Chapter 15
I had always looked forward to following my brother, in any adventure which he might undertake, but there is a great difference between a vague looking forward to an unknown future, and actually setting out, bag and baggage and all alone, to what is absolutely a new experience. I must confess to a feeling akin to nervousness, when the actual day arrived for me to leave Toronto, with nearly all that I held dear in it. I remember Dora beginning to cry, and how I tried to keep up a bold front and told her she must cheer up “my sisters and my cousins and my aunts” (this was a much hackneyed quotation from the play “Pinafore”, then much in vogue).
I had quite a lot of luggage, as we were allowed to take 500 lbs. and my mother and grandmother had supplied me liberally with “household effects”. There was a mattress and other bedding neatly folded in a rag carpet of my grandmother’s making, two barrels with a tea set and other china, a folding chair given by Mrs. Cayley, my small chest of drawers, made by a destitute protege of my grandmother’s, and now packed in a small wooden box, and of course two or three trunks. But these things fortunately were not in my charge, as the “Conducted Party” with which I was traveling looked after all luggage. I felt I had quite enough to do to care for the possessions which I carried in my hands. First, a large well-filled, well-assorted basket of lunch. Then a bundle in a shawl strap, consisting of a nice new railway rug, presented by dear Cousin Hattie and Mr. Cartwright, and a little soft pillow, which was to be my companion on many journeys. There was also a little brown leather bag given by old Mrs. Killally, with clothing, books, etc., for the journey.
On arriving at the Yonge Street Station, from which started at noon (March 3rd, 1880), I found a number of friends had come to see me off, among them Mr. Ord and Mr. Charles Heath, who had both come for the same purpose, to introduce me to a Mr. Gregg, who was going on the same expedition. He was an exceedingly nice young man and I am sure it must have been no little relief to my mother to find I had an escort.
Mother and Sophie accompanied me as far as Hamilton, where our first misfortune took place. The conductor came in to say the wheels of the car were over-heated and we must adjourn to the coach ahead of us. This accomplished I bid a long farewell to my beloved mother and Sophie, and went forth into the dim unknown.
It is such an easy matter now to get into a comfortable pullman or tourist car on a Sunday night, on the C.P.R., and after 40 hours of rapid traveling, with every necessity supplied, to step out at Winnipeg exactly on time, that it is well nigh impossible for those of the present time to imagine what the journey was in 1880. I do not think the C.P.R. was even begun, and we had to go a long weary journey through the States. The fare was not high, only $25.00, but the accommodation was equally poor. There were no wash rooms, no provision for cooking, no porters, only one pane of glass in the window, instead of the three now provided, so it was always thick with frost. I believe a pullman ran on the train I was on, though I knew nothing of it. But we did not look for luxuries, and we felt it rather beguiled the monotony to light our spirit lamp, boil water and make tea, coffee or cocoa, as the fancy dictated. Mr. Gregg had a lunch basket also, if not quite so large, quite as well filled as mine, and we had therefore a great variety to choose from for each meal.
On the train rushed, the cars crossing on the ferry at Detroit, about 11 p.m. Then we curled up on the seats and slept as best we could until morning, when we soon steamed into Chicago. After waiting here some hours, we went on to Minneapolis. But with the morning, one great difficulty arose. As I remarked, there were no facilities for washing, but three members of the party had brought wash basins. One of these was carelessly thrown out of the window with the water by someone who had borrowed it, so two only remained. These went the whole round of the car, and as it was quite full, it was a tedious business.
I can picture some few of those passengers (one of the passengers swept out the car each day) to this day. One tired out mother with a two months old baby and a boy of five rejoicing in the name of William Henry. How sorry we used to feel for him. It was “William Henry sit still”, “William Henry be quiet”, then a resounding smack would follow. Poor woman, she was going to join her husband, as were most of the women and children, and they little knew what was before them. There was a mother and grandmother with five children, with whooping-cough, but they were a cheerful, plucky family and made light of little discomforts. Then there was a very “dressy” young man, who spent his time flirting with two girls in the opposite seat, and a poor little bride, who wept most of the way, to the great distress of her very kind husband. There were many others—I know 14 children in all, but this will give a sample of our companions.
