Produced by Bill Keir, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks

and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

A TRIP TO MANITOBA

BY

MARY FITZGIBBON.

"Manitoba, the great province which now forms part of the Canadian
Dominion"

The Rt. Hon. W. E. GLADSTONE, MP at West Calder.

DEDICATED TO LADY DUFFERIN.

PREFATORY NOTE.

The Canada Pacific Railway, so frequently referred to in the following pages, is now almost an accomplished fact. It will, after traversing for over a thousand miles the great prairies of the Swan River and Saskatchewan territories, thread the Rocky Mountains and, running through British Columbia to Vancouver's Island, unite the Pacific with the Atlantic. Of the value of this line to the Dominion and the mother country there cannot be two opinions. The system of granting plots of land on each side of the railway to the Company, with power to re-sell or give them to settlers, has been found most advantageous in, as it were, feeding the line and creating populations along its route. The cars which carry to distant markets the crops raised by the settlers, bring back to them the necessaries of civilized life.

Readers who ask with the post-office authorities, "Where is Manitoba?" [Footnote: Pages 58, 59] may be answered that Manitoba is a province in the great north-west territory of the Canadian Dominion, lying within the same parallels of latitude as London and Paris. It has one of the most healthy climates in the world—the death-rate being lower than in any other part of the globe,—and a soil of wondrous fertility, sometimes yielding several crops in one year. Immense coal-fields exist within the province; its mountains abound with ore; and its natural wealth is enormous.

While the province of Manitoba formed part of the Hudson Bay Company's territory, its resources were undeveloped. But in 1869 it was transferred to the Dominion Government, and received a Lieutenant-Governor and the privilege of sending representatives to the Parliament at Ottawa. Under the new régime enterprise and industry are amply encouraged.

The original population consisted chiefly of Indians and French half-breeds; the abolition of the capitation tax on immigrants, however, has resulted in a large immigration of Europeans, who, with health and energy, cannot fail to prosper, especially as they are without European facilities for squandering their money in luxury or intoxication. Of how universally the Prohibitory Liquor Law prevails in Manitoba, and yet how difficult it sometimes is to punish its infraction, an amusing instance in given in Chapter XI. Mr. Alexander Rivington, in a valuable pamphlet now out of print ("On the Track of our Emigrants"), says that when he visited Canada it was rare to see such a thing as mendicity—too often the result of intemperance; "the very climate itself, so fresh and life-giving, supplies the place of strong drink. Public-houses, the curse of our own country, have no existence. Pauperism and theft are scarcely known there—income-tax is not yet dreamt of." Free grants of one hundred acres of prairie and meadow land are still being made to immigrants, and the population is rapidly increasing.

CHAPTER I.

The Grand Trunk Railway—Sarnia—"Confusion worse confounded"—A Churlish
Hostess—Fellow-Passengers on the Manitoba—"Off at
last!"—Musical Honours—Sunrise on Lake Huron—A Scramble for
Breakfast—An Impromptu Dance—The General Foe.

CHAPTER II.

Saulte Ste. Marie—Indian Embroidery—Lake Superior—Preaching, Singing,
and Card-playing—Silver Islet—Thunder Bay—The Dog River—Flowers at
Fort William—"Forty Miles of Ice"—Icebergs and Warm
Breezes—Duluth—Hotel Belles—Bump of Destructiveness in Porters.

CHAPTER III.

The Mississippi—The Rapids—Aerial Railway Bridges—Breakfast at
Braynor—Lynch Law—Card-sharpers—Crowding in the Cars—Woman's
Rights!—The Prairie—"A Sea of Fire"—Crookstown—Fisher's
Landing—Strange Quarters—"The Express-man's Bed"—Herding like
Sheep—On board the Minnesota.

CHAPTER IV.

Red Lake River—Grand Forks—The Ferry—Custom-house Officers at
Pembina—Mud and Misery—Winnipeg at last—A Walk through the
Town—A Hospitable Welcome—Macadam wanted—Holy Trinity Church—A
Picturesque Population—Indians shopping—An "All-sorts" Store—St.
Boniface and its Bells—An Evening Scene.

CHAPTER V.

Summer Days—The English Cathedral—Icelandic
Emigrants—Tableaux—In chase of our Dinner—The Indian
Summer—Blocked up—Gigantic Vegetables—Fruitfulness of the
Country—Iceland Maidens—Rates of Wages—Society at
Winnipeg—Half-castes—Magic of the Red River Water—A Happy
Hunting-ground—Where is Manitoba?

CHAPTER VI.

Winter Amusements—A Winnipeg Ball—Forty Degrees below Zero—New Year's
Day—"Saskatchewan Taylor"—Indian Compliments—A Dog-train—Lost in the
Snow—Amateur Theatricals—Sir Walter Raleigh's Hat—A Race with the
Freshets—The Ice moves!—The First Steamer of the Season—Good-bye to
Winnipeg.

CHAPTER VII.

A Manitoban Travelling-carriage—The Perils of Short Cuts—The Slough of
Despond—Paddy to the Rescue!—"Stick-in-the-Mud" and his
Troubles—McQuade's—An Irish Welcome—Wretched Wanderers.

CHAPTER VIII.

Faithless Jehu—The "Blarney Stone"—Mennonites in search of
News—"Water, Water everywhere"—A Herd of Buffaloes—A Mud
Village—Pointe du Chêne and Old Nile—At Dawson Route—A Cheerful
Party—Toujours perdrix—The "Best Room"—A Government Shanty—Cats
and Dogs—Birch River—Mushroom-picking—The Mosquito Plague—A Corduroy
Road—The Cariboo Muskeg.

CHAPTER IX.

The "Nor'-west Angle"—The Company's House—Triumph of "Stick-in-the-Mud"—On the Lake of the Woods—A Gallant Cook—Buns à l'imprevu—A Man overboard!—Camping out—Clear Water Bay—Our First Portage—A Noble Savage—How Lake Rice and Lake Deception won their Names—At our Journey's End.

CHAPTER X.

Making a New Home—Carrière's Kitchen—The Navvies' Salle-à-Manger—A
Curious Milking Custom—Insect Plagues—Peterboro' Canoes—Fishing
Trips—Mail-day—Indian dread of drowning—The Indian Mail-carrier and
his Partner—Talking by Telegraph—Prairie Fires.

CHAPTER XI.

Irish Wit—Bears?—Death on the Red Pine Lake—A Grave in the Catholic
Cemetery—The First Dog train—A Christmas Fête—Compulsory
Temperance—Contraband Goods—The Prisoner wins the Day—Whisky on the
Island—The Smuggler turned Detective—A Fatal Frolic—"Mr. K——'s Legs".

CHAPTER XII.

Birds of Passage—An Independent Swede—By Sleigh to Ostersund—A Son of
the Forest—Burnt out—A Brave Canadian Girl—Roughing it in the
Shanty—The Kitchen-tent—Blasting the Rock—The Perils of
Nitro-glycerine—Bitter Jests.

CHAPTER XIII.

We lose our Cows—Cahill promoted—Gardening on a New Principle—Onions in Hot-houses—Cahill is hoaxed—Martin the Builder—How the Navvies lived—Sunday in Camp—The Cook's Leap—That "Beautiful Skunk!"—Wild Fruits—Parting.

CHAPTER XIV.

For Ostersund—Lake Lulu—Giant Rocks and Pigmy Mortals—The Island
Garden—Heaven's Artillery—Strange Casualty at the Ravine—My Luggage
nearly blown up—The Driver's Presence of Mind—How to carry a
Canoe—Darlington Bay—An Invisible Lake—Lord and Lady Dufferin—A
Paddle to the Lakes—The Captain's Tug—Monopoly of
Water-carriage—Indian Legends—The Abode of Snakes.

CHAPTER XV.

Clear Water Bay transformed—Cahill's Farewell—Ptarmigan Bay—A Night
under Canvas—"No more Collars or Neckties!"—Companions in
Misfortune—Cedar Lake—"Lop-sticks"—An Indian Village—Shashegheesh's
Two Wives—Buying Potatoes—Seniores Priores—Excellent
Carrots!—Frank's Flirtations with the Squaws—The Dogs eat Carrière's
Toboggan.

CHAPTER XVI.

Falcon River—An Unlucky Supper—The Fate of our Fried Pork—A Weary
Paddle—A Sundial in the Wilderness—A Gipsy Picnic—"Floating away"—The
Dried Musk-rats—Falcon Lake—How can we land?—Mr. M—— "in
again"—Surprised by Indians—How we dried our Clothes—The Last Night in
Camp.

CHAPTER XVII.

Indian Loyalty—A Nap on Falcon Lake—A False Alarm—The Power of
Whisky—"Magnificent Water Stretches"—A Striking Contrast—Picnic
Lake—How we crossed Hawk Lake—Long Pine Lake—Bachelors' Quarters at
Ingolf—We dress for Dinner—Our Last Portage—A Rash Choice—"Grasp
your Nettle"—Mr. F——'s Gallantry—Cross Lake—Denmark's Ranche—A
Tramp through the Mire.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Tilford—Pedestrians under Difficulties—The Railway at last—Not exactly
a First-class Carriage—The Jules Muskeg—Whitemouth and Broken-Head
Rivers—Vagaries of the Engine-Driver—The Hotel at St. Boniface—Red
River Ferry—Winnipeg—"A Vagabond Heroine"—The Terrier at fault.

CHAPTER XIX.

The Minnesota again—Souvenirs of Lord and Lady Dufferin—From
Winnipeg by Red River—Compagnons du Voyage—A Model
Farm—"Bees"—Manitoba a good Field for Emigrants—Changes at Fisher's
Landing—A Mild Excitement for Sundays—Racing with Prairie
Fires—Glyndon—Humours of a Pullman Sleeping Car—Lichfield.

CHAPTER XX.

Lakes Smith and Howard—Lovely Lake Scenery—Long Lake—The Little
American—"Wait till you see our Minnetaunka!"—Minneanopolis—Villa
Hotels—A Holiday Town—The Great Flour-mills—St. Paul's—Our American
Cousins—The French Canadian's Story—Kind-hearted Fellow-passengers—A
New Way of Travelling together—The Mississippi—Milwaukee, the Prettiest
Town in Michigan—School-houses—A Peep at Chicago—Market
Prices—Pigs!—The Fairy Tales of Progress—Scotch Incredulity—Detroit
Ferry—Hamilton—Good-bye to my Readers.

CHAPTER I.

After a long day's journey on the Grand Trunk Railway, without even the eccentricities of fellow-passengers in our Pullman car to amuse us, we were all glad to reach Sarnia. The monotony of the scenery through which we passed had been unbroken, except by a prettily situated cemetery, and the tasteful architecture of a hillside church, surrounded by trees just putting on their spring foliage.

It was eight o'clock when we got to the wharf, and the steamer Manitoba only waited for our arrival to cast loose her moorings and enter the dark blue waters of Lake Huron. "Haste" will not express the excitement of the scene. Men, rushing hither and thither in search of friends, traps, and luggage, were goaded to fury by the calmness of the officials and their determination not to be hurried. Hearing there was no chance of having tea on board that night, and discovering near the wharf a signboard announcing that meals could be obtained at all hours (except, as we were told, that particular one), we with difficulty persuaded the proprietress to let us have something to eat. Amidst muttered grumblings that she was "slaved to death," that "her life was not worth a rap," and so on, every remark being emphasized with a plate or dish, we were at last supplied with bread, cheese, and beef-steak, for which we were kindly allowed to pay fifty cents (2s. 6d.) each.

The scene on board the boat beggars description. The other steamers being still ice-bound on Lake Superior, the Manitoba was obliged to take as much freight and as many passengers as she could carry, many of the latter having been waiting in Sarnia upwards of ten days for her departure. Surveying parties, immigrants of almost every nation on their way to make homes in the great North West, crowded the decks and gangways. The confusion of tongues, the shrill cries of the frightened and tired children, the oaths of excited men, and the trundling and thumping of the baggage, mingled with the shrieks of adjacent engines "made night hideous." Porters and cabmen jostled women laden with baskets of linen, brought on board at the last minute, when the poor tired stewardess had no time to administer the well-merited reprimand; passengers rushed about in search of the purser, anxious to secure their state-rooms before they were usurped by some one else.

It was midnight when the commotion had subsided, and quarters were assigned to all but a stray man or two wandering about in search of some Mr. Brown or Mr. Jones, whose room he was to share. Climbing into my berth, I soon fell asleep; but only for a few moments. The shrill whistle, the vehement ringing of the captain's bell, the heavy beat of the paddles, roused me; and as we left the wharf and steamed out from among the ships and small craft dotting the water on every side, "Off at last!" was shouted from the crowded decks. Then the opening bars of "God save the Queen" were sung heartily and not inharmoniously, followed by three cheers for her Majesty, three for her Imperial Highness, three for her popular representative Lord Dufferin, and so on, till the enthusiasm culminated in "He's a jolly good fellow;" the monotony of which sent me to sleep again.

At four o'clock next morning I scrambled out of my berth at the imminent risk of broken bones, wondering why the inventive powers of our Yankee neighbours had not hit upon some arrangement to facilitate the descent; dressed, and went in search of fresh air. Picking my steps quietly between sleeping forms—for men in almost every attitude, some with blankets or great-coats rolled round them, were lying on the floor and lounges in the saloon—I reached the deck just as the sun rose above the broad blue waters, brightening every moment the band of gold where sky and water met. Clouds of ink-black smoke floated from our funnel, tinged by the rising sun with every shade of yellow, red, and brown. Mirrored in the calm water below, lay the silent steamer—silent, save for the ceaseless revolution of her paddles, whose monotonous throb seemed like the beating of a great heart.

For an hour or more I revelled in the beauty of water and sky, and ceased to wonder why people born on the coast love the sea so dearly, and pine for the sight of its waves. When the men came to wash the decks, a pleasant, brawny fellow told me we were likely to have a good run up the lakes. The storms of the last few days having broken up the ice, and driven it into the open, there was hope both of the ice-locked steamers getting out, and of our getting into Duluth without much trouble—"unless the wind changes, which is more than possible," he added abruptly; and walked off, as if fearful of my believing his sanguine predictions too implicitly.

Later the passengers appeared, grumbling at the cold, and at being obliged to turn out so early, and wishing breakfast were ready. Of this wished-for meal the clatter of dishes in the saloon soon gave welcome warning. Dickens says that when, before taking his first meal on board an American steamer, "he tore after the rushing crowd to see what was wrong, dreadful visions of fire, in its most aggravated form, floated through his mind; but it was only dinner that the hungry public were rushing to devour." We were nearly as bad on the Manitoba, the friendly steward warning most of us to secure our seats without delay, the cabin-walls being gradually lined with people on either side, each behind a chair. One of the "boys" strode ostentatiously down the long saloon, ringing a great hand-bell, which summoned a mixed multitude pell-mell to the scene of action, only to retreat in disappointment at finding the field already occupied.

It was amusing to watch the different expressions on the faces down the lines while waiting for breakfast. Men, chiefly surveyors, who during their annual trips to and from work had got used to "that sort of thing," took it coolly; judiciously choosing a seat directly opposite their state-room door, or standing in the background, but near enough to expel any intruder. New men, looking as uncomfortable as if they had been caught in petty larceny, twisted their youthful moustaches, put their hands in their pockets, or leant against the wall, trying to look perfectly indifferent as to the event; some of their neighbours smiling satirically at their folly. Old farmer-looking bodies, grumbling at the crush, mingled with Yankees, toothpick in hand, ready for business; sturdy Englishmen whom one knew appreciated creature comforts; and dapper little Frenchmen, hungry yet polite. Here stood a bright-looking Irishwoman, who vainly tried to restrain the impatience of five or six children, whose faces still shone from the friction of their morning ablutions; there, an old woman, well-nigh double with age, who, rather than be separated from the two stalwart sons by her side, was going to end her days in a strange land. Here was a group of bright, chatty little French Canadians, with the usual superabundance of earrings and gay ribbons decorating their persons; there, a great raw-boned Scotchwoman, inwardly lamenting the porridge of her native land, frowned upon the company.

The bell ceased, and—"Presto!" all were seated, and turning over their plates as if for a wager. Then came a confused jumble of tongues, all talking at once; the rattle of dishes, the clatter of knives and forks, and the rushing about of the boy-waiters. It required quick wit to choose a breakfast dish, from the "White-fish—finanhaddy—beefsteak—cold roastbeef—muttonchop—bacon—potatoes—toast—roll—brown-bread-or- white—tea-or-coffee," shouted breathlessly by a youth on one side, while his comrade screamed the same, in a shrill falsetto, to one's neighbour on the other; their not starting simultaneously making the confusion worse confounded. Such was the economical mode of setting forth the bill of fare on the Manitoba. There were three hundred and fifty people on hoard; more than one-third of whom were cabin, or would-be cabin, passengers. The accommodation being insufficient, some were camping on the upper deck, some in the saloon, many on the stairs, and others wherever elbow-room could be found. Breakfast began at half-past seven, and at half-past nine the late risers were still at it; and it was not long before the same thing (only more so!), in the shape of dinner, had to be gone through.

As Lake Huron was calm and our boat steady, we had more "God save the Queen" after dinner, besides "Rule, Britannia" and other patriotic songs, several of the passengers playing the piano very well. Some one also played a violin, and the men, clearing the saloon of sofas and superfluous chairs, danced a double set of quadrilles, after having tried in vain to persuade some of the emigrant girls to become their partners. They were an amusing group—from the grinning steward, who, cap on head, figured away through all the steps he could recollect or invent (some of them marvels of skill and agility in their way), to the solemn young man, only anxious to do his duty creditably. But alas for the short-lived joviality of the multitude! After touching at Southampton the boat altered her course, and the effect of her occasional rolls in the trough of the waves soon became manifest.

One by one the less courageous of the crowd crept away. Every face soon blanched with terror at the common enemy. Wretched women feebly tried to help crying children, though too ill to move themselves; others threw them down anywhere, to be able to escape in time for the threatened paroxysm; all were groaning, wan and miserable, railing at the poor, wearied stewardess, calling her here, there, and everywhere at the same time, and threatening her as if she were the sole cause of their woe. About midnight, our course being altered, "Richard was himself again."

CHAPTER II.

