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WE had spent two Sabbaths and
seventeen travelling days between Forts Canton and Pitt —days and nights of
extreme hardship. This was a bridal tour by no means lacking in the elements
of romance. Here we were now in a Hudson's Bay fort and among friends, the
gentleman in charge, Mr. McKay, and his two assistants, Philip Tait and John
Sinclair, all old friends of mine, giving us a right hearty welcome.
Moreover, they despatched two dog- trains to bring in our stuff from the
cart, and then helped me rearrange my travelling equipment. I decided to
leave my carts and waggon and take take in their place two horse toboggans
or flat-sleds. On the front of one of these we made a carry-all for Mrs.
McDougall. My friends also supplied me with a pair of snow-shoes, a most
welcome gift; and in addition Mr. Tait lent me two fresh horses, as two of
mine were nearly used up. The only difficulty was to find a man to accompany
us to Victoria, for Neche could not go with us farther than this point. He
had done his duty splendidly, and after settling with him we reluctantly
bade him good-bye.
In the meantime Sunday came
on, and I had the opportunity of holding two services with the people of the
fort and some Indians in camp near by. On Sunday who should come in but Jack
Norris and young Sandy, and here was our chance. Sandy wanted to go on, and
Jack was willing that I should have him with me. Jack reported a "terrible
time"; he had left. his party some sixty or seventy miles back, and had come
on to obtain flat-sleds, having decided to abandon his carts until spring.
He told us of a most pathetic incident that had happened on the way. One of
their horses had played out, and, as I had done with Little Bob, they had
turned him loose to follow. The faithful animal had done this up to the
measure of his ability, but when he failed to come into the camp one night
they went back in the morning to look for him, and found him actually
standing with head to camp, frozen dead. I have seen and known of many a
horse, worn out with hardship and hunger, lying down to die, but here was a
case unique so far as I know—the poor beast erect on his legs, with head to
storm and camp, and dead!
Such was Archie's condition
that I had to leave him at the fort. One of the Hudson's Bay employees,
knowing him by repute, offered me a good price for him, and I let him go;
but Little Bob I could not leave, and I was fortunate in securing a keg of
wheat from Mr. McKay to keep him alive. My old Brown and new Fort Pitt Brown
were still to the front, fresh and strong, and with the two colts lent Inc
by Mr. Tait, and with flat-sleds and snow-shoes and Sandy, I was quite
hopeful as to the rest of the journey.
Bidding the hospitable
friends at Fort Pitt a grateful adieu, we started for Victoria, our next
objective point. Our line of march now was: Myself ahead on snow-shoes; Fort
Pitt Brown following, pulling a long toboggan with Mrs. McDougall carefully
wrapped in the coffin-like carry-all and a couple of trunks strapped on
behind her; then Old Brown in another sleigh with our travelling kit and
everything else lashed on to it, and Sandy and the two spare horses
following, with Little Bob bringing up the rear. Thus we began our trackless
journey through the deepening snow and strengthening winter. Of necessity
our progress was slow. I went straight from point to point, making as few
curves as possible. Sometimes after forging ahead a bit I retraced my steps
and met Brown, and then doubled back, thus giving him the benefit for miles
every day of my three tracks. Often as in the vigor of health and strength I
took a run on the snow-shoes I heartily wished that my party could keep up
with me for a few days and we would soon cover a long distance. But this was
impossible at the time; there was nothing for it but heavy and continuous
plodding. And Bob, brave fellow that he was, proved himself clear grit.
Sometimes it would be nine o'clock when he would herald his approach with a
neigh, and I would run out and give him a pat and a welcome, and feed him
some of the wheat. Then at our noon spell, if he had not come up, I would
hollow a small basin in the snow and put a few handfuls of grain in the
track for him. Thus we journeyed on through storm and drift and bleak cold.
All the while I could not resist the feeling of shame at my act in bringing
that brave little woman from the east on such a journey; but never by hint
or act did my good wife indicate that she regretted the sacrifice she had
made.
On steadily we forged our way
by Frog Lake and Moose Creek and the Dog Rump and Egg Lake. Poor horses, how
their legs bled as the snow crusted. New Brown led the way all the time.
Faithfully following behind my lead on snow-shoes, he climbed the drifts,
broke them down and pulled his load, failing not either in flesh or spirit.