We arrived in Minneapolis on Friday morning. It was very cold, and beginning to snow. The broad Minnesota prairies were covered already with snow, and soon the blizzard raged fiercely round, drifting the snow on the tracks. Slowly and more slowly the train went, until at last it stopped altogether, near Crookston, sometime on Friday night. How cold it was and how the wind whistled in through the single window, bringing small flurries of snow with it. The thermometer was now 30° below zero, and the wood, with which the one stove was supplied, was ruing short. I remember on one occasion the train stopped opposite someone’s pile of wood and all the able bodied men sprang out and helped themselves. But this wood was green and the smoke which ensued did not improve matters.
By Saturday many were getting hungry, as we had been promised to arrive on that day. We had plenty and would gladly have shared with a neighbor who had nothing, but she said it would make her husband angry if she took food from strangers. We were hardly strangers by this time, as one can imagine, and helped one another as best we might. I remember one night before I lay down in my place to sleep, seeing William Henry’s mother in a blissful doze. Her poor little baby was crying piteously, so I took it from her arms and walked it to sleep and she never missed it. We were much amused, during one of those weary nights, to see Master William Henry stealthily arise, and dragging out the provision box, indulge in a royal meal.
The telegraph wires were all down with the storm but by Sunday morning (I remember I had quite a Sunday School on Sunday afternoon) the train officials had got into communication with headquarters and three more engines and three snow ploughs had arrived. Now the men refused to work as it was Sunday and when that difficulty had been overcome, for it certainly amounted to “pulling your neighbor’s ass out of a pit”, no water was to be had and hours were spent in melting snow.
At last we set off. We all got out (except the mothers with babies, and the bride who was sitting silently weeping, wrapped up in a patchwork quilt) and watched with great interest the train, armed with five engines and three snow ploughs, make dashes at the drifts. It would run for a few hundred yards, with the snow scattering in every direction, then back up and charge the drift again. Our progress was slow, but by Monday night we were at St. Vincent, the last town on the American side, and only two miles from our destination, Emerson, where many an impatient husband and father was awaiting us. But one solid drift lay between the two towns and we stopped again. Then the courage of these North West men arose and with shovels and spades they turned to and dug us out and so it came to pass that about 11 a.m. on Tuesday, we arrived in Emerson.
I hardly knew my brother when he came on board to look for me, he had grown so broad and brown. Almost my first remark was, “Are you not cold in that cotton shirt?” and he replied, “Not very, I have five underneath.” Bidding farewell to our fellow passengers and expressing some of the gratitude I felt to Mr. Gregg for his extreme kindness all through the long and tiring journey, I went with my brother to the house of a Mrs. Newcombe, the wife of a land agent in the little town. She made me very welcome and I was glad indeed of a regular meal and a good sleep in a comfortable bed.
The next morning, Graham and I walked out on the frozen Red River to the house of a Mrs. Scott. She was the wife of a Presbyterian minister, a very good man, but she was with Brethren and had been a great friend of Mrs. James Cartwright’s in Napanee. They were a strange pair, utterly unsuited to one another and though both were the soul of kindness and good works, a daily trial to one another. He was intensely humorous and loved to tease; she was utterly practical and deeply sentimental. I have seen her sitting at the table, the tears dropping into her plate, as he in great good humor “poked fun” at her. They had three sons living, having lost at least seven children. One son was farming near by, one was at school in Winnipeg, and the third, little John of 10, lived at home. She always had her house full, and cared little where she slept herself—sometimes on the dining table. The house, which was beautifully situated on the banks of the Red River, had been built for some Government official and consisted of a long hall, with three rooms on each side. In addition to their own family they had at this time a man and his wife and several children living with them. The man was supposed to work the farm and the woman do the housework but the day before I arrived a new little son had been added to their family and Mrs. Scott was doing her own work and waiting on the woman.
I remained with Mrs. Scott until the following Wednesday, March 17th when we set off for “Beaconsfield”. Graham had come in with Mr. Christie, the only man in the township who had horses at that time and had expected to return with him, but he was waiting for a remittance from England and did not wish to start until it came. However, he was finally persuaded to set out and go at least part of the way. My 500 lbs. of baggage had been stowed away in the sleigh box and we were ready to start by 11 o’clock.