The scenery just before entering the St. Mary River, which unites Lake Huron and Lake Superior, is very fine. As the steamer threaded the group of islands with their high, rocky, picturesquely wooded shores, we were sometimes near enough to distinguish the many varieties of mosses and ferns just springing into life; then, steaming across the rippling water, we reached some point whose distant beauty had made us long to carry away more than a memory of its outlines; and so, winding in and out amongst the islands of this North American archipelago, we "fetched" the Saulte Ste. Marie about sunset. [Footnote: The island-studded northern expanse of Lake Huron is known as Georgian Bay. As the level of Lake Superior is between thirty and forty feet higher than that of Lake Huron, there is a corresponding fall at the head of the St. Mary River. This difference of level prevents direct navigation between the two lakes; consequently, the Americans have constructed across the extreme north-eastern point of the State of Michigan a fine canal, which gives them exclusive possession of the entrance by water to the great inland sea of Lake Superior. When, in 1870, the Red River Expedition, under Colonel (now General Sir) Garnet Wolseley, sought to make the passage in several steamboats en route for Thunder Bay, the State authorities of Michigan issued a prohibition against it. Fortunately, the Cabinet of Washington overruled this prohibition, and the Expedition was permitted to pass; not, however, until valuable time had been lost. Considering the importance of this canal to the Dominion Government, and that at a crisis the United States' Cabinet could close Lake Superior to our vessels of war, I think some steps should be taken by which the Imperial Government would become joint proprietors of the canal, with an equal share in its management at all times.] The "Saulte," as it is generally called, is a pretty little village, situated at the foot of a hill on the north shore of the canal. Having to remain an hour there, we went ashore, up the long straight street, to a frame-house, or store, where there was an extensive display of Indian work. The Lake Superior and Huron Red Indians are particularly noted for the beauty of their embroidery on skins, silk, birch bark, and cloth, in beads, porcupine quills, or silk. Their imitative genius is so great that the squaws can copy anything, and I know people who have had their crests and coats-of-arms embroidered upon their tobacco-pouches and belts, from an impression on paper or sealing-wax. Generally they copy flowers and ferns, invent their own patterns, or, what seems even more wonderful, make them by chewing a piece of bark into the form they require—the bark assuming the appearance of a stamped braiding pattern. As the white people put an exorbitant price on the flour and trinkets they give in exchange for the Indians' work, the latter ask, when selling for money, what seems more than its full value; but many who travel that way, provided with cheap trinkets and gaudy ribbons, get the work cheaply enough.

There is quite a large Roman Catholic church in the village; but we had to be content with a tiptoe peep through its windows, as after the "angelus" the door is locked. There are some small trading stores, a few scattered houses, long, pretty winding roads up the hills, skirted by cozy little farmhouses and wheat-fields, and one or two dwellings of more pretension occupied as summer residences by Americans. A little higher up, on the other side of the canal, lie the low white buildings of the American fort. That fortification, with its sentries and the national flag floating over the chief bastion, looked gay enough in the rays of the fast-setting sun. After remaining several hours to coal, we left the little village in the darkness, and when day dawned again found ourselves out in the broad waters of Lake Superior—called by the Indians "the Great Sea" (Kichee Kumma). For hours no land was to be seen on either side, but we were visited by two little birds, quivering with cold, weary from their long flight, almost too timid to alight upon our boat, yet too tired to resist the resting-place. Poor little wanderers! many a lonely emigrant, who had left all he loved behind to try his fortune in an unknown land, felt sympathy for them.

Seeing nothing but water and sky to interest us without, we turned our attention to our fellow-passengers within. At one end of the long saloon a zealous Cecilite, the centre of a mixed group, was "improving the occasion," Bible in hand—exhorting his hearers to turn from the error of their ways, and denouncing the world and its wickedness, as exemplified in the group of card-players close by. Their "I'll order it up!" "Pass!" "I'll play it alone!" mingled with the grave accents of the preacher, whose exhortations were answered by shouts of laughter and ringing glees from the other end of the boat, where stood the piano and its satellites. In vain the poor Cecilite tried "to stem the torrent" of what he considered "Satan's doings;" his obstinacy and want of tact only increased the mischievous delight of his enemies. At the sides of the saloon small knots of French Canadians chattered merrily; at the top of the stairs an emigrant or two were allowed to infringe the rule of "no deck passengers," because of the crowd on board. Poor things! One did not wonder that they escaped gladly from the jarring sounds and offensive smells below.

Early on Saturday morning we passed Silver Islet, that mine of wealth to our neighbours across the line. It lies in an island-dotted bay, and is so covered with mining works that it looks like a pile of buildings rising out of the water. The crushing-mills are on the mainland close by. Silver Islet first belonged to a Canadian company; but from lack of enterprise or capital it was sold to an American company for a nominal sum, and, as is often the case, the sanguine nature of Cousin Jonathan, acting on the motto, "Nothing venture nothing win," has been successful, and the company is now (1879) shipping $20,000 worth of silver ore a day. The islet can be visited only by those who have especial permission to see the mines and works, or friends among the officials, neither of which had we.

The adjacent village, at which the Manitoba stopped, did not look as if times were very prosperous with it. Two smoky little tugs lay idly at the small wharf, and the few red wooden houses built against the rocks, their flat roofs piled up with bales of goods and boxes—the ever-present blue barrels of coal-oil being most conspicuous—seemed tenantless. Leaving Silver Islet far behind, we rounded Whitefish Point, with its tall lighthouse, and saw a very distinct mirage—a long stretch of cold blue water, filled with great blocks of ice. It was rather amusing to see the eagerness with which glasses were levelled at the "counterfeit presentment" of a scene, of whose reality we should soon have even too much.

At the entrance of Thunder Bay, we passed Thunder Cape on our right and Pie Island on our left; the former a bold promontory, rising 1300 feet above the sea-level, and wooded with a short stunted growth of bush, principally poplar. Save for its picturesquely situated lighthouse and log hut, where the keeper lives, no other sign of habitation was visible. Thunder Bay and Cape probably take their names from the fierce and frequent storms that rage there; Pie Island from the peculiar formation of its northern end. Passing many rocky islands, with tiny waterfalls zigzaging down their sides, we arrived at "Prince Arthur's Landing" and walked up the long pier, partly roofed to form a temporary warehouse for a pile of freight, in the teeth of a blistering hot land-breeze, which drove the dust in blinding, choking eddies about us. After looking at some specimens of Lake Superior agate which were on exhibition in a dusty shop, and buying some lemons at what we thought the exorbitant price of a dollar and a half per dozen, we were glad to retrace our steps to the steamer, where we found the captain ready and anxious to start. Half an hour's steaming brought us to the mouth of the Kaministiquai, or Dog River, and entering it, we were at once in another country. No more dusty roads, baked-looking piers, nor begrimed aborigines; but bright, rippling water, cool green fields, dotted here and there with leafy trees, cattle grazing or lying lazily in their shade, trim fences, long grass-grown country roads, and soon the white walls and flowery garden of Fort William, the Hudson Bay Company's trading post. The rockery in the centre of the garden would have gladdened the heart of an Ontario gardener. I believe that wealthy people there have had large fragments of Lake Superior rock brought down to adorn their lawns and gardens. We found friends at the fort in the factor and his family, with whom we spent a pleasant half-hour. Mr. McIntyre is well known, and many will owe him gratitude for kindness as long as Fort William or the Canada Pacific Railway remains in their memory.

We left Thunder Bay for Duluth at three o'clock. The day had become cloudy, and showers fell all the evening, but not heavily enough to prevent every man, woman, and child from rushing out to "speak" the down-coming boat Ontario, and hear her report on the state of the ice-fields. She had been six days icebound at Duluth and the answer to our captain's inquiry was—

"Forty miles of ice; only one passage. If you hit that, all right; if not, you won't get through."

And wishing us luck and good night, with three hearty cheers from either deck, we parted. Naturally anxious as we were for a speedy journey, the possibility of failure in hitting the one open passage lent the additional charm of uncertainty to our voyage; not charming, however, to the poor emigrants whose stock of provisions was too scanty to admit of a long stay on board, while the commissariat of the steamer was not prepared to supply them. Knowing this, the captain—a pleasant, handsome man—quoting the saying that "Fortune favours the brave," put on steam.

By eight o'clock on Sunday morning we had met great blocks of ice, and grown accustomed to hearing them bump against the side of the boat; and before noon we were well into the icefields, with loose blocks of ice on every side, and a rough surface of piled-up masses as far as the eye could see. Up a narrow strip of blue water we steamed, the passage closing in our wake. Then the way became blocked ahead, while the vessel heeled to one side with a lurch, as a great block went under her keel. The captain held on steadily but slowly, stopping the machinery until a large berg was passed, and taking advantage of an opening created by the waves as they bore the floes upon their crests. As the ice-blocks closed in behind us the certainty of being unable to return, and the difficulty of going ahead, gave increased excitement to our adventure.

One of its strangest features was the heat. Though clothed in the lightest summer dresses, we were uncomfortably warm—and this with miles of ice around us! The warm land-breeze, and our captain's promptitude and determination, enabled us to reach Duluth that evening. A change of wind the same night drove the ice back into the bay, and from the hotel windows we saw and commiserated four vessels locked fast, their crews and passengers suffering from cold and short rations for four days. The change of wind made us glad of our fur jackets.

Duluth, situated on the rocky north, or Minnesota, shore of the extreme western end of Lake Superior—otherwise St. Louis Bay—was apparently planned in expectation of its one day becoming the principal centre of commerce between America and Canada—in short, the great capital of the lakes. Everything is on a large scale. The streets are broad; the wharves and warehouses extensive; the hotels immense; the custom-house and other public buildings massive and capacious enough to accommodate any number of extra clerks when the rush of business shall come—a rush which is still in the future. During the day and a half we spent there, the hotel omnibus and one other team were the only locomotives, and a lame man and a water-carrier with a patch over his eye the only dwellers in Duluth we saw; while the people from our boat seemed to be the only visitors who woke the echoes in the sleepy place. It was like a city in a fairy tale, over which a spell had been cast; its very cleanliness was depressing, and so suggestive of disuse, that I think a mass of mud scraped off the road might have given some appearance of traffic and life to the scene.

There are people in Duluth, however, though it is difficult to say where they hide themselves; for some of our party went to service in a little church on a hill, and came back charmed with the eloquence of the clergyman and the sweetness of the voices in the quartette choir, to say nothing of several pretty girls they noticed amongst the congregation. Still, Duluth will always seem to me like a city in a dream. On the opposite, or Wisconsin shore of the lake, is Superior City, a pretty, half-built town, rising slowly into commercial importance. Unfortunately we were unable to cross to it.

I cannot leave Duluth without speaking of the "girls" in the hotel, as they were called, in order not to wound the sensitive democracy of the Yankee nature, which abhors the name of servant. There were three in the great dining-saloon, whose superabundance of empty chairs and tables gave even greater dreariness to the house than its long, empty corridors. Pretty fair girls they were, neat in dress, but so tightly laced that it was painful to look at them. Their slow, stiff, automatic movements were suggestive of machinery, and in keeping with the sleepy spell cast over the town. All the lithe, living gracefulness of their figures was destroyed for the sake of drawing in an inch or two of belt. Watching them, I attacked my breakfast with greater energy, to prove to myself that there was something substantial about the premises.

One word respecting the treatment of luggage in that part of the world by porters and officials, whose organ of destructiveness seems to be abnormally developed. Boxes were thrown pell-mell into the hold, or tossed on end out of high baggage-vans, with such unnecessary violence that nothing less than cases of solid iron or stronger metal could have stood it. Trunks, "stationary" boxes warranted to stand any ill-usage, were cracked and broken; and the poor emigrants' boxes, of comparatively slight construction, soon became a mass of ruins, with their contents scattered on the ground. It was the same everywhere—at Duluth, at Glyndon, and at Fisher's Landing, where we took the Red River boat. At Glyndon half the baggage was piled on an open truck, and the heavy rain we passed through that night completed the ruin the officials began. A member of the Hudson Bay Company, who had travelled a great deal over this continent, said he found it best to carry his baggage in a small hand-valise, or in a very large trunk so heavy that it required two men to move it; anything between the two was invariably smashed.

CHAPTER III.

After leaving Duluth at four o'clock on Tuesday morning by rail, the country through which we passed was very beautiful. Lake succeeded lake, then came wooded hills and tiny mountain streams, crossed by high bridges. These bridges were without parapets, and so narrow that, looking out of the window of the car, one saw a deep gorge sixty or seventy feet below. One railway bridge across the Mississippi—a narrow enough stream there, at least to eyes accustomed to the broad St. Lawrence—was more than seventy feet high, and so unsafe that trains were allowed only to creep slowly across it. The rapids on the St. Louis River, along the banks of which the Northern Pacific runs, are magnificent. For some miles the high banks occasionally almost shut out the view; then, as the train winds round a sharp curve, a mountain torrent of foaming water bursts upon the gaze. Rocks tower above it, with great trees bending from their heights; in the stream are huge boulders round which the water whirls and hisses, sending its spray high over the rugged banks, in every nook and crevice of which grow long ferns and graceful wild-flowers. Then follows a long smooth stretch of water with grassy wooded shores, and through the trees one catches distant glimpses of yet wider and more beautiful falls than those just passed.

We breakfasted at Braynor at nine o'clock, and heard with pleasure that we had forty-five minutes wherein to satisfy exhausted nature. Everything was delicious, and we should have done the fare even greater justice had we known that it was the last good meal we should obtain for thirty-six hours. When we returned to the car we were greatly amused by an irrepressible fellow-traveller, whose over-politeness and loquacity savoured of a morning dram or two.

He insisted on pointing out the exact spot—marked by a tall, rough-looking post with a cross-tree on it, that stood near the rails—where two Indians had been "lynched" for some crime by the citizens; which exploit being regarded with pardonable pride by them, was boasted of to travellers accordingly. Volumes might be written on Yankee oppression of the poor Red-skins, and yet leave the disgraceful story but half told.

Our train was crowded, and during the morning two rather well-dressed black-eyed men came on board. The conductor told us they were the pests of that part of the road—three card-monté men—and that in spite of being carefully warned many travellers, especially amongst the well-to-do farmer class emigrating to Manitoba, were daily fleeced by them, there being no apparent redress, as they are sharp enough to evade any direct breach of the law. These men succeeded in drawing two boys of eighteen or twenty into their toils, and obtained possession of their watches, as well as all the money they had about them. When the lads protested vehemently, the sharpers offered to return the former upon receipt of five dollars, which they knew their victims did not possess. To our great relief, the men got off at the station where we stopped for dinner.

We changed trains at Glyndon for the branch line, then only recently laid to Fisher's Landing, but since that time continued to the frontier station of Pembina. There was only one passenger car to hold all those who had comfortably filled three on the other line, and it would be difficult to convey any idea of the crowding and crushing that ensued to obtain seats, and pack away the numerous travelling-bags and provision-baskets brought by the emigrants from Ontario. Having gentlemen with us, we were soon provided for; but just before the train started, a very dirty, fashionably dressed young woman, carrying an equally dirty baby, came in. Looking about her, and not finding a vacant seat, she said in an insolent tone, giving her head a toss—

"No seats? Wall, I guess I ain't agoin' to stand and hold this here heavy child!" and sat down in my lap. I had, like most people, often been "sat upon," figuratively, during my life, but never literally, and it was with some difficulty that I managed to extricate myself. The girl next proceeded, with the assistance of a dirty pocket-handkerchief and the tin drinking-mug belonging to the car, to perform her toilet and that of her infant; her efforts resulting in a streakiness of dirt on both faces, where the colour had been uniform before.

We were on the Prairie—the great rolling prairie, at last; and I was disappointed—nothing but grass and sky, desolate and lonely. These, however, were my first impressions. How fond I grew of the prairie I know now that I am away from it; perhaps for ever. Towards night, black clouds gathered in the sky, and distant thunder heralded the coming of one of those great storms for which the prairie is so famous. The air was so charged with electricity that the train had to be stopped several times, and the wheels of the cars drenched with water to prevent their taking fire. As night closed in, incessant flashes of white sheet lightning almost blinded us. Each white flash was riven by red forks of flame, until, with the horizon one constant blaze, the plain seemed a vast sea of fire. Over our heads, in great zigzag lines, shot the fire fluid, as the thunder rattled, roared, crashed, and broke around us; then, in a momentary lull, came torrents of rain, rushing madly across the sward, and drowning the noise of the fast-flying train, as if some fiend upon a diabolical errand were borne through the warring elements. It seemed as though two or three storms had met, to contend for mastery; flashes of white, yellow, and red lightning outdid each other in brilliancy, and peals of thunder, near and distant, reverberated in quick succession. No one who has not encountered a rain-storm on the prairie can form an idea of its grandeur and force.

During a short lull in the storm, we stopped at a place called Crookstown for tea, following a touter for the "Ho-tel" there—or rather a railway lantern, as the darkness completely hid the man—through mud and water up to our ankles; over stumps and sticks; through a dilapidated gateway, stoup, and wash-house, to a long, low room, where the table was laid for tea. Seated round it on benches, chairs, three-legged stools—in fact, on anything they could get hold of—were the engine-driver, conductor, express-man, and other officials. The meal consisted of bread and butter, potatoes boiled in their jackets, fried bacon swimming in fat, and scalding tea in handleless cups. Asking for eggs, we were told there was not one to be had in the "town." Query, what is a town? Crookstown could not boast of half a dozen houses besides the station.

Another hour's journey brought us to Fisher's Landing, on Red Lake River, where we were to remain until next morning. Although the boat was at the landing, we were not allowed to go on board until all the freight was shipped. This intelligence was given us by a rakish-looking Yankee, who added that his "Ho-tel" was the best in the place, and if we would come "right along" he would give us rooms for the night. Gathering up our traps, and thinking we could not do much worse than remain in the crowded car all night, we followed, paddling through the mud to the much-boasted "Ho-tel." This was a house built of boards, the entrance room or office having a high desk or counter across one corner; a recess under the stairs in the other containing a bench, on which were ranged two or three pails and a basin, while on the wall hung the general towel, looking rather the worse for wear. A room opening from the recess had a table set like the one at Crookstown, apparently for breakfast; the floors were literally covered with mud. What, we surmised, can the bedrooms be like in such a place? Our question was only too soon answered. Presently a shaggy-headed, untidy woman made her appearance, hastily fastening her clothes. She was very cross, and grumbled that there were only two rooms, but that she would take one of us in with her (an offer which was politely declined), and snappishly ordered a man to show the way upstairs. Clambering up a steep flight of steps after our conductor and his lantern, we were ushered into a room containing a bed—which had all the appearance of having been slept in for a week—a rocking-chair, and a bureau; a smaller room opening out of it also contained a very-much-slept-in bed. Throwing open the door of the latter room with a flourish that would have been creditable in a professional showman, he introduced us.

