Chapter 28.
I cannot pass by this time in my life without giving to posterity some of my cousin’s experiences in this new country, some told by Mrs. Boulton to myself and others overheard many times as she told them to the visitors who often frequented the house. These were mainly men to talk “railway” with the Major. Often, after a sumptuous tea, Mrs. Gilly and I, having “cleared up”, would make our escape to that crowded little bedroom and, getting into our beds for the sake of warmth, would listen with amused interest to the tales.
I think I have mentioned before that Major Boulton, accompanied by Mr. Gilly, left Toronto in March, 1880, about the same time I did. Not many weeks after their arrival poor Mr. Gilly, who was quite an elderly man, took cold. It ran into pneumonia and he died after a few days illness. The Major pushed on, and located a homestead about twelve miles north of Russell. From this point he wrote to his wife to “come up”, as he had with the help of some surveyors put up a log house, which was “neatly cornered”. His little wife, young and English, had no idea of what the term “neatly cornered” implied but pictured a comfortable farm house prepared for herself and her children. She and Mrs. Gilly and the four babes, the eldest only five years of age, left in August or September I think, and after various adventures arrived in Winnipeg. Her husband met her with what was then known as a “prairie schooner”, namely a covered wagon with a small stove in it, and they jolted across the prairies, 250 miles to their new home. It was a long weary journey. They stopped often at settlers’ houses for a meal, at other times cooked in the wagon. At one house after dinner, their cat, Mrs. Gilly’s great treasure, had disappeared. There was much searching, but at last a feeble mew led Mrs. Gilly to the right spot.
Their treacherous hosts had hidden poor puss between the mattresses!
They got to the “neatly cornered” house the beginning of October, and then, as Mrs. Boulton always said at this point in her tale, she found that she was the one who was “neatly cornered”. The house had neither roof nor floor, windows nor door. A Mr. and Mrs. Leonard, an Englishman, who had been by way of learning farming with Major Boulton in Coburg, had pitched a tent in the middle of the house. They did not offer to move it and there was not room for a second. However, Mrs. Boulton and her sister were good sports and willing to put up with much. In a few days the floor was down and the roof on, and they tried to unpack and settle in. The Major made a large bed at one end, consisting of boards supported by logs. On this they all slept in a row; first the Major and his wife and children, then a curtain hung down and on the other side lay poor Mrs. Gilly. Further along came a second curtain and then their friend Mr. Gardiner and his dog, who would snap at Mrs. Gilly through the curtain!
The washing was a great problem, but the Major introduced a squaw who was willing to do it and carried off a large supply of children’s clothes in a sack. She certainly washed them, but her next step was to put them all back in the sack wet and when they got home they were so stiffly frozen it was days before they could be got out.
It was a very lonely place. One day that winter a tall Indian came in and demanded flour, as the squaw and papooses were starving. They gave him a bagful and he provided himself with what was needed in the way of pan and spoon, made buns, baked them in their oven, sat down and ate them. Then he insisted on more flour. They were afraid to refuse and he repeated the operation. By this time the ladies were thoroughly frightened and more than relieved when Major Boulton appeared quite unexpectedly and turned him out. Yet they often wondered how they got through that winter, but spring came at last.
One day in the early spring Major Boulton came home one evening—it was Saturday. “We move on Monday,” he said, “men are coming early in the morning to take down the house.” Mrs. Gilly often laughed, but bitterly, as she spoke of that sudden move. The family, having tossed their possessions into their trunks, were driven the twelve miles to Russell to the house of a Major De Baleuhard, a small, leaking shack. Here they lived while the house in which we were now living was put up. It was the rainy season and they had a hard time. There was only one bed, in which Aunt Nelly and her little name sake slept. The rest camped on the floor in the driest spots they could find. Mrs. Gilly hung a rubber sheet over her bed, but after heavy rain it was so full of water that the ropes broke and they had an unexpected hath.
These are the stories which most impressed themselves on my mind, but I will relate an incident which happened that first winter I spent with them. Graham had come down on one of his rapid journeys, and taking Johnson and Thomson, the horses, had left the skittish pair of ponies—or I should say the pony and mule, for he had traded one of the black ponies for a mule. “Do not let anyone attempt to drive the ponies while I am away,” he said, “they are too wild for anyone but a man to handle.” However, Mrs. Boulton was bound to have a drive and said she should take the ponies to Russell, about a mile. We implored her not to, but she was determined, and off she went with Ralph to drive and Nellie, little Heather and the baby as passengers. After about an hour the little boys, looking out of the window, exclaimed, “Oh Cousin Fanny, come and see all the people on the road.” It was a straight road over a smooth prairie to Russell, and there we saw a number of people in the distance making their way over the snow, but what attracted us most was the sight of the two ponies tearing along with the little sleigh. As they rapidly drew nearer I cried, “Heather is alone in the sleigh.” I recognized her by a bright blue shawl she was wrapped in. In an instant we were outside the door. The ponies slackened their pace for a second and I snatched the terrified child. They dashed over a high pile of chopped wood, sprang over the well and, making for the stable, stuck fast in the door. Mrs. Boulton soon came along, and Mr. Andin the Hudson Bay Factor, carrying little George. She was terrified, and it was an immense relief to find her darling safe and warm in her aunt’s arms. She had tumbled the baby out and Nellie when the ponies started on their wild gallop, but fell out herself before she could put Heather over. We all felt it was a truly merciful escape and thanked the Lord for His wonderful care.