It was still very cold, 30° below zero. Mrs. Newcombe, from whose house the start was made, got my coat and muffler well warmed and her mother insisted on my drinking a mixture of hot water and cayenne pepper to fortify me, but I fear the means used to keep me warm were inadequate for I was soon chilled to the bone.
We first crossed the Red River, carefully descending one bank and dashing up the other. This brought us to West Lynne, a small attempt at a town on the west bank of the river. People always spoke of the “quartet cities”, St. Vincent and Emerson on one side of the river and West Lynne and St. Boniface on the other. While Emerson and West Lynne were in Manitoba, St. Vincent was in Minnesota and St. Boniface in Dakota. I do not know whether these towns have ever grown to maturity, but in 1880 they were the “end” of civilization.
After leaving West Lynne you drove straight out on the prairie for 60 miles to the Pembina Mountains which before long came dimly in sight. The prairie was absolutely flat, at that time, of course, covered with snow, and the road marked by posts, put in at intervals. We drove first to what was known as the 7-mile village, a Mennonite settlement. All this beautiful prairie had been settled by Mennonites. They lived a community life, working the fields in union and all living together in villages. Their houses were thatched with straw and usually the stable and dwelling were under one roof.
The house we stopped at was a good size, but we had to be satisfied with “outer regions”. This was a large sort of shed occupied at one end by the cattle and pigs, but at the other was a sort of platform and a stove. We soon had a fire, boiled some water and made coffee and thawed out our sandwiches. Then Graham opened one of my trunks and got me out the old sealskin coat Cousins Harriet had given me, which was much warmer than the blue cloth ulster I was wearing.
Mr. Christie, whom I was now making the acquaintance of, always made me think of a coal heaver. He wore an old sealskin cap with very little of the fur left on it, a very dirty skin coat which had been gay in its time with fringes and embroidery, and he usually had a long boot on one foot with a trouser tucked in and on the other foot he had a moccasin. It has just occurred to me that perhaps he was experimenting as to which was warmer. I have heard of people who “opened their mouth and put their foot in it”. With Mr. Christie it was just the opposite; when he opened his mouth the pure English which came out at once told you that he was an English gentleman. He was rather good looking too, with bright blue eyes and fair, curly hair and fair moustache. He was a pleasant, good tempered, rather ordinary young man on the whole. I sat beside him on the seat of the sleigh, but we did not spend our time conversing; it was too cold.
On and on we went, nothing to be seen but the cold snow and the cold sky and an occasional Mennonite village. At last I slipped down under the buffalo robe altogether and knew nothing more until the sleigh stopped and we got out between 7 and 8 o’clock at a Mennonite house. They said we had driven 30 miles and I for one was very cold and stiff. This house had a guest room, a small square room with a stove and two or three benches and two bunks on the wall. These were already occupied by a man and his two sons, but they did not look inviting and Graham went out and got two or three armfuls of hay and made beds for us on the floor. The floor was made of clay in that house; often they were only earth. As soon as we had had our meal (which we had brought with us) we lay down in our clothes and soon slept the sleep of the laboring man.
Next morning we rose early and soon were on our way again. We were now nearing the mountains, so there was something to be seen and also it was not nearly so cold, so I quite enjoyed my morning’s drive. Shortly after noon we reached Nelsonville, a small village springing up at the foot of the mountains. One of the horses had lost a shoe so we had to make quite a long stop. The boys discussed what to do with me and finally decided to take me to the house of the land agent who was lately married. Mrs. Lauderkiss was not a very young woman and quite a character in her way, but she was very pleased to see me. “Come in, come in,” she said, “it is good to see a visitor. I will call my sister at once.” Her sister was a girl about my age, who greeted me with effusion. “I have been here all the winter,” she said, “and I have not once seen a girl”. Mrs. Lauderkiss said her sister had been so sick with neuralgia she was afraid she would have to send her home. “But she’s just lonely, and you will cure her.” Apparently I did, as I was told on a future visit that she never had it again. They fed me well and gave me a hearty invitation to make their house my resting place whenever I should come that way, and bid me a reluctant goodbye.