"This, ladies, you can have. Two can sleep here nicely. True, the bed has not been made, but I can soon settle that!" and putting his lantern on the floor, he gave the bed a poke or two, and tried to smooth the frowsy-looking coverlet.

"Oh, that's the express-man's bed!" he said, in answer to our inquiry as to who was to occupy the outer room. "Must have it, you know; always stops here. The best room in the town!"

Seeing that we did not appear satisfied, he added—

"You can lock your door" (there was a whole board a foot wide out of the partition); "and, after all, it's only the express-man; you needn't mind him. Then in the morning you can sit here, for he is off early, and we make it the ladies' sitting-room." And drawing the rocking-chair to the window, he set it going.

But as we still did object to the express-man's proximity, he led the way to another room, about the same size, but with a door that we could latch, a bunk bed, a wooden box, and, for toilet apparatus, a yellow pudding-bowl, and white jug full of water. With some difficulty we succeeded in getting a lamp, and spreading our rugs over the bed, we lay down. When the tramping about downstairs ceased, sometime after midnight, we dozed until morning. I was up first, and, going downstairs in search of water, could not help laughing at the absurd sight of a row of legs and dangling braces under the stairway, the heads belonging to them, being bent over the pails I had noticed there the night before. Seven men had slept on the floor of the express-man's room that night, for which accommodation they paid three dollars (15s.). During the day some twenty women emigrants, who were obliged to leave the car, taking refuge there from the mud and rain, were charged twenty-five cents (1s. 3d.) a head; and, as a concession, children were taken at half-price.

Breakfast was a repetition of the supper at Crookstown, and although blessed with excellent appetites generally, we lost them completely at Fisher's Landing. About noon, we smuggled ourselves on board the Minnesota, and a few judicious tips enabled us to take up our quarters there at once. How we did enjoy our dinner! Never did fish, flesh, or fowl taste so good, and we felt compelled to apologize to the steward for the emptiness of the dishes he carried away. However, he did not appear astonished, as the bill of fare at the "Ho-tel" was well known.

It was Thursday morning before all the freight was stowed away and we could leave the landing—or "Fisher's," as habitués of the road call it. The Minnesota is a very comfortable boat, and with the exception of one or two farmers and their families, and an old Frenchwoman, we had her to ourselves. The captain was a genial, large-hearted Yankee, the steward and pretty little maid were very attentive; and, by contrast with the "Ho-tel," we thought ourselves in pleasant quarters.

CHAPTER IV.

Red Lake River flows into Red River at Grand Forks, some twelve or thirteen miles below Fisher's Landing. It is much the narrower stream, with so many bends that when we were not running headlong into the left bank we grounded on the right. The boat frequently formed a bridge from one bend to the other, and heads were ducked down or drawn back suddenly to avoid having eyes scratched out by the spreading boughs of beech and hazel which stretched over the stream. It was nothing unusual to find our course impeded by a large branch becoming so entangled in the wheel at the stern, that men had to get down and chop it away before the boat could proceed.

At Grand Forks, where there is a Hudson Bay Company's trading post, a billiard saloon, hotel, general store, and post-office all in one, and a few smaller houses, the ferry is a large flat-bottomed sort of platform, railed on either side and fastened to a long thick rope stretched across the river. When there is a load to ferry over, this platform is let loose from the shore, and the current carries it across, the rope keeping it from going down stream. The shores of Red River are almost bare; a few miserable poplars here and there, one or two small log-houses and mud-built huts from which wild, dirty Indians emerged to watch the boat pass, were all we saw upon them. The banks are for the most part so high that only from the upper deck could we see inland.

The frontier post, Pembina, is well known as the spot beyond which in 1869 the rebel Louis Riel, the "Little Napoleon" of Red River, would not allow Mr. McDougall, the "lieutenant-governor of Manitoba," appointed by the Canadian administration, to pass. Here we had a visit from the custom-house officers. They were good specimens of their different countries. The Canadian was a round, fat, jolly, handsome, fair man; the Yankee was tall, slight, and black-eyed, with a cadaverous look, increased by his close-fitting mackintosh and cowl. They did not give us any trouble, and I felt sorry for their lonely life, and the pounds of mud they had to carry with them everywhere.

Such mud! There is no wharf or planking of any kind, and all freight and baggage is landed on (or into) the muddy bank. Barrels rolled through it became unrecognizable, and were doubled in weight before they reached their warehouse. Men worked on bare feet, with trousers rolled to their knees, and the slippery, swashy look of everything was horrible. An Indian (not of the Fenimore Cooper type) leant against an old cooking-stove stranded on the bank, and an old squaw squatted on a heap of dirty straw, watching with lack-lustre eyes the disembarkation. A mile or two above Pembina is the American fort, with its trim barracks, fortifications, mounted guns, sentries, and some military life about it. Near it is the house built by Captain Cameron, when out with the expeditionary force in 1867. The remainder of our journey up the Red River of the North was uninteresting, and we hailed with delight our arrival at Winnipeg, on Saturday morning, the 4th of June.

It took some time to disembark from the Minnesota. The emigrants had been up at daylight, and after making haste to get their property together, found that they had to wait the arrival of the custom-house officer. At about eight o'clock, a waggon being procured to take our luggage, we, carrying our travelling-bags and shawls, walked—for there were no cabs nor omnibuses—into Winnipeg.

The Minnesota had stopped at the old custom-house wharf, the bulk of her freight being for that end of the town, and we had to traverse the entire length of Winnipeg to reach Mrs. T——, who had kindly invited us to remain with her until Mrs. C—— could find a suitable house. Up narrow, rickety planks, through mud and mire, past two log-houses fast falling into ruin—which were pointed out as having been the only houses in Winnipeg, besides the Fort Garry settlement, ten years before, and within three years used as custom-houses—we made our way to the broad main street. This is lined on each side by large, handsome shops, one or two banks, the new post-office in course of erection, and the large square town-hall, also unfinished. Then follow the new custom-house, land office, Canada Pacific Railway offices (square white brick buildings), and the round turret-like bastions of Fort Garry, [Footnote: Fort Garry stands at the confluence of the Assineboine with the Red River.] with its massive wooden palisades, and low log buildings at the extreme end of the street, where it terminates at the mouth of the Assineboine. We had to cross a few yards of prairie in order to reach Mrs. T——'s house, formerly the officers' quarters of the mounted police force, now removed to Battleford and Fort McLeod. We were received very cordially, a welcome being extended to me, although a total stranger.

The first thing that struck me in Winnipeg was the mud. I had heard that Red River mud was the worst in the world, and I now for the first time realized how bad mud could be. Not only was the roadway so soft that every turn of a wheel loaded it inches deep with the sticky compound, and made it so heavy that the driver had frequently to stop and clear his wheels with a stick, but, trodden from the crossings into the side-walks, it covered them with a slimy mixture very difficult to walk on. From the windows I could see people slipping and sliding about so much, that any one ignorant of the cause might, have attributed their unsteadiness to the strength of their morning libations; the absence of women from the streets making that solution appear possible, if not probable.

On Sunday we went to Holy Trinity Church, a pretty little frame building with a full congregation. Part of the church was occupied by the regiment of artillery quartered in Fort Osborne, a neat little barracks to the west of the prairie. The choir was passable, and could boast of one thoroughly good tenor. An energetic clergyman preached an excellent sermon.

Towards the end of June, Mr. C—— and his party left for the line; and we, having taken the house vacated by the T——s the week before, were busy getting comfortably settled. Numbers of people called; many of them old friends whom we had lost sight of for years; and every one was so cordial and friendly, that we anticipated great pleasure during our stay in Winnipeg.

It is a strange place, peopled with a strange variety from all quarters of the globe. Tall Indians stand in groups at the street corners, wrapped in long dirty-white, dark-blue, or scarlet blankets, held well about their shoulders, and hanging below their knees. They wear beaded or embroidered cloth leggings, blue, scarlet, or black, tied with gay ribbons. Their feet are in mocassins, their long black hair is braided with beads or ribbons, and a black silk handkerchief, in which either feathers or a bunch of ribbons are fastened, is folded and knotted round their foreheads. Young squaws with shaggy, flowing hair, short, coloured merino skirts, and shawls over their heads, sit on the side-walks, chattering in their guttural tongue, and laughing over some joke; fat, glossy, half-breed ponies, in gorgeously beaded saddle-cloths, stand at the edge of the road awaiting their masters—short, lithe, dark men, who seem to touch the reins, vault into the saddle, and reach the end of the street in the same instant. The speed and strength of these small horses is wonderful; their glossy coats and well-kept manes testify to the care taken of them. An Indian never beats his horse, nor drags at the reins in the cruel way so common among more "civilized" riders, but sits his horse as though it were part of himself. A long train of ox-carts is waiting to be loaded for the distant prairie hamlets. The half-breed driver stands by in trousers and checked shirt, a loosely knotted handkerchief about his neck. He sometimes wears a hat, but oftener his short, shaggy black hair is his only head-covering. His squaw sits in the bottom of the waggon; his little brown papooses are peeping out from between the bars at the side. Other children, laced up in queer, birch-bark cradles or moss bags, leaving only their arms free, and the upper part of their bodies visible, lean against shop-doors or scattered bales of goods.

I watched some Indians shopping, and was astonished to see how invariably they waived aside inferior goods and chose such materials as merinos at a dollar and a half to two dollars (7s. 6d. to 10s.) a yard. One of the merchants told me it was useless to offer them anything but the best. An Indian who could not speak English or French, and wanted five things, divided his money according to his idea of their relative cost in little piles on the counter, and going through a pantomime descriptive of his wants, was handed first some silk handkerchiefs. Taking one up, he felt it, held it up to the light, and throwing it aside, shook his head vigorously, uttering an "Ugh!" of disgust. When shown a better one he was doubtful, but upon a much superior article being produced he took it, and willingly handed over one pile for it. This, however, was too much, and when given the change, he put it on one of the other piles, and proceeded in the same way to make the rest of his purchases.

"How easily they could be cheated!" I said to the clerk after the Indian had left.

"No," he replied, "not so easily as would appear. They generally come in from their camps in great numbers about once a year to sell their furs and make purchases. They go to different shops, and on their return compare notes as to the quality and cost of their goods. Then, if one has paid more than another, or has been cheated in quality, he will never enter the shop again, and the firm that gives the greatest bargains is most patronized on their return."

A few minutes afterwards another Indian came to buy a blanket, and was told to go upstairs where they were kept. Slowly and doubtfully he ascended, feeling his way step by step, and holding closely to the banisters till he reached the top; then he turned to look back and express his astonishment in the "Ugh!" which, in different accents, means so many different things.

The Mennonites and Icelanders interested me very much. The former, who are all thrifty and energetic, make excellent settlers. They have a large settlement some twenty miles south-east of Winnipeg. The dress of the women is quaint, yet neat. They wear short, full skirts, just showing their small feet; jackets, and becoming white caps, from under which their round black eyes, small straight features, and intelligent expression, greet one pleasantly. The men are taller, with a quiet, unconscious air of superiority which is refreshing. The dress of the Icelanders is somewhat similar, but they are more lethargic-looking. They have bright "milk and roses" complexions, great opaque blue eyes, and a heavy gait that gives them an appearance of stupidity, which is not a true index of their character; they learn English rapidly, and are teachable servants, neat, clean, and careful, but have not constitutional strength to endure hard work, and when separated from their friends become lonely and dispirited. There is a large settlement of them at Gimli, about sixty miles from Winnipeg, on Lake Winnipeg. Some of the authorities in Winnipeg told me that, as an emigration speculation, they were not a success. The grasshopper plague which visited Manitoba during two consecutive seasons destroyed their crops, and the ravages of smallpox during the fall of '76 and spring of '77 told upon them so severely that they have so far only been an expense to the Canadian Government.

The Hudson Bay Company's store had a great attraction for me. It was a long, low building within the precincts of Fort Garry, stocked with everything either useful or ornamental, from a ship's anchor to a lace pocket-handkerchief; a sort of curiosity shop of all the necessaries and luxuries of life; an outfitting establishment where one could not only clothe oneself from head to foot, but furnish one's house from attic to cellar, at very reasonable prices. Whatever the charges may be at the outlying posts, competition keeps them within bounds in Winnipeg. As a rule the goods are excellent in quality, and to judge by the number of carts, carriages, and saddle-horses always grouped about the door of the store, a thriving business is done there.

The Red River at Winnipeg is much wider than at any other point, yet so high are the banks, that until quite close to it one cannot see the water. On the opposite or western shore is St. Boniface, the terminus of the branch line from Selkirk, and the site of the Roman Catholic cathedral, convents, and schools. The cathedral, a large square building, has a musical chime of bells, and the ringing of the "angelus," whose sound floated over the prairie unmarred by steam whistles, factory bells, or any other of the multitudinous sounds of a large city, was always welcome. Nowhere is evening more beautiful than in Manitoba. One instance in particular I noticed. The sun was setting low down in the heavens as in a sea of gold, one long flame-coloured line alone marking the horizon. In the south-west rose cloud upon cloud of crimson and gold, crossed by rapid flashes of pale yellow and white lightning, which momentarily obliterated their rich colours. To the south was a great bank of black thunder-cloud crested with crimson, reft to its deepest darkness by successive flashes of forked lightning. Immediately overhead a narrow curtain of leaden clouds was driven hither and thither by uncertain winds; while below, the prairie and all its varied life lay bathed in the warmth and light of the departing sun, throwing into bold relief the Indian wigwam, with its ragged sides and cross-poles.

Squaws were seated round the camp fires, or dipping water from a pool hard by; Indians were standing idly about; droves of cattle were being driven in for milking; groups of horses, their fore feet tied loosely together, were hobbling awkwardly as they grazed; tired oxen were tethered near, feeding after their day's work, while their driver lay under his cart and smoked. Above the low squat tent of the half-breed, there rose the brown-roofed barracks, its lazy flag clinging to the staff. Through the surrounding bushes, water gleamed here and there. In the distance could be seen long trains of ox-carts, coming from remote settlements, the low monotonous moan of their ungreased wheels making a weird accompaniment to the muttering thunder; or a black-robed procession of nuns, on their way to the small chapel on the prairie, whose tinkling bell was calling them to prayers. An Indian on his fiery little steed, his beaded saddle-cloth glistening in the sun, was galloping in mad haste over the grass, away to the low hills to the north, which deserved their name of Silver Heights as they received the sun's good-night kiss.

Then the clouds, losing their borrowed tints, closed in like a pall; the low wail of the wind grew louder as it approached and swept them away to the south, leaving night to settle down upon the dwellers of the prairie city, starlit and calm, while the distant glow of the prairie fires rose luridly against the eastern sky. But all night long the creaking moan of the ox-carts went on, giving the prairie a yet closer resemblance to "an inland sea."

CHAPTER V.

The summer passed uneventfully. Day after day we watched for the white-covered mail-waggon, pails dangling underneath it, dogs trotting behind, rousing as they passed countless wild brethren from every quarter of the prairie. At sight of the waggon, we put on our hats and went to the post-office for letters from home; then drove across the prairie to Silver Heights, or down to the English cathedral, which stood on the fairest bend of the river, and in a pretty, wooded dell—but, alas, it was encircled by a tangled, uncared-for churchyard, overgrown with weeds and thistles, the tombstones broken and prostrate, the fences so dilapidated that stray cattle leaped over them and grazed amongst the unrecognized graves. I was told that arrangements had been made for a city cemetery on the prairie, but the ground was merely staked off. A man who asked his way there was directed to go straight across the prairie to the east, until he came to where grass and sky met. Forgetting that as he advanced the horizon receded, he thanked his informant, and went on his fruitless search; but after wandering many hours, like the boy after the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, he returned weary and unsuccessful.

At the cathedral we heard the chorister boys chant the evening psalms; then went on to the little village of Kildonan, standing among green fields and thriving farms; or turned in another direction across the Assineboine, up a lovely road leading for miles through the woods. One morning we went to the emigrant sheds to see several hundred Icelanders embark in their flat-bottomed boats, with their quaint wooden chests, on their way to Gimli. On another occasion we helped to organize a Sunday-school festival, and after giving the children an unlimited supply of cake, strawberries, and lemonade, we amused them with some tableaux. Taking possession of a disused old church, we made an impromptu stage; by laying boards across the chancel railings; and the effect was so good, that some play-loving people enlarged on our idea by putting up rough side-scenes, and giving a series of entertainments there during the following winter, with the average amount of amateur skill.

One very hot Sunday, when we were without a servant, I rashly left our joint of roast beef on the kitchen table, while we discussed the pudding. Suddenly an ominous noise was heard. "Oh, Miss F——!" exclaimed my hostess, starting up, "Do stop that dog! The wretch has stolen the beef—all to-morrow's dinner!"

To rush out of the house and over the prairie after the brute was the work of an instant; not so to catch him. On I ran, urged to redoubled exertions by Mrs. C——, who pursued me, excitedly flourishing her table napkin, while her little girl scrambled after her, screaming at being left behind. Every now and then the dog would stop to take breath, sitting still with aggravating coolness till I almost touched him, when off he would start again, at redoubled speed. At last, after wildly throwing two or three handfuls of stones at him and all the sticks I could pick up as I passed, I aimed furiously at the barracks and hit the dog on the head, when he dropped the beef, and I returned, hot and breathless, but triumphant.

