping, sawing, planing
without any machinery—to build a house at this time and have it finished
half-way decent entailed labor and patience in the extreme, and with all
this came the week-night meetings and all the Sunday work. Other men rested,
but the missionary never; he was doctor, surgeon, dentist, nurse, lawyer,
magistrate, judge; he was diplomat and ambassador, and all the time the
representative of civilization and government and church and Christianity;
no wonder the lines multiplied on his face and his hair became gray. And
thus the winter of 1871 and 1872 came to the missions of the Saskatchewan.
Our life at Victoria was a
full one. Never in the history of this place had we so many people about us
as at this time; church services were packed week-nights and Sundays. My
regular work on the Sabbath was, twice in Victoria, morning and evening, and
an afternoon appointment ten miles out, where I conducted a Sabbath-school,
and held a preaching service immediately afterward. This was known as the
White Mud Settlement, and here dwelt two typical men. One of these was John
Norris, of gypsy origin in the Old Country, it was said, who came out as a
lad in the Hudson's Bay service, by way of Hudson Bay, and had well
assimilated the West during his long term of service. Now, as it was termed,
he had "gone free," and was freighting and trading, and had grown quite
prosperous. A hardy, tough specimen of humanity, a regular fighter with
either fists or gun, it was all the same to Jack; withal a good-hearted man,
fully amenable to kindly fellowship and Christian manhood. Father was to him
a hero, one to be loved and pre-eminently respected. It was in Jack's house
that we held our Sunday-school and after-service, and we were genuinely
welcomed and all due preparations made for the comfort of both preacher and
people. Mr. Norris is still living as I write, and has had a considerable
part in the opening up of the North-West. Now in his ripening years he
enjoys and well deserves the respect of the whole community.
The other man was from the
north of Ireland, his Saxon origin fully revealed in the long flaxen hair,
blue eyes and fair skin. He likewise was typical as an Irishman; language,
wit, nervous impetuosity, all these he had to the full. He had crossed the
continent in the early days; he had seen California when the gold fever was
at its height, and had come north along the Pacific coast, through every
mining camp; was in at the early days of Washington, Oregon and Montana, and
now had settled for a time on the White Mud to take up farming. He had
married and was, at the time of which I write, a useful citizen and an
earnest worker in every department of local life. Sam Livingstone, or "Sam"
as everybody called him, was, as I have said, a typical Irishman, and was
taking on Americanism as fast as his nature admitted of his so doing. We can
only move at a certain rate in the process of development; anything faster
is hurtful in the long run, indeed is often suicidal; and the philanthropist
or government that does not recognize this has not watched history nor yet
given much heed to either God's or Nature's method. Sam was taking on
strength when conditions were favorable, but he lost quickly when these were
reversed. To him, as to John Norris, father was a tower of strength. "The
old man," as Sam and the frontiersmen generally termed father among
themselves, "was one to swear by, you bet." Sam and many others pinned their
faith to him. Just now, on his farm and alongside of a mission and such like
influences, Sam was a host.
All through the Conference
year of 1871-2 I was much in touch with the White Mud Settlement. Then there
were Indian camps which I visited and ministered to, sometimes one day's
journey distant, sometimes two days', making a four days' trip. During this
winter, between November 1st and April 1st, I travelled by dog- train two
thousand miles, and with horses one thousand, and yet was very little away
from my work at Victoria; indeed, I seemed to stay at borne much more than
usual. The Mountain Fort, Pigeon Lake, Edmonton, White Fish Lake, Lac la
Biche, and the Cree camps to the south near Battle River, gave me many short
trips in addition to my regular Sunday travelling to appointment. My dogs
were fliers, my horses were fat and good travellers, and we got over the
country in a hurry. Work there was in plenty, and very little time for play
all through those long winter months. |