About 3 p.m. we set off up the mountains. They do not amount to a great deal if you have the right road and we had gone a good way when darkness fell upon us. We were to spend the night in the house of a Frenchman. Not a large house for it only had one room, but they were willing to take paying guests. When I was deposited in the house, the boys driving round to the stable, I found it only occupied by two small children, playing by a rocking chair. “Why does your little sister cry so”? I asked the small boy. “Because I rock on her toes”, was his reply. The affairs of the little twins, as they turned out to be, were soon settled by their mother, who came in with an armful of wood and after giving me an invitation to take off my coat, made up the fire and proceeded to get the tea. There was not much difficulty in making out a menu, when you only had such a limited supply to choose from, but the fried pork and potatoes and dried apple pie tasted very good after the long drive and the bread was fresh and light even if there was no butter. After tea the men all went out to the stable.
My hostess, whose name I have forgotten, remarked, “Now is our chance to get into bed. You and me and the twins and the baby can sleep in this bed and we’ll leave the other for the men”. I was not sorry to take off my clothes and soon tumbled into bed, the twins were tucked in at the bottom and the baby was kept warm between us. Just as I dropped asleep, which was very soon, I heard the three men come quietly in and get into the other bed in the dark. When I awaked in the morning they were once more busy with the horses and cattle.
After breakfast we went on our way. It was much warmer, above zero, and the drive over the hills was very pleasant. I was sorry when about 11 a.m. Mr. Christie said, pointing with the whip to a little settlement, “This is Lorneville and here I turn round and go back”. “Yes,” said Graham, “and you are to stay here until tomorrow, when I will bring the oxen for you.” It was far from an inviting place to stay. The mistress of the house was a stout, dirty Irishwoman and she had two daughters who spent most of their time joking with a number of young men, who seemed to be stopping there. She soon got us some dinner and the boys had a conversation with one of the young men and then Graham announced to me that Mr. Atkins would bring me and my luggage to the “turf house” next morning and he would meet me there. The afternoon seemed very long and weary but it passed at last and after supper, the old question of “bed” arose. There were two double beds behind a curtain and the elder daughter of the family told me I was to sleep in one of them with her. She was not as clean and inviting as my companion of the previous night, but the bed was not uncomfortable and I was a fine sleeper.
We rose early and after breakfast of Porridge and molasses, fried pork and milk less tea, I found my escort had everything packed on his sleigh and was ready to set off. He had a good load of lumber on first for himself and then all my stuff, and I felt very high up when I managed to mount on the top. It was very warm and sunny and the snow was melting a little in the sleigh track, so we were generally quite on an angle. Mr. Atkins would point to a bit of the road in front of us and assure me “that was the very spot where we would upset”. But we did not and before very long we were deep in theological discussion. I believe the lad was really interested in the things of God and glad to talk.
About twelve, our oxen had managed to cover the distance between Lorneville and the turf house, and I was helped down from my elevated position and my luggage once more unpacked and laid on the snow, but not for long, as Graham appeared at that moment with his oxen and the little pony trotting behind. The “turf house” was a sort of remnant of the old cave dwellers. It was dug right out of the hill and the owners said was always warm, even in 40° below zero weather. There was a father and mother and three little children and a young baby. The mother was the most unhappy, depressed woman I ever saw. She told me how she hated the country and had never wanted to come. “My mother said it would kill me and I know it will,” she said. She made me feel quite sad. I gave her some little books I had but did not feel able to talk to her as I would like. (About two months after our visit she died; she had nothing really the matter with her, but she took a cold and would not rouse herself and said she was going to die, and she very soon did.) There was not much to eat in the house, but she took some fine big loaves out of the oven and we dined on hot bread and syrup.
Now we had come to the last lap of our journey and it was very enjoyable; warm and sunny and the country we passed through almost like a park, with woods and hills interspersed with prairie. It was a beautiful country, but very lonely; not a house or field to be seen. The sun set in the glory which seems specially to belong to the Great North West and we went quietly on. I could hardly believe 1 was really at my journey’s end, but I remember the deep feeling of peace which came over me. About seven we came to the flourishing city of Beaconsfield. It consisted of just two log houses with one room apiece and at the door of one of them we stopped. A tall energetic young woman and three little children ran out to greet us. The luggage was once more lifted off the sleigh and stored in a corner of the well-filled house and Mrs. Cooper, the one woman in the township, helped me off with my wraps and sat us down to our supper of bread and syrup and the regulation milk less tea.