A most wonderful horse was New Brown. The night before we reached Victoria
we camped with a French half-breed family by the name of McGillis. This was
a pleasant break in the journey, for their hospitality was genuine and
natural. The women were all greatly interested in Mrs. McDougall; they
thought she was a plucky girl to undertake such a journey, and made her
blush by telling her she must have loved her husband very much to leave her
people and come so far to this big, strange country. However, they said,
"John was a good fellow." At any rate their shanty was warm, and it was no
small relief not to have to make camp, nor to perform the pivotal act of
turning around to the fire or from it every few minutes. Really it was a
pleasant change, and we made up our beds on the floor and slept in
peace—that is, it would have been peace if I could have forgotten my horses,
bleeding and sore with the almost constant crust we had come through for
days, and which had been especially bad to-day. Poor Bob was the worst. Thus
far he had kept up, though sometimes coming in late, and always had
announced his arrival with a cheerful neigh which said, "Still alive and
hopeful!" But we had yet a long day under these conditions before we would
reach Victoria, and I felt anxious as to how Bob would stand it. From my
horses I fell to thinking about these people under whose humble roof we were
camped. These were not settlers; no, no, only wintering. The head of the
colony, Cuthbert McGillis, was a genuine type of the mingling of the two
races, the careless, happy, plutocratic habitant with the nomadic Indian,
the truly aboriginal man; a mixture of semi-civilization and absolute
barbarism. A gigantic, curly-headed, splendid specimen of physical humanity
he was, ever ready to fight anybody, but the friend of everybody. A
life-long plainsman, a genuine buffalo eater, he is now away with the men of
his party looking for meat one hundred and fifty miles west of here. We have
been friends ever since we first met. His big, hearty ' John, my friend,"
rings in my ear as I write, and I often wonder that such men should ever
have come to take the stand some of them did in 1870 and later. Certainly
the trouble did not originate with themselves; of this my years of kindly
intercourse and interdependence make me very sure. These are not the
material out of which disloyalty comes as indigenous to the soil.
Early the next morning, with
a hearty handshake all around from these native women and children, and a
sincere "bon voyage," we are off to again take up our slow and solemn
procession over the Snake Hills and through the Vermilion valley and across
the White Mud Heights. The day is short, and it is dark ere we cross the
White Mud River. My wife is beginning to think this road interminable and
the North- West without end. In the latter thought she is about right so far
as things terrestrial go, and the generations to come will still be turning
up fresh resources and endless wealth in this wonderful land. On through the
sombre, pine- shadowed trail leading by the Smoking Creek, and we strike the
beautiful valley north of Victoria. Little Bob is on his last strength.
Presently he comes to a stop, utterly fagged, and I gently coax and push him
up the hill a little farther. But I see that it is no use; we must go on and
then come back to his relief, and about 9 p.m. we bring up at my brother's
house, where we are welcomed most heartily. Here I found my eldest little
daughter, Flora, but was pained to find my good sister-in-law in terrible
distress with an ulcerated breast. Within the last few weeks their
first-born, a fine little girl, had come upon the scene, and now the young
mother was undergoing one of those great sacrifices which ever and anon come
to the motherhood of our humanity. David had been away on the plains hunting
buffalo and grisly bears, and was caught in the same early storm we had been
struggling through; but he was with a strong party and much nearer home, and
he had but recently returned to find himself a father. A fonder or more
attentive one I had never seen. The little tot had but to move or whimper
and David was all alive, be it day or night. To him the responsibility of
parenthood had come in full force, and I was proud to witness such affection
and true manhood in my brother. After asking about us, the next question was
as to our horses, and when I mentioned Bob standing on the trail about two
miles back, David at once exclaimed, "We must go for him right off." But I
said, "No, we will take him a bundle of hay and a little barley, and let him
eat and gather strength, and he will come in himself." Sandy immediately
volunteered to take the hay and barley back to Bob, and though wearied with
the long day's tramp this willing fellow got out one of David's horses,
hitched him to a sleigh, threw on a bundle of hay and some barley, and drove
back to find Bob just where we had left him. Leaving him the feed he
returned, and we anxiously awaited developments, meanwhile seeking to do
what we could for our sick sister, who was delighted to have another sister
come into her home for a time. While at breakfast the next morning we heard
a loud neigh, as much as to say, "I am upon the scene once more," and there
was Little Bob, head up and proud at having survived all the hardships and
loss of blood and the cold and starvation he had come through. It is
needless to say he was taken into a warm stable and looked after with all
care; our whole family had an interest in that faithful little horse.