The days were sultry, but the nights cool enough to make a blanket necessary, except just before the frequent thunderstorms. Well might the Indians call the province "Manitoba" (God speaking), in their awe of the Great Spirit whose voice alone is so terrible. October is the most beautiful month in that region, bright, clear, and balmy—the true Indian summer, with cool, dewy nights, when the aurora sent its long streaks of white and red light from the horizon to the zenith, to fall again in a shower of sparks, each night more beautiful than the last. Till, early in November, a storm of rain, succeeded by snow and frost, ended our Indian summer, and in forty-eight hours we had winter. Not weeks of slushy snow, changeable temperature, chilling rains, and foggy skies, as in Ontario, but cold, frosty, bracing winter at once. By the end of November the river was blocked, the boats had stopped running, and our only communication with the outside world was by means of the daily stage. But the wretchedness of a journey over the prairie to the nearest railway station was only encountered by those whose business made it unavoidable.

Before navigation had quite ceased, a provincial exhibition of the agricultural and other products of the country was held in the town-hall. Many of the vegetables were so large, that a description of them was treated with incredulity until some specimens were sent to Ottawa, to be modelled for the Philadelphia Centennial Exhibition. One Swedish turnip weighed over thirty-six pounds; some potatoes (early roses and white) measured nine inches long and seven in circumference; radishes were a foot and a half long and four inches 'round; kail branched out to the size of a currant bush; cabbages, hard, white, and good, grew to a foot and a half in diameter, and there were cauliflowers as large. Neither Indian corn, melons, nor tomatos were exhibited, chiefly because most of the farmers in Manitoba have cultivated wheat-growing rather than market-gardening, as the former brings in the largest returns for the least labour.

Corn is grown in Manitoba larger and far taller than any I saw in Ontario. Tomatos will grow in profusion in a dry spot, especially where, as in Kuwatin, a hundred miles from Winnipeg, a southern exposure on sandy soil can be found; the same may he said of melons. Fruit trees are most difficult to cultivate, the frosts being so severe. Yet with care that obstacle may be overcome, and a few apples, grown and ripened in Mr. Bannatyne's garden, in Winnipeg, were exhibited. Every other kind of garden and farm produce was shown in abundance. The prairie soil is so rich that it yields a hundredfold, and the absence of the great preliminary labour of "clearing," which the early settlers in Ontario had to contend with, renders it a most advantageous country for emigrants. The chief difficulty is the scarcity of labour. All men not going out to take up land for themselves are employed on the railway; and women either are married and obliged to work on the farms with their husbands, or get married before they have been long in Manitoba. Many were the complaints I heard from people who had taken out female servants, paying their expenses and giving them high wages, only to lose them before they had been a month in the province. Their sole resource then was to employ Icelanders, who often could not speak a word of English, so that all directions had to be given by pantomime. Any one seeing the strange gesticulations and frantic efforts of some of the more energetic mistresses might be excused for thinking himself let loose in a city of lunatics.

Mrs. C—— had one of these Icelanders as nursemaid, and she did very well, picking up enough English in a few weeks to understand all we wanted. But I noticed that, however quickly she walked about the rest of the house, the stairs were as carefully traversed as though she had been an Indian. One day, hearing her in great distress on the kitchen stairs, I went to see what was the matter. The staircase was a narrow one between two walls, but without banisters; on the third or fourth step from the top sat one of the children, aged four years, and a few steps below stood the maid clinging to the smooth wall, her face white with terror as, whenever she attempted to advance, the child made a feint to oppose her passage and push her back. Afraid either to turn round or retreat backwards, she stood trembling and calling for help, and it was impossible to avoid feeling amused at the absurdity of that big girl being intimidated by such a mite—who, with the original depravity of human nature, was enjoying the fun.

A friend of mine went through some odd experiences with these Iceland maids. Upon the arrival of a fresh domestic she was ordered to wash down the hall and door-steps. Next day, at the same hour, while a party of visitors were in the drawing-room, the door burst open, and Christian, scrubbing-pail and brush in hand, plumped down on her knees in the middle of the floor, and went through a vigorous pantomime of scrubbing. Her mistress was too astonished to speak for a moment or two, until the girl, surprised at her silence, looked up, uttering an indescribable "Eh?" of anxious inquiry, which was well-nigh too much for the gravity of her listeners.

Often, after ten minutes' patient endeavour to explain something, one was rewarded by a long drawn out "Ma'arum?" infinitely trying to one's patience. Yet, in time, they often make excellent servants, and many people prefer them to Ontario or English emigrants. And certainly in point of economy they are infinitely superior to both; for not only will an Iceland maid waste nothing, but she is content with five or six dollars a month in wages (£1 5s. or £1 10s.), while girls from Ontario or England expect nine or ten dollars. Servants taken out on the line of railway demand and receive from fifteen to thirty dollars (£3 15s. to £7 10s.) a month. These exorbitant wages are, however, lessening as immigration increases.

Society at Winnipeg is very pleasant; composed chiefly of the old families who formed the Hudson Bay Company and their descendants, many of whom have Indian blood in their veins. Their education, carefully begun by their parents, is often completed in Scotland, and they are well-read, intelligent people, as proud of their Indian as of their European descent. Many of them are handsome and distingué-looking. Their elegant appearance sometimes leads to awkward mistakes. One of these ladies, meeting a young Englishman fresh from the old country, and full of its prejudices, was entertained by him with reflections on race, and condolences at having to associate with half-castes. At last he inquired how long she had been in the country? Making him a stately curtsy, she answered—

"All my life! I am one of these despised half-breeds," and instantly left him. She said afterwards she was sorry for the poor fellow's discomfiture; but he brought it upon himself by disregarding all her efforts to change the conversation.

When younger sons of good families are sent to seek their fortunes in the New World, their social standing is not fixed by their occupation, and a man who has served behind a counter all day is as well received in a drawing-room as one who has sat on the bench or pleaded a case in court. Of course in such a state of society impostors often effect an entrance, and their detection makes their entertainers chary of strangers afterwards. But so long as a man behaves himself like a gentleman he is treated as one. Many officials, sent by the Canadian Government temporarily to fill responsible posts, and officers whose regiments have been disbanded, remain in Winnipeg, preferring it to any other part of Canada, and illustrating the adage, "He who once drinks of the Red River water cannot live without it." It is a very muddy stream, however, and not at all inviting as a beverage.

A great many visitors, chiefly Englishmen, go to Manitoba for the shooting and fishing, which are excellent. A friend of mine last year bagged four hundred ducks, several geese, great numbers of partridges, loons, and as many hares as he would waste shot on in a fortnight's holiday. No doubt, when Manitoba and its capabilities become better understood, and the line of railway is completed, the number of tourists in search of sport will much increase.

How little the new province has been known hitherto the following fact will show. A letter for me, mailed in a county town in England, in September, and merely addressed to Winnipeg, Manitoba, omitting Canada, travelled to France, where it received sundry postmarks, and such sensible hints by the post-office officials as, "Try Calcutta." At last, some one better acquainted with the geography of this side of the globe added, "Nouvelle Amerique," and my letter reached me, viâ New York, in Christmas week, richly ornamented with postmarks, and protests from officials that it "came to them in that condition," tied together with two varieties of string, and frankly exhibiting its contents—a pair of lace sleeves, which, but for the honesty of the mail service, might easily have been abstracted.

CHAPTER VI.

Winter Amusements—A Winnipeg Ball—Forty Degrees below Zero—New Year's
Day—Saskatchewan Taylor—Indian Compliments—A Dog train—Lost in the
Snow—Amateur Theatricals—Sir Walter Raleigh's Hat—A Race with the
Freshets—The Ice moves—The First Steamer of the Season—Good-bye to
Winnipeg.

Snow lay several inches thick on the ground at Christmas, and we had sleigh drives over the smooth white prairie, one great advantage of Manitoban winters being that when once the ground is covered with snow, if only to the depth of five or six inches, it remains, and there is good sleighing until the frost breaks up in March or April. Sleighing parties are varied by skating at the rink and assemblies in the town-hall, where we meet a medley of ball goers and givers, each indulging his or her favourite style of dancing—from the old fashioned "three-step" waltz preferred by the elders, to the breathless "German," the simple deux temps, and the graceful "Boston" dance, peculiar as yet to Americans and Canadians. The band was composed of trained musicians who had belonged to various regiments, and, on receiving their discharge, remained in Canada. The hall was well lighted, the floor in good condition, and we enjoyed taking a turn upon it, as well as watching the Scotch reels, country dances, and Red River jigs performed by the others.

It was a gay and amusing scene, but the heavy winter dresses—many of them short walking costumes—worn by the Manitoban belles, looked less pretty than the light materials, bright colours, and floating trains of an ordinary ball-room. The absence of carriages and cabs, and the intensity of the cold, compelled ladies to adopt this sombre attire. The mercury averaged from ten to twenty degrees below zero, frequently going as low as thirty-three, and occasionally into the forties; yet the air is so dry and still, that I felt the cold less when it was thirty-three degrees below zero in Winnipeg than when only five degrees below in Ottawa, and did not require any additional wraps.

On New Year's Day the now old-fashioned custom of gentlemen calling was kept up, and we had many visitors, among them the American Consul, Mr. Taylor, known in the Consulate as "Saskatchewan Taylor," from his interest in the North-West and anxiety upon all occasions to bring its capabilities before the public. He came in the evening, and, following the American style, remained more than an hour, so that we were able to get beyond the conventional topics of health and weather, and found him very pleasant and entertaining.

During the afternoon the maid came in, looking rather flurried, and said that visitors in the kitchen wished to see us. Going there, we were greeted by seven Indians and their squaws, come to pay a New Year's visit. As I looked at their brown faces and long, loose hair, memories of stories told by cousins in the Hudson Bay Company's service, of having to kiss all the squaws on New Year's Day, sent the blood with a rush back to my heart; but, happily, this ceremony was dispensed with. Only one of the party could speak English—a handsome, clear-skinned, straight-featured Indian, in blue blanket coat, red sash, leggings, and gaily-decorated hat. He stepped forward and made a little speech, wishing us "A long life of many moons, sunshine, health, and rich possessions, and the smile of the Good Spirit upon the blue-eyed papoose;" finishing by shaking hands all round. The others, with an "Ugh!" of acquiescence, and smiling faces, followed his example. Our hostess was unable to give them wine or whisky, because of the stringent prohibitory laws, but she regaled them on great slices of cake, with which they were much pleased. When Mr. C—— came in from the line with his dog-train—four strong beasts drawing a light cariole or covered tobogan, more like a great shoe than anything else—the blue and red coat of his Indian runner, Tommy Harper, was much admired by our visitors; and he told us afterwards of their admiration for everything they saw in the house. This Tommy was a good-tempered old fellow, but, when not running, was invariably asleep or smoking over the kitchen fire.

About the middle of January (1877) we had a terrible snow-storm, the worst that had been known in Manitoba for years. At five o'clock in the evening the wind rose suddenly, and in half an hour was blowing a gale, sending the snow whirling through the air in such blinding volume, that it was impossible to distinguish anything twenty yards off. As night closed in, which it does early at that season, the storm increased in violence, and although there was then little snow falling, the wind drove in all directions the dry snow lying upon the ground.

Many people lost their way. A shop-boy running home to tea, only round the corner of the block, missed the turning into the gateway, and wandered till daylight on the prairie, knowing it was certain death to lie down. A family crossing the prairie, and seeing the storm approaching, hastened to reach a wayside inn four or five hundred yards distant, but before they could do so lost sight of it. After driving several hours they were obliged to stop; and digging a hole in the snow with their hands, covered themselves with robes and sleigh-rugs, and drawing the sleigh over them as a little protection from the wind, they waited until daylight—to find themselves within a hundred yards of the inn! All next day stories were continually reaching us of narrow escapes, of frozen feet and hands, of lost horses, frozen oxen, and travellers' miseries in general. But this certainly was an exceptional storm, or "blizzard," as the natives say.

Towards the end of winter it was proposed that some tableaux should be exhibited in the town-hall for the benefit of a local charity. The suggestion was hailed with delight, and every one likely to be useful was invited to "talk it over" with Mrs. C——. And talk they did, at such length and with such vivacity, that I wondered how the two stage-managers, Captain H—— and Miss P——, could ever evolve order from such a chaos. The great clatter of tongues in that small room reminded me of an old Scotch nurse of ours, who, being summoned to keep house for a minister cousin, was anxious first to learn how to play the lady and entertain her guests. The cook advised her to listen at the drawing-room door when we had a party: but she quitted her post in disgust, having heard nothing but "a muckle clackit."

At last it was settled that the tableaux were to represent the story of "Beauty and the Beast," "Elizabeth knighting Raleigh," scenes from "Hamlet" and "The Bohemian Girl," an emblematic group of the nations included in the British Empire, surrounded by representatives of the army and navy, and some well-known statues. Assuredly there was variety enough in our programme to suit all tastes!

Our dress rehearsal, held in the old church before mentioned, was more amusing—to the actors, at all events—than the performance itself. The "sides," which looked well enough to those without, proved a delusion and a snare to those within. They were used as dressing-rooms, but their partition from the stage being only partial, and their flooring stopping far short of the front, a great gap was left—a pitfall down which everything tumbled. Their appointments were primitive, consisting of a small looking-glass, a pincushion, and a piece of comb in each room. The "properties" on the ladies' side were an old straw bonnet wreathed with artificial flowers, and a gaudy overskirt; and on that of the gentlemen, two hats, and a pistol and tin mug—which had probably done duty for the "dagger and the bowl," in the last scene of a dreadful tragedy. Some of our amateurs were fortunate enough to get complete costumes made, but others appeared in a fragmentary condition, with a bodice of the time of Elizabeth, and a petticoat of that of Victoria. Sir Walter Raleigh wore the old felt hat belonging to his dressing-room, and pathetically appealed to the spectators to imagine it adorned with a white feather and jewelled clasp.

The girls who appeared in more than one scene had to change their dresses, and it is impossible to describe the confusion of belongings then thrown in a vast heap on the floor, or the despair of one young performer whose polonaise had disappeared in the gulf. As all were in different stages of déshabille, no gentleman could be called to the rescue; so I lay down on my face and groped about with my hands till I fished it up. But before I succeeded, two or three people were standing on my skirts, and a pile of gipsy costumes was deposited on my legs. My rising sent dismay to the owners' hearts, and they wailed that they would "never be able to find their things again!"

When the great night arrived we, by means of jewellery constructed of gold paper and glass buttons, and other ingenious devices, made a brilliant show, and the general effect was pronounced excellent. We had crowded houses for two consecutive nights, and the only drawback to the pleasure of our tableaux was the sad and sudden death of one of Captain H——'s children, which took place on the first night, and aroused general sympathy.

Soon after our theatrical entertainments the snow almost entirely disappeared, cricket was played on the prairie, and people began to look forward to the reopening of navigation, and to bet actively on the day and hour when the first steamboat would arrive; though the ice was still so solid that horse-races were held on the river.

The 20th of April was a warm day, succeeding heavy rains, and it was hoped that the ice would move next day. In the evening we were at our assembly in the town-hall, which is built on the side of a broad, shallow coolé, or gully. About ten o'clock, seeing several people look anxiously from the windows, we went to inquire the cause, and found the "water was out." Freshets from the prairies were rushing down the coolé beneath, carrying everything before them—dog-kennels, logs, broken furniture, boxes, and all the usual débris found scattered about the houses on the prairie. The freshets increased so rapidly, that it was feared if we did not leave at once we should never get home, the water being level with the bridge, which was in imminent danger of being carried away. The lower story of the hall was also flooded, and considered scarcely safe. So there was cloaking in hot haste, and the gentlemen who lived near brought all the top-boots and goloshes they could collect for the benefit of those who had to cross the partially submerged roads.

The ice did move next day, and on the 27th, at the sound of the steamboat whistle, I ran to the window. As if by one impulse, every door on the main street opened, and the inmates poured forth, men putting on their coats, women their bonnets, while holding the kicking, struggling bare-headed babies they had snatched up in their haste to reach the landing as soon as the boat; boys of all sizes, ages, and descriptions, gentle and simple, rich and poor, mustered as though by magic. In five minutes the streets and banks of the river were black with people rushing to meet the steamer, and the shout that greeted her at the wharf was loud and genuine. It was the last time her arrival caused such excitement, as before another season the railway was running to St. Boniface, and freight and passengers could get to Winnipeg all through the winter.

The spring of 1877 was wet and backward, and we looked forward to our journey out to the contract, where a house was nearly ready for us, with anything but unmixed pleasure. In the hope that the state of the roads might improve, we delayed our departure until the first week in June. For my own part, I rejoiced over every additional delay, as I was loth to leave Winnipeg, and the many kind friends I had made there.

CHAPTER VII.

A Manitoban Travelling-carriage—The Perils of Short Cuts—The Slough of
Despond—Paddy to the Rescue!—"Stick-in-the-Mud" and his
Troubles—McQuade's—An Irish Welcome—Wretched Wanderers.

After many days of packing, general confusion, and disturbing dust, culminating in breakfast in the kitchen, dinner on a packing-case in the parlour, high tea at a neighbour's in our travelling-gear, and a night at the hotel, we rose at five o'clock on the morning of the 5th of June to be ready for our journey to Clear Water Bay. All the teams, with the household goods and chattels, had started the day before, except two for personal baggage, and the one we were to occupy.

Of course we were ready too soon, and hours were spent in standing idly about, and going to the gate to see if the trams were coming. When they were at last packed and off, it was decided to be altogether too late for us to follow until after luncheon which with only an uncertain prospect of a heavier meal later, we turned into dinner. Then some one remembered half a dozen forgotten things which it was impossible to do without, and it was nearly four o clock when our waggon arrived—a springless vehicle with three narrow seats, and drawn by two broken winded steeds.

After packing all our impedimenta in the waggon there was literally no room for us. What was to be done? Between our efforts to make the driver, a stupid, tipsy French half-breed, understand English by screaming it as loud as we could, the variety of our baggage, and the curiosity of the passers by, we soon had a small crowd of interested listeners and apparently sympathizing friends. Finally the livery stable keeper made his appearance, and after some discussion agreed to exchange that waggon for a larger one. Jumping into it, he lashed the horses, who went at a furious pace down the street, proving their powers, but, alas, scattering the half packed contents of the waggon—rugs, cushions, blankets, tin kettles, and pails—at irregular intervals over the road. In half an hour a larger vehicle was brought, and we hastily repacked, receiving contributions of our property from every one who passed while the operation was going on, so that it was late in the afternoon before we left Winnipeg. When we arrived at the river, of course the ferry-boat was on the opposite side, and we had to wait for its return, which seemed the climax to the day's worries. We growled audibly, feeling that we were entitled to do so, having had enough provocation to ruffle the most angelic tempers. With scarcely room to sit, and nowhere, to speak of, to put our feet, bodily discomfort helped to put us out of humour.

