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 pa.s.sed 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 Chene," 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 G.o.d! 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 ch.o.r.es 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, part.i.tioned 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.

Faithless Jehu--The "Blarney Stone"--Mennonites in search of News--"Water, Water everywhere"--A Herd of Buffaloes--A Mud Village--Pointe du Chene 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.

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 Chene" 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 a.s.sured 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 pa.s.sed 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 _detours_, 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 Chene, 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 _detour_ speedily requiring my attention. On looking for the buffaloes when again at leisure, they were nowhere to be seen.

Pointe du Chene 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 ap.r.o.n 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 alb.u.m--the best cups and saucers, a looking-gla.s.s 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 alb.u.m, 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 Chene, the road for some distance lies up a long rocky hill, and then pa.s.ses 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 Sat.u.r.day 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 d.i.c.k Whittington's historical speculation. Unfortunately, however, the recipients were too poor to make our fortunes in return. At noon we pa.s.sed 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 gra.s.sy 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 b.u.t.ter 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 b.u.mp, b.u.mp, bang, and swash; swash, bang, and b.u.mp; 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 impa.s.sable, 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 _a l'imprevu_--A Man overboard!--Camping out--Clear Water Bay--Our First Portage--A n.o.ble 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. .h.i.ther 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 gra.s.s 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 ma.s.ses of rock, their perpendicular sides covered with curling black cariboo moss and crowned with great pines; others, again, have shelving sandy sh.o.r.es, covered with tangled vines and bright-hued wild-flowers. As we pa.s.sed 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 peac.o.c.k'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 pa.s.s along your tea-kettle, I have some tea ready for you."