I concluded to leave my wife
and horses at Victoria, take a train of dogs, and go on to Edmonton and
Pigeon Lake. Mrs. McDougall required the rest, and she was needed in the
home of my brother. Certainly, too, my horses needed a chance to mend and
heal, for we still had another hundred and fifty miles ahead of us ere we
should reach home. That afternoon I was off on the jump with a train of
borrowed dogs, and camping alone for part of the night reached Edmonton
early the next day. Father was well pleased but not wholly surprised to see
me. "I knew you would come," were his words of greeting; others had given me
up, but he had not. I spent a delightful evening and night between the
Mission and the fort, where my brother-in-law, Richard Hardisty, was in
charge, and went on to Pigeon Lake next day, where I found Donald with
everything in order. I was welcomed most heartily by all the Indians and
half-breeds in the vicinity, and held a number of services. Arranging with
Donald for some changes in the little home, I returned to Edmonton, whence I
was accompanied back to Victoria by my sister Libby. I was grieved to find
my sister-in-law worse, and suggested that we at once send for father. This
was agreed to, and a smart man and a train of first-class dogs were
despatched to Edmonton for him. In an incredibly short time father was on
the scene, and, I am glad to say, was instrumental in relieving and helping
our patient.
After a day or so in company
with father, we continued our journey westward, leaving Little Bob to
David's skilled care, and with Fort Pitt Brown still fresh and fat and
pulling his new mistress, we made good time to Edmonton. The weather
continued cold and the snow was deepening all the while. There had been no
such winter on the Saskatchewan in all my experience. At Edmonton we met
some new arrivals, notably Donald Ross, who had come in by way of the Peace
River, and being quite a singer and amateur elocutionist, was a great help
in the social life of the place. We spent Christmas with the Edmonton folk,
and thoroughly enjoyed the rest and fun of the holiday season in this
far-away upland centre. Here was a small world in itself, isolated and
alone. No mail, no telegraphs, only a few Hudson's Bay Company traders and
missionaries and adventurers, and yet the Sabbath services and week-night
entertainments of the winter of 1872-3 would do credit to many a larger
place. Indeed, had these hardy pioneers not strained to keep up in those
things which appeal to the mental and spiritual, there would have been a
terrible lapsing into barbarism. Lectures and literary entertainments and
concerts, as also a growing interest in church work, kept these men and
women shoulder to shoulder with the best in any country. In all this father
took the lead, and was much respected and reverenced by both the white and
the red men.
Between Christmas and the New
Year we pushed on to our own home, taking with us my two older girls, Flora
and Ruth. Again we were facing the deep snow and extreme cold, and still
Fort Pitt Brown was to the front, as strong and faithful as ever. Reaching
Pigeon Lake without further adventure, we were at the end of our long
journey. Two months and a half had elapsed since we left Portage la Prairie,
and considerably over three months from our leaving eastern Canada. Long
weary miles we had journeyed, with cold camps, deep snows, intense frosts
and blinding snow-storms as accompaniments; but here we were at last, well
and strong and thankful. And our people at the lake were also thankful.
Donald and all the rest of the natives welcomed our coming, and soon the
chimneys of our two-roomed shanty were belching forth sparks and smoke, and
by New Year's eve we were comfortably domiciled. My wife had undergone great
hardships. Perhaps there never had been just such another bridal trip as
this we had come safely through. To start thoroughly prepared for a winter
trip such as ours would be hard enough in all truth, but to be caught as we
were, almost wholly unprepared, while yet six hundred miles intervened
between us and our destination, added tenfold to the dangers and
difficulties. Truly my little wife, who bravely endured all this without a
murmur, deserves to be ranked among the heroines of frontier life.
And now the time has come to
close my present narrative. In these pages the reader has accompanied me in
my wanderings from the autumn of 1868 down to the eve of New Year's day,
1873. We have travelled together over new and strange fields, have witnessed
many scenes in the wild life that in those days prevailed throughout our
great western domain, and now for the time being I will say farewell,
trusting ere long to resume the story of my early experiences on the mission
fields of the Canadian West.
Yours faithfully,
JOHN MCDOUGALL. |