Can you imagine a three-seated waggon, containing a load of valises, travelling-bags, a tin box of edibles for a week's journey, tents, blankets, pans, kettles, pails, a box of earth filled with bedding plants, a bundle of currant bush slips, a box of cats—being the cat and five kittens—a box of family silver, engineers' instruments, wraps of every description, provender for the horses, a bag of bread, the driver's own provisions (it was part of the bargain that he was to "find" himself), loose articles of all kinds, thrown in at the last moment, five adults, two children, one small dog and an unhappy-looking canary? This motley assemblage was stowed away as well as possible, the kettles and pails being hung at the back and sides, after the fashion of the travelling tinkers' carts. There certainly was a very emigrant-like appearance about the whole thing, in spite of the tasteful trimming of our shade hats.

The ferry-boat came for us at last, and as we drove over the prairie at a moderate rate, delays having become things of the past, we were for the next hour almost merry. This transient joy was soon dispelled by our driver, who, without any warning, turned off the road through some swampy ground. Pulling up suddenly before an apparently unbroken line of trees, he craned his neck first one way and then the other in search of an opening, unheeding the expostulations in French and English with which he was assailed, until, finding what he sought, and nicking his whip over the horses' ears, he condescended to reply, "Je fais le detour! Bad, voila!" Then, urging his horses on, he charged into the bushes, and drove along what had been once a cart trail (one could hardly call it a road), overgrown with underbrush. Long branches met overhead, and we were kept busy, alternately warding them, off our faces and holding on to our seats—for the track was a succession of uneven hills, hollows, and short turns, with which our driver seemed as unacquainted as ourselves.

About six o'clock we came to the high-road, which crossed the end of our track—the highroad that has cost our country over thirteen million dollars—the far-famed and much-talked-of Dawson road. It was some two feet higher than our rough track, and separated from it by a large mud puddle, in which, after a lurch to one side and a violent jerk from the horses, the waggon-wheels sank on the other. A volley of oaths was discharged by our half-breed, followed by a crack of his long whip, and a sharp struggle, and then the near horse fell back on his haunches and we stuck fast. Down rolled the best valise, out sprang Jehu, carrying with him into the mud our biggest blanket. Mr. C——, in slippers, sat on the top of the waggon demanding his boots, which where somewhere at the bottom; somebody else was searching wildly for a rope and axe, which proved to be nowhere; everybody was giving a different opinion on the best means of extricating ourselves, only uniting in one thing, namely, abuse of the driver, who stood knee-deep in mud, hitching up his trousers and muttering something about le détour. We women, meantime, tried to quiet the screaming children, and prevent the "unconsidered trifles" which filled the corners of the waggon from falling out—a duty not unattended with danger, as pussy, on guard over her nursery, and excited by the general bouleversement, gave a spiteful claw to any foot or hand which approached too near her box.

No rope, axe, nor chain, could be found; there was nothing but mud on every side to unload in, and not a house for miles to shelter us for the night. Fortunately, before very long a waggon passed on the high-road, whose occupants were a kindly Irishman, his wife, and child.

"Faith, is it help ye want, yer honour? It's meself never refused help to any man," said Paddy; and jumping down, he produced a chain. Fastening the tongue of the waggon to one end, and the horses to the other, he drove them up to the high-road, where, having firmer foothold, a few pulls drew us out of the mud-hole. We thanked the old man for his help, but saw him and his chain depart with regret. Having better horses and a lighter load, he soon left us far behind.

On we jogged, sometimes on the road, but more often off it, driving through every clump of trees that grew in our way, as the roots gave some firmness to the swampy ground. Now and then, when returning to the road, the waggon would almost stick, but, after a lunge, pull, and struggle, attended by a volley of French from our Jehu and a screech from the women, it righted itself again. A little later we passed the teams that had left Winnipeg so long before us in the morning; one of them was stuck deep in the mud, and the drivers were just parting company—the first, a French Canadian, declining to help the second, an Irish Canadian boy, whose good-natured face was a picture of dismay, as he stood contemplating the scene of disaster. The Frenchman declared that he had stuck three times, and had to unload both teams twice, and he wasn't going to do it again; so he whipped up his horse and left poor young "Stick-in-the-Mud," as we dubbed him, to his fate. Promising to send a yoke of oxen from McQuade's, five miles further on, where we intended putting up for the night, we also left him, but not without regret. I could not help feeling sorry for the poor boy out there alone on the prairie, perhaps for the whole night, as it was by no means certain that the hoped-for yoke of oxen would be forthcoming. But the lad was so civil, and evidently so determined to make the best of things, that fortune favoured him. A mile further on we met a long train of carts, and Mr. C—— shouted to the driver of the first to go and help "Stick-in-the-Mud," promising to pay him for his services. By this time it was getting dark, the mosquitoes were troublesome, and the children were hungry and cross, and we joyfully hailed the first glimmer of the lights at McQuade's. But though in sight of the haven where we would be, our troubles were not yet over. Crossing a broken culvert not half a mile from the house, one of the horses fell in, and we all had to get out and walk, an annoyance which we felt to be the "last straw" on our much-enduring backs.

McQuade's is merely a farmhouse on the main road. But in the usual condition of those roads it is the first stopping-place from Winnipeg, and McQuade's, or "Little Pointe du Chêne," as it is sometimes called, is familiar to all the engineers on the staff of that part of the Canada Pacific Railway. The yard was full of the teams which had left Winnipeg the day before, and the kitchen, or general living room, was crowded with teamsters, who, however, when we appeared, withdrew to a dark little cook-house a few yards from the door.

The room vacated for us was low-roofed, with unplastered ceiling, whose rafters were hung with bunches of garden herbs. Two narrow windows were set sideways in the wall, their deep window-seats serving as bookcase and sideboard: holding the Bible and almanac, the old lady's best bonnet, a pot or two of preserves, a nosegay of spring flowers, and a tea-caddy. An old-fashioned four-post bedstead stood in one corner, covered with a patchwork quilt; in another was an impromptu bed, spread on the floor, and occupied by a woman and two children, apparently asleep. A table, covered with oil-cloth, with some cups and saucers on it, stood between the bed and a dresser cupboard, containing rows of shining milk-pans, piled one on the top of the other and separated by a board. Behind the house door a flight of narrow steps led "up ter chamber," as the old woman in the rocking-chair informed us; and underneath these stairs was a primitive washing apparatus, consisting of a bench holding a basin and two wooden pails, with a long towel hanging from a stick.

The farmer bustled in and out, greeting some of us as old friends, summoning Alice, the maid-of-all-work—a down-trodden, stupid-looking girl of fourteen—to make up the fire and get the kettle boiling, and putting his head into the doorway, "just to tell the missus," as he ushered us in. "The missus," a kindly-looking old Irishwoman in a white cap and kerchief, wriggled over in her chair to greet us, for she was "set fast by the rheumatism," and could not rise. But from long confinement to her chair she had learnt to get about in it very well; her natural energy expending itself on shuffling all over the room, screaming to Alice to know "why that there kettle didn't boil?" and generally making us welcome in her way.

"There's lots of milk—plenty; you're welcome to it; and there'll be boilin' water presently. If I could only get a holt of that Alice, I'd make things lively for her! I'm wore out with her entirely. If you've brought your own provisions all right; but there have been so many travellers by lately, there isn't a bite in the house, till me eldest darter comes and bakes for me to-morrow." Yes, she had seven darters, all well married round about, blessed be God! and they came turn and turn about to look after the old people, do the work, and see after things, while she just kept the bit thing Alice to do the chores and wait on her; but she warn't much good.

Thus our hostess ran on, until the horse was extricated, and we got possession of our rugs and provisions. The boiling water appearing at the same time, we soon sat down to tea; and, as it was too late to pitch our tent that night, we spread our rugs and blankets on the two bedsteads "up ter chamber"—a mere unfurnished garret—and were soon in bed.

Not long afterwards, hearing a great deal of laughter downstairs, I listened, and gathered that "Stick-in-the-Mud" had arrived, and the men were chaffing him for having paid the half-breed two dollars for lending him two oxen for five minutes to extricate his train.

Tired as I was, the mosquitoes were so attentive that I found it impossible to sleep. About midnight "that wretched Alice" crept up the stairs, and lay down in a corner, partitioned off from the rest of the garret by a grey blanket nailed to the rafters. I am sure she did not undress much, nor could she have slept long, as she was downstairs again before three o'clock, and I heard the old woman rating her from her bed.

When we descended at about six, the men and teams were all gone, and the tenants of the floor bed had taken advantage of an offered ride to help them on their way. Poor woman! she was journeying from Detroit, to the work on "15," to join her brother. She had been a month on the road, and had still another week or ten days of walking before her.

CHAPTER VIII.

When we resumed our journey, the weather was hazy and seemed to threaten a thunderstorm. Accordingly, we made great haste, in the hope of reaching "Pointe du Chêne" proper before the storm broke. But when all else was ready, neither our Jehu nor his steeds could be found; he had taken them about a mile further on, to spend the night at a friend's, and did not make his appearance until eight o'clock. As I bade our old hostess good-bye, she seized hold of my ulster, and feeling its texture, said—

"Are ye warm enough, child, in that thing? Ye'll feel the cold drivin'.
Ye'd better have a shawl."

Thanking her for her inquiries, I assured her that I was quite warm.

"Ah, well," she said, patting me on the arm, "take care of yourself. Good people are scarce."

Poor old creature! her good nature made me glad she was my countrywoman. A kind thought expressed in the familiar accents of "Ould Oireland" is welcome to the wayfarer in strange lands, even though it may often be "only blarney" after all.

Reaching a bend in the little river Seine at noon, we halted for dinner, and lighted a fire. But not daring to waste much time in unpacking, we took what we could eat in our fingers, and fed the children. Before we had finished, we were joined by a party of Mennonites, in a comfortable covered waggon drawn by two powerful horses. The family consisted of an elderly man; his wife, a pretty, quaint-looking little woman; a daughter, apparently sixteen; a boy of twelve; and two little girls of about six, looking like twins. They were well dressed, in the quaint costume of their country. The man, who alone could speak English, told us they were going to Winnipeg to hear the war news, and gave a look of utter astonishment at our ignorance of the latest telegrams. It made me feel quite ashamed of not having taken more interest in the progress of current events, to meet a party of emigrants driving miles through these solitudes to hear what I had passed heedlessly by when close under my hand. The Mennonite elder was very polite; but, judging from the shrugs indulged in by the family after a remark uttered in their own language, they did not think highly of our intelligence.

Before we were packed into the waggon again the rain came down in earnest, and the whole afternoon was spent in vain endeavours to keep ourselves dry. Waterproofs, blankets, umbrellas, all were soaked, as hour after hour we were dragged slowly through the muskeg, or marsh, following no apparent track, and with the water often up to the "hubs" of the wheels. No sooner were our umbrellas placed in a suitable position to keep off the rain, than Jehu would make one of his détours, and the wind and rain meeting us on the other side, away flew our wraps, and all the umbrellas had to be rearranged. The difficulty of doing this, and yet keeping them from dripping down some one's neck, was almost insuperable. Mosquitoes, too, flying about in swarms, added their quota to our discomfort. The poor canary had a hard time of it, for in spite of all our care the cage repeatedly filled with water, which I had to empty over the side of the waggon. Luckily, the cats kept quiet, and no one was anxious to know whose feet were in the box of plants!

About three miles from Pointe du Chêne, a herd of buffalo feeding in the distance made us forget our misery for a moment. They had not been met with so near a civilized neighbourhood for years; the wet and stormy weather was the cause of their approach. I was disappointed in their appearance; they looked to me very like a herd of farm cattle, but seemed to feed closer together. I had, however, not much chance to study their peculiarities; another détour speedily requiring my attention. On looking for the buffaloes when again at leisure, they were nowhere to be seen.

Pointe du Chêne is, without exception, the muddiest village I ever was in. We drove through streams of mud; fences were built in mud, mud extended on every side for acres. The houses were so surrounded with mud, ankle-deep, nay, knee-deep, that one wondered how the inmates ever got out. Yet they told us that in a few weeks all would be quite dry; that what were now some of the largest mud-lakes would then be the finest wheat-fields; and it is possible that mud here may have the same fertilizing properties as it has on the banks of the Nile, and that agriculture may be carried on upon the same principles in this part of Canada as in Egypt.

At the Dawson route way-house we were received by a white-haired old man en route to take a situation as cook in one of the houses on the line—though certainly no one ever looked less like a cook. He ushered us into the kitchen, the only room boasting a fire, and we were there met by the proprietor, a depressed and apologetic sort of person. After several whispered consultations with a hopeless wife, who moved in melancholy protest, or sat with her head leaning against the wall, applying the corner of her apron to her eyes so constantly, that that particular corner would not lie flat when allowed to drop, he put up a stove in the front room, which was soon festooned in every direction with our drenched garments.

Two rooms upstairs, clean-looking, but almost devoid of furniture, were allotted to us, and finding that we should be unable to continue our journey for at least thirty-six hours, we tried to make the best of them. Fearing that we might encounter further delays where it would be impossible to get food, we decided to husband what we had, especially as we discovered that our Jehu, whenever he got into the waggon from the wet muskeg, had sat on the bag of bread, which still further reduced our supplies. Accordingly we determined to content ourselves with whatever might be set before us, which proved to be pork, bread, and tea for breakfast; bread, tea, and pork for dinner; and tea, pork, and bread for supper. As we ventured to make a mild remark upon the monotony of the bill of fare, a bottle of pickles was produced next morning, our dejected hostess informing us, in a sepulchral tone, that it cost "one dollar, Hudson Bay Company store prices."

Towards nightfall the French teamster arrived, with his load rather mixed. He had been compelled to unload and reload so often, that everything was where it should not be. Stove-pipes, down which the rain poured in rusty streams, were lying on the top of the best mattresses; and, generally speaking, all the light things were underneath, and all the heavy ones on the top. Soon after the Frenchman, "Stick-in-the-Mud" arrived alone, drenched and miserable. His load was again "stuck in the muskeg, a matter of two mile off, he guessed." If left there all night, it would sink so deep in that quicksand-like marsh that there would be little hope of ever extracting it. The poor lad said his team was too done up to be of any use, and he was so "dead tired, he hadn't a leg to stand on." Still, he didn't object to go back if men and teams were sent with him. And after a great deal of tramping through the muddy village, our people succeeded in getting a yoke of oxen to send to the rescue of our Saratogas.

Meantime the best room of the inn had been "tidied up"—I suppose in our honour, for next day our meals were served there instead of in the kitchen as at first. It resembled the "best room" of most Canadian farmhouses. A four-post bedstead stood in one corner, covered with a patchwork quilt, generally the work of the wife when a girl; a bureau was decorated with the few books possessed by the family—usually a Bible, almanac, and photograph album—the best cups and saucers, a looking-glass and a pin-cushion; an old-fashioned roomy sofa filled another corner. The dining-table in the centre had extension leaves, very far from level; the wall was decorated with a big clock, a couple of bright-coloured prints, a portrait or two and a sampler; and the floor was covered in patches with rag mats.

If we flattered ourselves that promotion into the "best room" would ensure privacy, we were doomed to disappointment. The whole family, from the doleful mamma to the youngest olive-branch, favoured us with their presence, sat on the sofa, and, looking through the album, were kind enough to discuss their relations and friends pro bono publico. The youngest child, aged five, having an occasional inclination to lay violent hands upon portions of our dinner, was pounced upon by one or other of her family, roughly shaken or thumped, and banged down upon a hard wooden chair; while from some other loving relative came the remark, made between set teeth, "I'd slap her, I would!" Poor little thing! she did not seem "a' there," as the Scotch say; the frequent boxing and banging her poor head underwent probably increasing, if it did not occasion, her stupidity.

Early on Friday morning we set out again, under more favourable auspices, though the day was cold and cloudy. One of the division superintendents, or "walking bosses" as they are called, employed by the contractors, had arrived at our resting-place the day before, en route for the "Angle," and he offered to exchange teams with us, if we would allow him to accompany his good horses. This proposal was gladly accepted, and with the utmost satisfaction we saw our French-Indian Jehu depart with his ill-conditioned brutes.

After leaving Pointe du Chêne, the road for some distance lies up a long rocky hill, and then passes through a comparatively well-wooded country. But we thought little of surrounding scenery. The wind was so cold, and the frequent snow-storms during the day were so disagreeable, that we had quite enough to do to keep ourselves and the children warm.

We had our dinner near a dismantled log-house on the bank of a narrow creek, and reaching Whitemouth River about seven, put up at a shanty built by Government to shelter travellers on the Dawson road. It is kept by a Norwegian named Nord and his wife, and can only boast of three small rooms and a kitchen. It was too cold to camp out, so, spreading our rugs and blankets on the floor, we lay down and slept, too tired to heed the hardness of the boards.

On Saturday the air was warmer, and the road comparatively good, and we were sufficiently at ease to look out for and admire the wild-flowers that grew on every side (Mr. R—— good-naturedly stopping to gather some for us), and watch for the young rabbits started by the dogs, who yelped loudly when in full chase after them. We had two dogs when we left Winnipeg, but now our pack numbered eight, some joining us at every halting-place. But in the same proportion that the dogs increased, the cats decreased, a kitten being begged at every house, as they were overrun with mice; and our cats were received with almost as much delight as Dick Whittington's historical speculation. Unfortunately, however, the recipients were too poor to make our fortunes in return. At noon we passed our teamsters, and Mr. R——'s gang of navvies, rather picturesquely grouped round their camp fire, where tea was boiling and pork frying. The untethered horses were feeding by the roadside, and "Stick-in-the-Mud," for once superior to his name, was alone plodding steadily on. This was our easiest day's journey, and it was scarcely four o'clock when we reached Birch river, a dry sandy hill round which a tiny creek wound. We were glad of a few hours' respite to run about and stretch our weary limbs. One of our party discovering that the banking of the shanty was full of mushrooms, we gathered a great many, and took them to the kitchen to be cooked.

