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THE big open fire-places in
the Mission house were delightful spots beside which to spend a few hours
after a trip such as we had just concluded; but such was the extent of our
moving circuit, and such our circumstances, that we could spare but very few
hours at home. Many camps must be visited and many mouths must he fed. Mark
and I and a lad named Jimmie Horn were kept pretty constantly on the move,
now bringing in loads of fresh meat, and the next trip loads of dried
provisions wherewith to make pemmican for summer use. We generally managed
to keep Sunday in some Indian camp or at the Mission. If the former, the
whole day was one continuous series of meetings. I would go from one chief's
tent to that of another, and the respective followers would crowd the lodges
while I did my best to tell the pagan and barbarous people the old, old
story of Jesus and His love.
Many a night, at the close of
a long day's run, I would give informal lectures on civilization and
education, telling my eager listeners what Christianity was doing for man in
other parts 9f the world; and all this time I was learning the language and
studying the people. Old men and painted and feathered warriors and the
youth of these camps crowded the lodges in which I made my temporary home.
There was no rest while in Indian camps, and not until we were in our own
seven-by-eight-foot hole in the snow, with wood cut and carried and piled at
hand and dogs fed, would I sit down to rest both mind and body, and be free
for a time from the inquisitive and eager listening and questionings of
these people to whom we were sent. Then Mark and Jimmie would take their
turn. Jimmie was a lad of nimble legs, but of much nimbler tongue. Had he
not come from the famous Red River? He had even visited old Fort Carry, and
he would fairly take Mark's breath as he drew from the range of his wide
experience.
Mark would tell of the
mountains, and grizzlies and panthers and avalanches, and encounters with
the enemy, till Jimmie's eyes would bulge with excitement. I would look on
and listen and rest. Then before retiring Mark would lead in prayer in his
mother-tongue, which neither Jimmie nor myself could understand, though we
always said "Amen."
During short intervals at the
Mission Mark made several hunting excursions, and killed some moose and
deer. One night he came home and reported one moose killed and another
wounded. Early next morning we went out and killed the wounded moose and
brought the meat of both home. Another time he killed two deer, and brought
back word that the forest was so dense the meat would have to be packed to
the river some miles above. Accordingly he and I took our dogs and drove up
the river opposite to where the deer lay. Fastening the dogs, we struck into
the forest, and coming across fresh tracks of more deer, we went after these
and killed two more. It was midnight before we had packed the meat of the
four deer to the place where our dogs and sleds were. Hard work it was, but
the venison was good, and our larder was handsomely replenished.
All that winter the wood Cree
camps were from one hundred to one hundred and fifty miles distant from the
Mission.. The buffalo kept out south of these camps, and sometimes were a
long distance from them. But now that there was a regularly established post
beside the Mission, trading parties and settlers and Indians kept passing to
and fro, giving us comparatively good roads, and thus enabling us to travel
quickly. Once well loaded with either dried provisions or fresh meat, we
lost no time on the road.
It was on one of the trips we
made at this time that we were stopping for the day in Ka-kake's camp, which
was situated beside a pound for catching buffalo, when, hearing of another
cluster of lodges some ten or twelve miles distant, I made a run over to see
the people, and while coming back the same afternoon I ran across a fine
herd of buffalo. As my leader was obedient to the word, I thought "now is my
chance to run that herd over to the pound." I had no load whatever on the
sled, so I gripped the ground-lashing with both hands and feet, and sent the
dogs after the herd, or rather to one side of it. My dogs went into the hunt
most heartily, and sometimes brought me dangerously near to the flying mass.
Then I would get them under control again, and on we went from side to side,
but always nearing the point of timber where the pound was. Presently we
came within the lines of "dumb-watchers," and now these helped us, and I
kept looking, when I could spare a glance, to see some move in camp. But as
the ledges were behind the bluff, and the Indians did not look for buffalo
at the time, no one saw us until it was too late to prepare and run the herd
into the pound; so, after bringing the buffalo close up to camp, I had the
bitterness of seeing them break through the "head sentinels" and dash away.
But what a ride I had that
afternoon, my big dogs jumping together, and with long leaps making the sled
leap also. It required a firm grip to stay on that narrow sled, and also
dexterous poising to keep right side up. Down hills, across valleys, over
knolls, jumping the rough frozen snow where thousands of buffalo had rooted
and tramped only a few days before, certainly that was a toboggan ride with
a race against a herd of buffalo thrown in; and the only disappointment was
that after bringing the bunch to the pound, the Indians were not there to
receive them.
When Ka-kake came in that
evening he loudly lamented that we had not been seen in time, for, said he,
"It would have given a name to this part of the country and to my camp, and
men would have pointed to this as the place where John brought buffalo into
the pound with his dog-train."
One day in February, 1866,
while I was at home, my mother, coming down stairs, congratulated me on the
birth of a daughter, and when I knew that mother and child were well I
mentally and consciously made a step forward in being. It was as God would
have it. We gave our first-born the good old Scotch name of Flora, which
also belonged to my youngest sister.
About the middle of March
father made another pastoral visit to Edmonton, and as we remained over for
Monday, I went out to St. Albert, the Roman Catholic Mission north of
Edmonton, to find, if I could, some domestic chickens, as mother had often
expressed a strong desire for some. It took me all day to drive about
twenty-five miles and find the chickens and buy them, the latter two
enterprises being the most difficult of the three. At last I purchased three
birds, two hens and a cock, paying for them eight shillings each—six dollars
to start a poultry farm in our part of the country Wild-duck eggs were very
good in their place, but unfortunately for cooking purposes these were
generally some way on in the process of incubation before we obtained them,
and mother with her eastern ideas did long for a few fresh eggs
occasionally.
I was quite proud of my
purchase, but was rather taken aback when at the supper table that evening
the august Chief Factor inquired of me what I had paid for those chickens,
and when I told him eight shillings each, he pooh-poohed the whole thing;
and while I was not prepared for such criticism, I could but answer that
this was largely a matter of sentiment, that I had often been where if I had
it I would have given all that to hear a cock crow. The old gentleman gave
me up as incorrigible. However, to the credit of humanity it must be said
that we are not all Peters. The crow of a cock or the tinkling of a cow-bell
often have been as sweetest music in the ear of a poor lost traveller. |