This way-house is kept by two brothers, who have literally nothing to do but cook, eat, and sleep, bare shelter being all that the Government supplies to travellers. One of the brothers was making dough-nuts and boiling them in a pot of fat, and although they did not look tempting I had the greatest curiosity to taste them. However, as he did not give me any encouragement to ask for one, my curiosity remained unsatisfied, and I had to content myself with the mushrooms, which had full justice done to them. As night came on, the mosquitoes were terrible; smoke was of no avail to keep them away. The cook told me that the season for them was only just beginning, and that they were nothing to what they would be in a month. The previous summer their cow had literally been tortured to death, between the mosquitoes and deer-flies. Mr. C—— had a mosquito netting tent which was put up in the room we slept in, so that we had comparative exemption from their torments; but it was too hot to sleep, and all night long I heard the men outside fighting with and swearing at their winged enemies.

We set out early on Sunday, as we had a long day's drive before us, and were to have our first experience of a corduroy road. The one in question was a very bad specimen, a succession of deep mud-holes, round some of which we skirted cautiously, wondering how "Stick-in-the-Mud" would get through, and plunging into some swamps, which seemed to tax all the strength our team could exert to lug us out again. We soon arrived at the great Cariboo muskeg, on the smooth squared-timber road. This muskeg must, at some earlier stage of the world's existence, have been a great lake full of islands; now it is a grassy swamp, the water clear as spring water, studded with groups of high rocks of varied size and shape, overgrown by tall pines, birch, scrubby underbrush, ferns, and moss. We had been getting on with such comparative ease that we began to think our fears of the "corduroy road" had been groundless; but before night we experienced the wisdom of the warning not to "halloo before we were out of the bush." We took our lunch on some flat rocks, near a place known on the road as "six-mile shanty;" not without difficulty, as the dogs, like ourselves, were hungry, and, while we were in chase of a refractory umbrella carried away by the wind, one dog demolished the butter and another ran off with our roast beef; and when we reflected that it was the last fresh meat we were likely to taste for months, we saw it depart with regret, even though the ham had been left us.

If the roads were bad in the morning, they were ten times worse in the afternoon; and nothing, I think, will ever make me forget the last five miles of real corduroy road we traversed before reaching the "Angle." It consisted of round logs, loosely bound together, and thrown down upon a marsh, no two consecutive logs being of the same size. There had originally been some foundation, and there were still deep drains dug on each side; but the logs had given way at different ends in some parts, and altogether in others. It was bump, bump, bang, and swash; swash, bang, and bump; now up, now down, now all on one side, now all on the other. Cushions, rugs, everything that could slide, slid off the seats; the children were frightened and fretting; the bird fluttered itself almost to death in vain attempts to escape; the kittens were restless; and all our hair-pins, slipping down our backs, added a cold shiver to our other miseries.

One longed to cry out and beg to be allowed to stop, if only for a moment. But of what use would that have been? We had to endure it, so it was best to get it over quickly. In many places the old road was completely gone, and we had to drive through such dreadful holes that we wondered the waggon, came out entire. [Footnote: Much of this part of the road is now under water and well-nigh impassable, the prospect of soon having the Canada Pacific Railway in working order making it seem waste of time and money to repair it.] Never was smooth road greeted with greater pleasure than we hailed the last mile from the "Angle;" and never did more stiff and weary travellers arrive at any bourn than our party when alighting at the "Angle" that night.

CHAPTER IX.

The "Nor'-west Angle"—The Company's House—Triumph of "Stick-in-the-Mud"—On the Lake of the Woods—A Gallant Cook—Buns à l'imprèvu—A Man overboard!—Camping out—Clear Water Bay—Our First Portage—A Noble Savage—How Lake Rice and Lake Deception won their Names—At our Journey's End.

The "Nor'-west Angle" is a little village at the north-west corner of the Lake of the Woods, and at the mouth of a nameless river, or narrow arm of the lake. The banks on one side are high and wooded, on the other high also, but completely bare of shrubs or trees; while between them the river wanders hither and thither through marshy ground, looking somewhat as one fancies the fens at home must do.

The company's house is a long, low white building, with narrow windows and doors, neat fences and grass plots in front, and a very fair kitchen garden, showing signs of care and attention. The houses near are all one-storied, log-built, and plastered with mud inside and out. There are also several birch-bark wigwams, full of smoke and swarthy children; the owners squatting at their low doors, or, with their dirty blankets wrapped more tightly round them, leaning on the fence to stare at the new-comers.

The "Angle" was quite lively that afternoon. All our own teams were there, "Stick-in-the-Mud" having arrived first after all, with his load in a better condition than the others. Such a genuine smile of satisfaction beamed on his good-natured face, that I could not forbear congratulating him on his triumph over difficulties. Several other teams had brought supplies for the contractor; and fifty or sixty navvies going out in search of work on the contract were camped about everywhere; some in tents, some under waggons, while some sat up all night round the fires, smoking and recounting their experience of the road. Many of the men were very lame and stiff, after their hundred-mile tramp. Numbers of Indians had come in to trade, and the ceaseless "tom-tom" from the wigwam on the opposite bank told how they were gambling away their earnings. They kept up this dissipation until daylight, when they went away in canoes. The way-house being full when we arrived, the Hudson Bay Company's officer very kindly vacated his quarters for us, and paid us every attention in his power, even robbing his tiny garden of half its early lettuce for our benefit. We had a comfortable night's sleep, much enjoyed after our toils and troubles, and on a misty summer morning we packed ourselves and our luggage into a large rowing-boat. The big steamer, Lady of the Lake, being, as usual, stuck on a rock, about forty miles out, we were towed behind a barge by a shaky-looking little tug. Glad were we to have room to move about a little, and after the crowded and cramping waggon the boat seemed a paradise.

Floating almost due north over the smooth waters of the bay, we were soon on the Lake of the Woods. The scenery is very lovely; island follows island. Some seem but a pile of moss-covered stone, every crevice filled with ferns, blueberries, and wild juniper bushes; others are great masses of rock, their perpendicular sides covered with curling black cariboo moss and crowned with great pines; others, again, have shelving sandy shores, covered with tangled vines and bright-hued wild-flowers. As we passed along, each long stretch of the lake appeared more beautiful than the last. Then the sun went down, turning to gold and crimson the fleecy clouds mirrored in the lake, glinting on the distant white pines, throwing into bold relief their darker brothers and the jagged walls of moss-covered rock, in varied tints—black, red, green, and white. The shadows slowly deepened, the long grey clouds hung like a curtain in the sky, where the stars began to gleam softly. The varied foliage turned to a deep, rich blue, shading into green like a peacock's tail. Silence was around us, broken only by the weird cry of the loon diving in the distant bay, and the ceaseless, monotonous puff-puff of the little tug as she pursued her way over the peaceful waters.

About three or four o'clock—how little note we took of time!—we reached the rock on which the big steamer was still fast, stopping to give her another anchor and cable, and wishing her good luck and a speedy release.

We had been amusing ourselves during the afternoon by watching the cook on the barge dive up and down through the narrow doorway of a sort of box to a small rusty sheet-iron cooking-stove, with an equally rusty stove-pipe. First seizing an axe, he chopped up some wood from a pile in the corner, and filled the stove; then he dragged down a bag of flour into his den; then up again he started, as suddenly as a Jack-in-the-box, for a round tin; then for some flat pans. Next we heard him shouting from below, "Is that fire burning good, boys? Cram her full; pile in more wood, and don't heed the smoke!" and he suddenly appeared with the pans full of buns, which were quickly baked. Then, leaning over the railing of the barge, he cried—

"If you would have your tea now, ladies, while the buns are hot, and would pass along your tea-kettle, I have some tea ready for you."

Accepting his invitation with thanks, a tin can of buns was soon in our boat, and never did the lightest tea-buns, served in the daintiest of snowy napkins, taste more delicious. The number we demolished proved our appreciation of his cookery.

About sundown we altered our course. After passing a pretty green hill, from which a group of squaws, children, and dogs watched us, we turned to the west and entered Clear Water Bay. The night was getting dark, damp, and chilly, the children were sleepy, and we were tired and silent. The men on the tug had become quiet and drowsy; nothing seemed to stir but the flying sparks from the funnel of the tug, which dropped all around us, and not even a cry from a loon broke through the stillness.

Suddenly—"Here we are!" rang out from a dozen voices, followed by a heavy splash and a cry of "A man overboard!" While we peered out into the darkness, dreading we knew not what, a laugh came from the barge. It was only the short stove-pipe, which some one had knocked overboard in the darkness. In our relief at finding that the accident was nothing worse, we quite forgot the future misery of our poor friend the bun-maker, whose cookery would have to be carried on amidst redoubled volumes of smoke. A moment later the light of a camp fire appeared, and leaving the tug the barge was poled up to it. One of the engineers belonging to Mr. C——'s staff came to meet us. He had been ordered into town, and had waited at Clear Water two days for the tug or steamer to take him to the "Angle," intending, if they did not arrive before morning, to cross next day in a canoe.

We were soon comfortably settled in Mr. K——'s tent, while he directed a party of Indians, who seemed to spring up in every direction, to put up another. Some of the men on the barge had tents too; others made great fires, piled with broken branches until the blaze shot up to the tree-tops. The swift, silent movements of the Indians stepping hither and thither, now in the glare of the fire, then lost in the surrounding darkness; the chatter of the men; the barking of the dogs; and the sharp crackle of the blazing logs helped to compose a strange and lively scene. Gradually all grew quiet, and settled down for the night; the Indians, rolling themselves in their blankets, lay down with their feet to the fire, and we felt that this was indeed a fitting ending to our day upon the Lake of the Woods.

I think one always wakes earlier when camping out than when sleeping in a house. Our first night under canvas in the "Nor'-west" was no exception to the rule. We were up and out before five o'clock; yet, early as it was, we found our camping-ground almost deserted. The Indians, who were nearly all "packers," employed by the contractors to carry stuff over the portages, had shouldered their packs and gone, and only a few of the men still lingered. One poor fellow had caught several fish, and on being asked what he would take for them, replied that he would gladly exchange a couple for a piece of fat and the loan of a frying-pan to cook his own meal in. This offer was at once accepted, and before long we had some nicely cleaned fish added to our repast. The fire being stirred up, and the kettle set on, I heard groans of despair over the condition of the larder. The tin box which contained all that was left of our supplies became more difficult to pack the more empty it grew, and, being unloaded the night before by hands ignorant of the necessity of keeping it right side up, the salt was spilt into the tea, and the preserves were smeared over all the spoons. There was no bread left, and at last we had to content ourselves with a rather light meal of fish and salted tea, consoled by the reflection that we were near the end of our journey.

The camping-ground did not look at all romantic in the morning. Furniture was scattered everywhere, boxes of all sizes and descriptions were strewn about amidst dead fires and charred branches, and a general air of untidiness and discomfort pervaded everything. Mr. K—— left us soon after breakfast, and we set out to walk over our first portage. [Footnote: A "portage" is the shore of a cataract, rapid, or chute, along which the Indians carry their canoes and luggage. The Winnipeg River, in its course of 160 miles from the Lake of the Woods to Lake Winnipeg, makes a descent of 360 feet, occasioning falls, rapids, chutes, and cataracts, which make its navigation difficult. The portaging, or carrying power of the Indians, says Major Butler, is remarkable; one man often carrying two hundred-weight for several miles. The skill with which they avoid whirlpools, land below the fall and re-launch their canoes above it beyond the power of the current, is unerring, and indispensable to travellers.] This led us up a narrow pathway, all hills and hollows; then over a smooth rock with the trail scarcely visible. A narrow gully succeeded, still wet from the spring rain; then we passed through a belt of low-growing trees leading to a bare rock, its crevices filled with moss white as the rock itself. On reaching the highest point we stopped to rest and look back. Clearwater Bay lay far below us, glistening in the sunlight, and beyond, over the point that forms the bay, the lake and its numberless islands extended for miles. As we descended, we met the packers returning for another load, coming at a light, easy run, one after the other, in Indian file, their straps hanging loosely over one arm. Mr. C——'s own man, a handsome, lithe, graceful Indian of the Brant tribe, stepped out of the line to shake hands with us and bid us welcome to the contract, with a natural politeness and grace which would have adorned the drawing-rooms of civilization.

This Indian, rejoicing in the name of Youal Carrière, was tall and slight, lithe as a tiger, and quick as lightning; never at a loss, naturally intelligent, and an adept in almost everything he attempted. Having had a fair commercial education when in Brantford among his own people, he was as good a clerk in an office as guide in the bush or cook in camp. He was a keen politician, and ready to discuss almost any question, yet always respectful and attentive. Although never officious, he managed to make himself indispensable. He was fonder of life in the bush than in town, yet as ready to amuse himself when there as any of his friends; rather inclined to brag of his doings and sayings, and able to tell the best story in camp, whoever might be his comrades.

We soon found ourselves on the shore of a small lake, which obtained its name oddly enough. The first party of surveyors who crossed it upset two bags of rice in its waters, and thenceforward it was known as Rice Lake. On reaching the opposite shore, we found a man waiting to cross. He had come down the night before, but all the boats were on the other side.

The second portage was much shorter and more level than the first, and consisted of a pretty woodland track of less than half a mile to Lake Deception, so called from the many times and many ways in which the first surveying party were misled when running the line along its shores. One night, after a hard day's work, they had settled down round their camp fires, and, while dozing over their pipes, were roused by a shrill halloo from down the trail. Not having had a mail for weeks, and expecting one hourly, they all turned out to meet the carrier, shouting loudly to guide him to the camp; but they were answered only by the shrill scream of the screech-owl, whose hooting had led them on their bootless chase. Lake Deception is very beautiful, with deep shady bays, high rocky shores, and fair green islands. At the head of one of the bays Mr. C—— had built his house.

As we neared the wharf, where stood a small shanty called by the men "The Fort," with a piece of red cotton doing duty as a flag flying from its roof, a canoe came out to meet us, and a warm welcome from the doctor, an old friend, followed. The Fort contained three rooms, each having a narrow window, and the largest provided with a mud chimney and open fireplace. The furniture comprised a couple of bunk-beds, a few shelves, one table, several stools and benches, washstands built into the corners, and a comfortable sofa, seeming very much out of place in what, to our eyes, looked anything but a comfortable abode. Yet we were told it was one of the most luxurious shanties on the line.

Our luggage could not be brought over until late in the afternoon, so there was nothing to be done but to exercise our patience and wait, enduring the discomfort of feeling as well as looking as if we had travelled for a week, with all the dust of the Dawson road, as well as all the mud of the muskegs, upon our persons.

CHAPTER X.

A detailed account of how we spent the next few weeks would be of little interest, so I will only give it in outline. We slept in the house and took our meals at the fort, Carrière doing the cooking under a low tent close by, which, as a kitchen, was decidedly a curiosity. It occupied a small space not ten feet square, in only five feet of which we could stand upright, and contained cases of tinned fruits, vegetables, sauces, and meats, barrels of flour and meal, caddies of tea and coffee, a small sheet-iron cooking-stove, all the pots, pans, pasteboards, and all other culinary necessaries. There was also a rickety table, at which the men, often five and six at a time, had their meals, sitting on the nearest case, bag, or barrel. It was so crowded that one wondered how Carrière managed to get up such excellent dinners with such limited accommodation. He also made delicious bread, baking it in a hole in the side of the hill, heated by building a fire round it.

By degrees we moved into the house, as the carpenters moved out, taking their bed of shavings with them; and we found daily amusement in the novelty of our surroundings. The house stood on a slight elevation in the valley above the lake, about a hundred and fifty feet off. To the west was a perpendicular wall of rock, rising to a height of forty or fifty feet, covered with tall pines, moss, and ferns. To the east lay a plot of grass, divided by a deep narrow creek from half a dozen dirty tents occupied by the navvies.

The largest of these had a fire burning before it, over which hung a perpetual kettle of pea-soup. Hard by stood a long table of rough boards, laid on rudely fashioned trestles; another board, narrower, and several inches lower, serving as a seat. This table was set almost as often as the pea-soup was stirred. Its appointments were simple, but satisfactory to the guests. There were tin plates and cups, heavy knives and forks, a pepper pot, a mug of mustard, another of salt, a bottle of pickles, and one of sauce. When dinner was ready, the cook, a little fat man, with an apron tied round his waist, a long red toque on his head, and his shirt-sleeves rolled above his elbows, put his hands to his mouth, and gave a loud halloo. Then from every part of the works poured the men belonging to his mess, going first to the creek to wash their hands. As soon as they were seated, the little fellow filled their plates first with soup and next with pork and beans, out of another steaming pot. Ten minutes of rapid feeding satisfied their appetites, and they adjourned to the fallen trees and scattered logs to enjoy their pipes at leisure.

Vigorously wiping down the table, the cook set it anew for the "officers"—that is, the contractors, engineers, and their assistants; the doctor, paymaster, and any one of similar status, who happened to be en route to another part of the line. Their dinner call was a shrill whistle, and their bill of fare differed from the navvies' only in the addition of pies made of dried apples, and an unlimited allowance of pickles and sugar. Their dinner hour, too, was a "movable feast," as in rainy weather they took it between the showers; the navvies did not mind a wetting.

Behind Mr. C——'s house the ground rose more rapidly to the line of railway, and at the north end of the west rock was a fish-pond, which never had any fish in it, although a good deal of attention was paid to stocking it. About four hundred feet to the east is another rock almost as high as the one on the west, beyond which the lake narrows, and the future railway crossing is projected. Of course it took much longer to arrange and make up the necessary useful and ornamental "fixings," as the Yankees call them, for our new house when we were thrown entirely upon our own resources than it would have done in town, where stores and assistants are always to be had; and the saying that "necessity is the mother of invention," was repeatedly verified in our case. Time, therefore, never hung heavily upon our hands, and everything about us having the charm of novelty, gave zest to what to many people would have been but a dull life.

The climate is delightful. A cool fresh breeze always blowing from the lake, tempers the heat, and to a great extent keeps off those foes to comfort in the bush—mosquitoes, black flies, sand flies, and deer flies, or bull-dogs, as they call them there.

Manitoban mosquitoes are larger than those of any other part of Canada, and nothing but smoke will drive them away. Many people who live on the prairies, instead of going for their cattle at milking time, build a smudge (a fire of chips mulched with wet hay or green twigs when well started, to create smoke) near the milk house, and the cattle will come to the fire to obtain relief from the mosquitoes. The black flies are smaller, and the first intimation one has of their attack is a small stream of blood trickling down one's neck from behind the ear. They bite and die, but there are myriads to take their place. The black flies are most troublesome during the day, the mosquitoes at night. Sand flies, as their name implies, resemble a grain of sand, and their bites are like a thousand red-hot needles piercing the skin at once, they are attracted by a light, and no netting will keep them out. Last, but by no means least, are the deer-flies, great big brutes, larger than the largest blue bottle fly. They generally devote their attentions to cattle, and I have seen the poor cows rushing madly down the clearing, the bells round their necks jangling wildly, lashing their tails and tossing their heads, never stopping until safe from their tormentors in the shelter of the dark stable. The dogs, too, are often so covered with these wretched pests, that nothing but dragging themselves through the thick underbrush will set them free. Their bite is very venomous. One of the engineers showed me the back of his hand where one had bitten him a few hours before; it was blue and angry-looking, swollen to twice its usual size, and very painful. Fortunately the deer-fly does not bite often.

We were able to explore the lake, as Mr. C—— had two Rice Lake or Peterboro' canoes. These boats are built by a firm in Peterboro', Ontario, and are steadier than birch-bark canoes, though not so light. They are much used in all parts of Canada, although the Indians prefer the birch-bark. We went out almost every evening, named all the bays, points, and islands, caught lots of excellent pike with a trolling line, which relieved the monotony of bacon and ham for breakfast, or went to the net spread at the mouth of a little river or creek emptying into Lake Deception, and brought home great jack-fish weighing from two to six pounds. From a little stream to the north-west of the house we had delicious brook trout, and occasionally large lake trout from some of the other lakes, presented by the fishermen in their neighbourhood. I weighed one which was over nineteen pounds. Sometimes we took short walks up the line, and through wood-paths made by the men on their way to work. We picked blueberries whenever our hands were not employed in driving off the flies.

But our chief excitement during the week was the arrival of the mail. Our first thought every Thursday morning was, "This is mail-day," and Joe's white canoe was eagerly watched for—often in vain, as storms on the Lake of the Woods, when the canoes could not venture out, delayed its coming until Friday.

Strange as it seems, very few Indians can swim, probably from their fear that they shall drown while learning. They believe that, if drowned, their spirits wander for ever in a vain search for the happy hunting-grounds, and no Indian will marry the daughter of one who has met his death in that way, lest the curse should descend to him. Yet they have such faith in their canoes and their own skill in their management of them, that they will go out fearlessly in storms that a white man would never face.

On mail-day our field-glasses were in constant requisition, and whoever was lucky enough to announce the appearance of Joe felt the hero of the hour. There were other canoes as white as Joe's, so after several disappointments I studied the trimming on his hat, and never made a mistake afterwards. Joe was such an important person that I must describe him. He was a short, slight, though broad-shouldered Indian, wearing a grey flannel shirt, striped cloth trousers, alpaca coat, prunella boots, and black felt hat, with several folds of pink and white net twisted round it. He always had a broad grin on his face, and a hearty "Bon jour, nitchee," for every one. The dress of his companion or partner differed from Joe's only in the absence of boots and hat, and wearing the hair braided in two long tails, instead of being cut short.

How we appreciated our letters no one who has not been in the woods, with a mail only once a week, can understand. I remember one day after our mail had arrived, a lad coming in from the shanty to ask if there was anything for him. His sad face, as he turned away on being told that our mail-carrier was no longer allowed to bring mails for the contractors' men, haunted me for days. Poor home-sick boy! he had not heard from his people for months. I often thought of him afterwards, when, the contractor having made arrangements for a mail-carrier independent of the Government, I saw the huge bag brought in every week, and watched the eager crowd of faces waiting for its contents to be distributed.

We had another source of entertainment in the telegraphic communication between Winnipeg and all the houses on the line, one of the staff in the office good-naturedly keeping us posted in current events. Talking to others along the wire always had a strange significance to me, like having an invisible guest talking to us, who could only hear what we chose to repeat. When anything amusing was said, one involuntarily listened for the invisible laughter. This telegraphic conversation was a nuisance in one way, for often in the middle of dinner Mr. C—— would exclaim, "There's D—— calling!" and away he would go, and probably not come back till dinner was cold, the cook cross, and the confusion general.

We were not without visitors, for the doctor, contractors, and engineers were coming and going continually. About the middle of July, 1878, the contractors' head-quarters at Darlington Bay being finished, and more work going on at that end of the line, his officials moved there, and we were left with only a gang of forty men in a shanty near. Our fat cook also went to Bear Lake, about a mile west of the house, which by that time had received the name of Inver Lodge.

One day towards the end of August a rumour reached us that the woods were on fire on the other side of the west hill, and that the flames were travelling towards us. I put on my hat and went up to see if the report were true, and found flames curling along over the moss and underbrush near a sand embankment where two or three men were working. The fire did not look very formidable to me, and on asking the men if there was any danger of its reaching the house, one put down his barrow, and while he slowly wetted the palms of his hands, and rubbed them together, said, "Na fear, me leddie; a barrowfu' o' sand noo an' then wul keep it fra' gangin' any further." So I went back reassured. But as night came on, the blaze increased so much that it became alarming. Mr. C—— and the men were away at Kuwatin, some fifteen miles from us, and could not be back before daylight. A kindly old Irishman, Michael Cahill, who for a drink of butter-milk came in the evenings to work in the garden, offered his services to sit up and watch the fire.

"Not that he thought there was a ha'porth of danger, but, Lord bless them! the misthress and the childre 'ud be frightened." Poor old man! he had a true Irish heart, with an air of better days long vanished, and a deep loyalty to "thim of the ould stock;" and his boasts of grandeur and valiant deeds were mingled with childlike credulity.

The fire was at its height about midnight, and had reached a large tree in a line with our house, when the wind from the lake caught and drove it back. The underbrush soon burnt out, but the trees were like pillars of flame, crackling and roaring in the silent night, till they fell with a crash to the ground. Half roused by the noise, old Cahill would mutter something about keeping watch until the master came home. The old fellow had wrapped himself in his great-coat, and was sitting on a chair in the yard sound asleep. Fearing that he might catch cold, I woke him. But he treated the insinuation that he had slept a wink with such indignant contempt that I had to leave him to take his chance. The fire burnt itself out before daylight, and we felt as if we had made more fuss than was necessary, when Mr. C—— and the men arrived after four hours' hard paddling. About Ingolf the fires raged so fiercely that the engineers there moved all their valuable instruments and papers into the canoes, and left the shanty to its fate; a change in the wind, however, saved it, driving the flames back when the walls were scorching.

CHAPTER XI.

Irish Wit—Bears?—Death on the Red Pine Lake—A Grave in the Catholic
Cemetery—The First Dog-train—A Christmas Fête—Compulsory
Temperance—Contraband Goods—The Prisoner wins the Day—Whisky on the
Island—The Smuggler turned Detective—A Fatal Frolic—"Mr. K——'s Legs".

The chimneys in Mr. C——'s house were built of mud, and one of them, which smoked whenever a fire was lighted, had to be pulled down and rebuilt. The workmen, who were of various nationalities—Carrière an Indian, old Cahill an Irishman, a Scotchman, and a Mennonite, who thumped the mud mortar with a dogged perseverance that was quite amusing—were all engaged on this chimney. One day I heard Carrière contradict an assertion of Cahill's with regard to the work, calling it "a d——d lie!" Stepping back from the foot of the ladder on which Carrière stood, the old Irishman lifted his straw hat with the air of a courtier, and replied politely, "Carrière, ye're a gintleman! an' that's another."

Before the chimney was quite finished, Mr. and Mrs. C—— went down to Kuwatin to spend a few days, leaving me with the maid and old Cahill to superintend the house-cleaning; and many a half-hour's amusement had I, listening to the old man's reminiscences of Ireland. When he found that I knew and took an interest in many of the people in his own country his delight was unbounded. The height of his ambition seemed to be to have "tin min undher him," and his greatest trial was "huntin' thim tarmints of cows." He was the butt of all the jokes and tricks in the camps round, yet he took everything good-naturedly; "the boys must have their laugh sometimes," being his only comment. He said he was only thirty-seven, but, according to his own account, he had been "kept at school till he was sixteen, lived tin years on the Knight o' Glynne's estate, and gone fishin' with him in the Shannon, been twinty-five years with Colonel Kitchener in Limerick, siven years undher Mr. Usborne of Aruprior Canady West, and knew the Ottawa as well as any man, two years with his brother in Michigan and two years in Kuwatin, and all the fault of the editor of the Ottawa Times newspaper, for praisin' up the country and tellin' lies about the wages."

Cahill always dressed in his best on Sunday. How he managed to get up his white shirts was a mystery. To be sure, one was made to last several Sundays, for when one side got dirty he turned the other out. The navvies called him the forest ranger, because he always took the gun with him when he went for the cows, and each day as he passed the shanties on his way back empty-handed, they chaffed him about his want of sport. One evening he returned as usual, apparently empty-handed, but coming into the kitchen for the milk-pails, he produced from his pockets five partridges and four pigeons. When I asked him why he did not carry them to show the men that he did shoot something sometimes, he gave me a knowing look and said, "Shure, I wouldn't give thim that satisfaction."

We were glad of the game, as a change from the continual salt meat and fish, being unable to get fresh meat until November, and then only Montana beef. The second year the contractor bought only Canadian cattle. The difference in the meat is very great, the one being hard and full of thread-like sinews, the other juicy and tender.

The evening before the September mail went out, I was sitting up late writing letters, when Mrs. C—— in a frightened tone called me to "listen to that queer noise"—a crunching, rustling sound from the rocks west of the house, just as if some heavy animal was making its way through the underbrush and dry moss. Rumours of the vicinity of bears had reached us that day, and we jumped at once to the conclusion that Bruin was upon us. What was to be done? We were quite certain the poor calf, tethered to a stump on the grass plot, would fall an easy victim. Then all the windows were wide open downstairs, and we did not think it probable Bruin would respect the mosquito-netting sufficiently for us to depend upon it as a defence. Mr. C—— and the men were away down the line, and the doctor, who had come in that day, was enjoying a slumber, from which it seemed cruel to disturb him after his hard day's tramp. However, as the noise increased, and seemed nearer every moment, it had to be done. Did you ever try to wake a very sound sleeper, making apparently noise enough to awaken the dead, and when about to give it up in despair have him answer, after your last effort, in a mild, good-naturedly aggravating tone, which impresses you with the belief that he has only closed his eyes for a moment's meditation? Just so did our excellent Esculapius. Imploring him to get up, and telling him that the bears were upon us, I rushed to obey Mrs. C——, who screamed to me to shut all the windows. While I was scrambling on to the kitchen table to reach the last, the doctor appeared, very much en déshabille, with his hair rumpled and a general air of incompleteness about him, demanding the whereabouts of the bear; and at the same moment Mrs. C——, in her night-dress, leant over the banisters above, listening with all her ears for the answer. The absurdity of the whole scene so struck me that I could scarcely refrain from laughing outright. Sallying forth, armed with a big stick, the valiant doctor drove out from behind the wood-pile on the rock—a large, half-starved dog, who was trying to worry a meal off the dried hide of a defunct cow!

The night was brilliant; bright moonlight lay like a long string of diamonds on the bosom of the lake; a blue, cloudless sky spread over our heads; but far away to the south a great bank of murky clouds, lined with silver, was momentarily rent by fierce flashes of forked lightning, followed by the muttering of distant thunder.

In November a very sad accident occurred, by which Mr. C—— lost one of his staff. The weather was cold and disagreeable, just the few transition days between the beautiful Indian summer and clear Canadian winter. Until then the thermometer had registered 70 degrees in the shade at noon, but the change had come suddenly, as it always does in Manitoba, and in a few days the smaller lakes had frozen over wholly, but the larger ones only partially. The mail had been delayed in consequence of there being no means of passage either by land or water. On the 10th Mr. W—— and Mr. K—— dined at Inver, and the former resisted all persuasions to remain until the morning, being anxious to reach his station, Ingolf, next day in time to intercept the expected mail-carrier, and feeling sure he could reach the intermediate station, Kalmar, before dark. He left about three o'clock. What seeming trifles sometimes make all the difference between life and death! That day dinner was half an hour late, an unusual thing in our punctual house, and if he had only had that half-hour more of daylight, his fate would have been changed. He crossed the three first lakes in safety upon the ice, and naturally thought that he should find the fourth equally firm, forgetting that the sun had been, shining on the north side with a heat doubled by the high, rocky shore. He attempted to cross, but, alas, never reached the other side.

The next evening (Saturday), not hearing him work the telegraph, Mr. K——, who had been detained at Inver, asked Kalmar when Mr. W—— left, and the answer that he had not seen him told us the sad news at once. Next morning at daybreak a party went in search of the unfortunate man, and found his body not thirty feet from the shore. His hat, profile (or map), and the long pole carried by all who have to cross unsound ice, were floating near. His large boots, which were so strapped round his waist that it was impossible to get them off, had kept him down. The lake (Red Pine) is small but deep, and he had died alone in the forest, with only the giant rocks around him to echo back his dying cries. While I write, memory recalls his laughing air, when telling me that morning how he had tried to cross the narrows of our lake, but had desisted, fearing a ducking on such a cold day; and I, pointing to his immense boots, said they were scarcely fit to wear when running such risks. How little I dreamt what harm they were doomed to do! His great brown eyes, with the sad, far-away look in them, as if, unknown to himself, they saw into the future; his graceful, manly figure, as he sprang up the hill behind the house, and his cheery "Good-bye, till I see you again," can never be forgotten.

When the winter roads became passable, they took him into Winnipeg, and laid him in the Roman Catholic cemetery there—alone, away from all he loved, without a kindly hand to tend his last resting-place. His death cast a gloom over all our party. Though grieving for him and missing him continually, we could never realize that he was really dead. And the knowledge that it was so even to us made our hearts fill with sympathy for one far away, to whom the sad tidings would have more than the bitterness of death.

Our great excitement after winter had set in in earnest was the arrival of the first dog-train. Hearing the shrill "Marsh-sha" (Marcha) of the driver, we all rushed to the window to see the pretty beasts, in their gaily-worked saddle-cloths and merry bells, come down the hill; then, when a halt was called, to watch them sit down on their haunches and look proudly about them, as if quite aware of the interest they excited. The taboggans they drew were not heavily laden, and as far as I can judge from my limited experience, the dogs are invariably kindly treated by their drivers; all looked well fed and in good condition. During the summer, and sometimes in the winter, when the poor Indians themselves are more than half-starved, it is little wonder that the dogs fare as badly as their masters, and look lean and miserable.

The winter of 1878 was mild and open, more so than had been known in the North-west for thirty years. The snow had vanished almost completely from the portages, and water covered the ice on many of the lakes. When, at Christmas, the staff accepted Mrs. C——'s invitation to spend the day at Inver, the question was whether they would come with dogs or canoes? Neither, however, were practicable, and they had to walk—some of them eighteen miles.

We amused ourselves icing the cake, inventing devices, with the aid of scraps of telegraph wire, as supports for the upper decorations, decorating the house with cedar and balsam wreaths, and providing as good a dinner as it was possible to obtain in the woods. With the exception of having nothing for our guests to drink, we succeeded tolerably well. Being within the limits of prohibitory laws, it was necessary to ask the Lieutenant-governor of Manitoba for an especial "permit" to have wine sent out; and we were answered that, "if the men had to do without whisky, the gentlemen might do without wine." So we had to content ourselves with half a glass of sherry each, the remains of some smuggled out with our luggage in the spring.

We soon had proof that the men rebelled against the prohibitory law. The presence of whisky being suspected in a neighbouring camp, a constable who had been but recently appointed, and was anxious to show his zeal, never rested until he had discovered the smuggler and brought him to justice; the clause that the informer was entitled to half the fine of fifty dollars not diminishing his ardour.

To a lawyer the proceedings would have been amusing, for all parties concerned were novices in their respective rôles. The justice of the peace, with a great idea of his own importance, the majesty of the law, and the necessity for carrying it out to the letter, had obtained several manuals for the guidance of county justices of the peace and stipendiary magistrates, over the technicalities of which he spent many a sleepless hour. No sooner had he mastered the drift of one act, than the next repealed so many of its clauses that the poor man became hopelessly bewildered. Handcuffs there were none, neither was there a lock-up, and the constable spent his time in keeping guard over the prisoner, being paid two dollars a day for the service. The latter was fed and housed, and, not having been overburdened with work or wages for some time, did not object to the incarceration.

Ultimately he was tried, found guilty, and fined fifty dollars or a month in jail. Many arguments arose between magistrate and constable, as the latter, having served in the United States, and there learned a smattering of Yankee law, was resolved to make his voice heard in the case. The inability of the prisoner to pay the fine of course made it necessary to fall back upon the alternative—thirty days in jail, which jail was a hundred and odd miles off. There was no conveyance to take him thither; and no roads even if there had been; and the man refused to walk.

"If I had the money I'd pay the fifty and have done with it," he said; "but, not having it, I can't do it. If I am to go to jail, all right—take me; but whoever heard of a man walking there of his own accord?" and he whittled away at the stick in his hand feeling that he was master of the situation. Being remanded until the next day, to keep up some semblance of proper procedure, he went away quite contentedly, only to return the next day and the next to repeat the same farce. At last both magistrate and constable began to look rather tired, while the prisoner, on the contrary, was quite at his ease. The wire was down between us and Winnipeg, and no advice could be obtained. So at last the constable, agreeing to forfeit his share of the fine, and the magistrate to take a time-bill on the contractor for the next section of the railway for the remaining twenty-five dollars, they let the man go, neither of them, I am sure, seeing him depart with regret.

The next whisky seizure that occurred in the neighbourhood was a small two-gallon keg, found in the middle of a barrel of sugar. The load was owned by one man and driven by another, whose consternation at finding he was a holder of contraband goods was so genuine that the authorities thought emptying the whisky on the snow was sufficient punishment, and—possibly dreading a repetition of the last trial—let the man go.

Soon afterwards several kegs of whisky were found on an island in the Lake of the Woods. The owner gave himself up, and entered the service of the contractor as especial whisky detective, and such was his vigilance, that no whisky ever passed him. He was quite impartial, not letting even our mail bags go unquestioned, and so was not disliked. During his term the line was quiet and orderly; but, unfortunately, he went into Winnipeg on leave, shot a youth belonging to one of the river steamers in a drunken frolic, and was convicted of the murder.

One day, hearing a very peremptory-sounding knock at the door—a knock at any time being an event—I opened it in haste, to see a short, jaunty-looking man, red-haired and red-faced, clad in long stockings drawn well over his trousers and mocassins, a short skin coat tied round his waist with a red sash, and on his head a long red toque.

"Good mornin', miss," said this odd apparition. "I'm come for Mr. K——'s legs." Seeing that I had not the faintest idea of what he meant, he touched his forehead again. "Please, 'm, Mr. K—— sent me for his legs. He said I'd find them in the office;" and the little fellow, who seemed all on springs, craned his neck round to see into the room. Fairly puzzled, I stood aside to let him pass; so in he went, returning instantly with a tripod on his shoulder.

"Here they are, miss," he said cheerfully. "Much obliged. Fine day, miss;" and was off to the lake before I had recovered my surprise at his amazing request and his general absurdity.

CHAPTER XII.

We had plenty of strange visitors; almost every day men passing along the line came in, either to inquire the distance to the next shanty, or to ask for a meal or drink of milk. Some showed a friendly disposition, and would entertain us with their full family history. Others, with many professions of gratitude for our kindness, would eat enough to last them a week, one would suppose, and go on their way. Others, more taciturn and independent, took their refreshment in silence, and offered to pay for what they received. One in particular, a tall, slight man, rather advanced in years, came in one morning, and made us understand by signs that he was hungry. When a meal was put before him, he sat down, took his hat off—this was something unusual—and upon every offer of more edibles bowed his thanks with much dignity. He could speak neither English nor French, and looked like a Swede. When his repast was finished, he offered by signs to mend shoes as payment. Thinking that he was begging for shoes, we screamed, as every one so oddly does to foreigners—as if it made our language any more intelligible to them—that we had none for him. Seeing we did not understand him, he sat down and went through the pantomime of mending shoes. Still shaking our heads, as we had no shoes to be mended, he, after fumbling in his pockets, produced a quarter, which he pressed us all in turn to take. In vain we tried to make him understand that his breakfast was a gift; going away a step or two, he came back again and again, still offering the quarter. At last, out of all patience, Mr. C—— ordered him off the premises. The stranger went up the hill, but lingered until the coast was clear, to put the quarter on the ice at the door. Then, thinking perhaps that it might not be seen there by the right people, he stuck it into a crevice between two logs in the shed, and went away whistling merrily, his pride relieved of his obligation, as well as his pocket of his money.

Towards the end of the winter, the sleighing being a little better on the portages, we drove to Ostersund, the nearest house east of us. It was Sunday, the 3rd of March, and a bright, clear, cold day. Our conveyance was a sort of combination arrangement of a long, low platform, with one seat, on two bob-sleighs, which platform turned on a pivot independent of the sleighs. This was supposed to be an invention that lessened the bumps and swings experienced by the traveller, who was jolted over the hills and hollows of the rough roads. Rough, indeed, they were—up and down steep hills, among and over huge boulders thrown out by the blasts in adjacent cuttings, along the edge of narrow rocks, where Carrière had to hold on to the sleigh on one side, to keep it from swinging round, and down the face of the jagged cliff, into such deep gullies, that it was a wonder we were not tipped over on the horse's back, or left behind, when he went up the ascent. The problem that chiefly occupied me during this wild huntsman-like ride was: If the combination sleigh were indeed a success, what would my sensations have been without it?

On the lakes the road was smooth and delightful, and our old broken-down steed supplied by the Government, derisively dubbed "Pegasus" by Mrs. C——, achieved something approaching a trot. Poor thing! its hide had become so hardened by former cruel treatment, that there was no spot on which the whip had the least effect. We were accompanied by the usual number of dogs, who ran yelping after the rabbits in all directions. On one of the portages we passed an old Indian, clad in a long blue blanket coat, with a red sash round his waist, and beaded leggings, and mocassins; his long hair was tied back, and a red silk handkerchief was loosely knotted round his brow. He leant upon his old brown gun, and the tall trees, through whose leafless branches the sunshine fell in long streaks on the snow and moss, formed a fitting background for his gaunt figure. Unheeding the hoarse barking of the dogs, he replied to Carrière's "Bon jour" with a guttural "Bon jour, nitchee;" but until we were out of sight remained in the same attitude.

On the 26th of March, an event happened which startled us all out of the even tenor of our lives. Between ten and eleven in the morning, the roof of our house caught fire from the kitchen chimney, and having no engine or fire-extinguisher about the premises, we were houseless, with scarcely anything to call our own, in half an hour. The moment we discovered the fire, we ran to the nearest cutting, where there were twenty men, to ask their assistance. After vainly attempting to get at the fire by chopping away the roof, they could do nothing but save as much property as possible. Mrs. C—— was at Kalmar, and being too excited to remain inactive, I deposited the children in the contractor's shanty, persuading them to stay there until I returned, and went back to the house to save what I could. I had plenty of assistance. Never did men work better. I have seen many a fire in crowded cities, where engines and hundreds of people were at hand, without half the proportionate amount of goods being saved; and what was rescued from the flames was not destroyed by rough handling.

The house was built of logs, the crevices being stuffed with moss, and lined with thick brown paper, the seams of the latter covered with a narrow beading of pine. The roof was lined with tar-paper, which made a dense and blinding smoke. It had been built a year, and was so dry that it burnt like a tinder-box.

The cook, a bright, pretty Canadian girl, in her anxiety to save her kitchen utensils, was caught by the flames, getting her eyebrows and hair singed while making a final dash for the boiler; and in the long weeks that followed before it could be replaced she never ceased to lament her failure. She was worth ten men, and saved many things which we did not think of at the time, but should have found it difficult to do without afterwards.

We were a motley group, sitting and standing on the hill above the creek to watch our house burn to the ground. Navvies of every nation; tall, brawny Scotchmen; jolly-looking Irishmen, their faces a mixture of pity for our misfortune and enjoyment of the "fun;" stumpy little French Canadians; solemn, stupid-looking Icelanders and Mennonites. Carrière was there on his crutches. Poor fellow! standing knee-deep in the lake to cut ice out had brought on such a severe attack of rheumatism, that it was with difficulty he moved about at all. We were surrounded by a heterogeneous mass of household goods: here a pile of bedding, surmounted by a looking-glass, there a basket of crockery, glass, and china; here a dismantled stove, with the fire yet burning in it, there a clothes-horse, still covered with clean clothes ironed that morning. A heap of wearing apparel, taken out of some cupboard, lay close beside one of the stove-pipes. All round the house were trophies of household furniture, just as they had been carried out—the baby's cradle full of books from the drawing-room table, china vases underneath a heap of dinner plates, and rolls of plans from the office, blown into every corner of the fences. And all the time the house blazed on. Then the fire spread, and ran up the hill at the back, burning the old ice-house and a large tree, which fell to the ground with a crash the moment after the roof fell in. At the same moment a stock of cartridges exploded, and a volley of musketry formed the fitting finale to our fire.

The poor children, who had hitherto been wonderfully good and patient, now became so nervous and frightened that we could scarcely pacify them. Our old friend, the contractor's superintendent, coming back to his shanty shortly after the disaster, with his usual unselfish kindness insisted on giving it up to us, and going himself into a wretched lean-to behind the store, until the house could be rebuilt. It would be difficult to describe the discomfort of the next few days.

Mrs. C—— came home immediately, and we were all busy sorting out the salvage, retaining what was necessary to furnish the shanty, and storing the remainder in a log-house used as a workshop. How we raked amongst the still hot embers in the hope of picking up a relic, or with regretful interest traced the shape of some favourite object in the ashes! As my room was the first burned, I saved nothing but a few clothes, most of which were comparatively useless, silk dresses and a log shanty not being harmonious combinations. All my books, pictures, jewellery, and those odds and ends which, though of little money value, had grown priceless to me from association, were destroyed; and my desk also, containing my notes of dates and places, so that in these pages I have had to trust entirely to memory.

In dry weather the shanty we now occupied was a very tolerable one, built of rough logs, their crevices filled with mud both inside and out; the roof was of logs also, but cut in halves, scooped out, and ingeniously interlaced—thus, [Illustration], to allow the water to run off. During the cold weather these logs had been filled with moss, and when the spring rains began the water settled in places, rotted them, and came through.

The shanty was divided into three by a partition reaching half-way to the roof. In the first room stood one bunk bed filled with straw, in the second were two narrow ones, so close together that two people could not get out of bed at the same time. One small window, halfway between each room, gave light to both. There was no door into the outer room, only a vacant space in the partition. In the centre was an iron stove set in a box of sand. There were two narrow windows on each side, and the only door led into the outer world. When we had made it as comfortable as we could, the outer room had to be telegraph office (the instrument keeping up such a continual ticking that we blessed an odd day when the wire was down) as well as dining-room. The big table filled up half the width of the room, and the sideboard a quarter, leaving the remainder for the sofa, small tables—under which were stored boxes and trunks of various sizes—safe, and chairs. We covered the walls with pictures, nails whereon to hang everything that would hang, and small shelves. The matting saved from the hall covered what was otherwise unoccupied of the shanty floor. In fine weather it was not at all unpleasant, as the children and I almost lived out of doors, and even when in the shanty kept our hats on, ready to go out again the moment our office was called on the line; as it was impossible to impress children, aged two and five years respectively, with the fact that their merry chatter and a telegraphic message in course of transition were incompatible.

In wet weather, cooped up as we were, with the roof dripping in a dozen places, their number increasing after every storm; with all our tin pans called into requisition to catch the falling drops, and the children feeling it a duty they owed to society to empty their contents on the floor the moment our backs were turned; with the instrument at work, and the current bad, I was often made desperate by the utter impossibility of keeping the children quiet. Rolling them in a shawl, I would rush out to a tent pitched about ten feet from the shanty door, and used as a kitchen, rather than endure any longer the strain upon my nerves in the shanty. This kitchen-tent had a few rough, heavy planks for floor, and a stove at one end, with the pipe up through the canvas, and the ridge pole and uprights studded with nails, whereon hung cups, jugs, pans, and tins. Two tables stood under the slanting roof, with rows of nails beneath to hold irons and everything else with a handle. There was a small cupboard in one corner, and the others were filled with boxes, barrels, and the maid's trunk. The tent had been used as a cook-house so often that it was perforated by small holes made by flying sparks, and to touch the canvas with one's head was to invoke a shower-bath. Soaking in wet weather and broiling in fine, it was anything but a paradise of cooks, yet it was wonderful how well the maid managed in it, and how neat and tidy she kept it.

We were always intensely interested in the blasting of the cutting about three hundred feet from us. At the sound of the horn we were on the watch to see the men ran off behind the rock. Then the smoke curled up, and the report followed, sending the flying stones well into the air, and in a second we could hear them rattle down all round us, on the roof of the shanty and far out into the lake. Hearing the horn one day when quite five hundred feet from the cutting, I turned to watch, believing myself at a safe distance; and as I saw the stones falling, and thought it a heavier charge than usual, I heard the hiss of one fast approaching. Before I could decide whether to run or not it whizzed past—so close to my ear that I could feel the wind it made—and buried itself in the sand not two feet behind me; while another fell within a few inches of my feet in front. Snatching the child who was with me up in my arms, I took care to get some distance further up the hill before the next charge exploded.

One of the engineers told me he had seen stones thrown thirteen hundred feet from a cutting. They use nitro-glycerine, and have had several serious accidents while handling it. One poor lad who was carrying a can weighing fifty pounds up the dump, tripped, and was blown to atoms; part of one foot, stuck in the fork of a tree about a hundred feet off, being all that was found of him. A man lost his sight and one arm from merely striking a rock where some of the horrid stuff had been spilt. Often have I watched the long train of packers coming down the hill, each with a can of glycerine on his back, and wondered how they dared carry it over the rough roads, knowing that one false step would cost them their lives. Once when I was out with the children, the dogs barked furiously at one of these poor men. Calling them off, I seized the opportunity to make some remark about his load. "Ay, miss!" he said, sadly and bitterly; "'tis a main mean load fur any man to ha' to carry." Yet, in spite of the danger and the many accidents, I have heard these packers chaffing each other when passing. "It's a warm day," says one. "That's so; but maybe ye'll be warmer 'fore ye're to camp tonight," is the reply. "That's so. D'ye want any word taken to the divil?" Then again, "Where are ye bound for, Jack?" "To h—-, I guess." "Take the other train, and keep a berth for me, man!" "Is it ye're coffin ye're carryin', Pat?" asks another. "Faith, ye're right, an a coroner's inquest into the bargain, Jim!" Yet the wretched expression of these very men proved that they felt the bitterness of death to be in their jests.

CHAPTER XIII.

A few weeks after the fire, the C——s had another loss, in the sudden death of two cows. No cause could be assigned for it; unless there might have been poison in the wild hay which they ate, put there by the Indians to kill the foxes. The difficulty of supplying their place on the line in the spring made the loss considerable, especially with children in the house, and no fresh meat attainable.

Carrière had been so completely laid up with rheumatism that he had resigned his post, giving place for our old friend Cahill, who immediately undertook the charge of the garden, which he said he understood thoroughly. Looking one day into the hot-beds, which he seemed to have taken much pride in, I found he had filled more than half the space with different varieties of onions, and another part with carraway seeds! When I asked why he put them in there, he said—

"Shure, ye couldn't have anything betther nor inions. Many's the thousand
I've raised in Ireland, when I was with Kurnel Kitchener in Limerick."

After the cress had gone to seed, Mrs. C—— told him, to take it out, and sow other things in its place. A little while afterwards, I saw the old fellow transplanting something very carefully, which proved upon investigation to be the cress. When I told him it was not worth the trouble, he looked up and said, in a very indignant tone—

"Throw it away, is it? Shure, if I'd known that was all the good it was, it's meself wouldn't have filled me hot-beds wid it! The thrash!"

One day he received a very long, narrow parcel and note through the mail. Early next morning, I saw the old fellow sitting on a stump in the garden, carefully spelling over the letter, which did not seem a long one. When Harry ran up to him, Cahill brought the child back to me, and looking all about to see that no one else was near, said, in a mysterious tone—

"See here, Miss F——. I got a parcel be the mail-man yesterday, an' here's the spicification that came wid it. Would you read it, miss, and till me who ye think would send it? I think meself it's a trick, an' I'll be even wid thim yit." And he handed me a crumpled piece of paper about four inches square, on which I read—

"To Michael Cahill, Esq,
Office of the Civil Engineer,
Lake Diception

"Sirs,

"Hearin' ye were lately appointed Governmint gardner, we sind a sample of our goods. Eny orders ye can sind will receive prompt attintion.

"Green and Brown, manufacturing company,

"County of Limerick,

"Ireland."

"Of course it's a joke, Cahill," I said. "But where's the sample?"

"Shure, I buried it behind the shanty; it's a wooden hoe, cut out o' the root of a three, I think I know who sint it," he went on, drawing near, with another cautious look round.

"It was wrapped up wid some copies of the Ottawa Citizen newspaper, an' there are only two min on the line that take it at all. So ye see I can spot them!" Fumbling in his pockets, he produced a scrap of the paper, and, turning it this way and that, discovered some writing which, upon close inspection, proved to be my own name. His tormentors had wrapped it in one of the papers I had lent him.

To describe the old man's wrath and astonishment, mingled with keen sense of fun (for an Irishman can see a joke, even against himself), is impossible. I had little trouble in persuading him that to take no notice of either parcel or "spicification" would be the best way to disappoint his foes. Long afterwards, whenever I met him, he gave me a knowing side glance of mutual understanding that was irresistible.

In the mean time, the house was fast being rebuilt on the old site, but on a much improved plan. The former had been a two-story building of squared logs, and, to my eyes, an insult to the landscape. The new one, a low cottage of rough logs, seemed to fit into the valley without marring the view from any point. The beautiful wooded hall to the north, which had been completely shut out by the old house, now formed a lovely background to the cottage and garden.

The little Frenchman Martin, the master builder, was another character in his way; a lively, energetic little fellow, whose eyes were everywhere. Not the driving in of a single nail escaped him. Yet, with all his watchfulness, he did more work than any three of his men. The habitual use of salt pork and beans, added to the total absence of vegetable diet during the long winter and summer, had caused scurvy to break out among the men, and poor Martin was suffering very much from it. To keep him in better health until the house was finished, Mrs. C—— supplied him with potatoes, which he ate raw, sliced and soaked in vinegar; and I believe, from a conversation I overheard between him and one of his men, that these raw potatoes, bread, and tea constituted the man's entire food for the last six weeks of his work on the line. Many others had not even the potatoes, yet they daily passed the garden, where lettuces and other vegetables, a cure for their sufferings, grew in profusion, and did not take a leaf. I know, had I been in like case, early training would have gone to the winds, and the eighth Commandment have become a dead letter.

We had unusual opportunities of seeing the real life of a navvy while we lived in the shanty. Our men came from nearly all parts of the world—Russia, Sweden, Germany, Holland, Iceland, Ireland, Great Britain, and the Dominion. There were also many Scotch and French half-breeds, as well as full-blooded Indians, among them, the contractors finding that associating the various nationalities in camp was more conducive to peace and obedience than when a large number of fellow-countrymen formed a gang. Next to us, in reality under the same roof, was the store, containing everything a navvy could want—from hats and boots to pickles and tobacco.

A Trip to Manitoba

A TRIP TO MANITOBA

BY

MARY FITZGIBBON.

DEDICATED TO LADY DUFFERIN.

PREFATORY NOTE.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX.

CHAPTER XX.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.