A Trip To Manitoba Part 8

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.

Next morning the sun rose bright and clear, but as there was still a good deal of wind, which was likely to increase as the day advanced, we started early; not, however, before Mr. F---- had sent the strange Indians to shoot some ducks we had heard on the lake. They returned with one old and five young birds, for which they got five cents apiece, and the remnants of our breakfast. We all set to work to pick them at once.

Carriere, at my instigation, tried every inducement in his power, offering the Indians three times its value in money, to purchase the little basket of wild rice they had in their canoe, but without success.

"It belonged to another Indian, and they had not leave to sell it," they said, in answer to all his persuasions. We embarked on the Falcoln Lake side of the point; the water was still so rough that the canoes had to be held off the rocks to prevent their b.u.mping. Mr. F---- and Frank struck directly across the lake and hugged the western sh.o.r.e, but Mr. M---- and Carriere, trusting to my being a good sailor, kept in the middle of the lake in a direct course to the portage.

The waves were just high enough to give the canoe a cradle-like motion.

Settling myself comfortably, and being covered with a warm rug, I slept soundly until we reached the portage--an hour's paddle--so that I knew very little of the beauties of the lake. Looking back at it as we sat on the sh.o.r.e waiting for the other canoe, its sh.o.r.es seemed hilly, and devoid of bays or foliage. When the others came in, they expressed astonishment that I could sleep when the water was so rough; they could not see us at all times, and feared we were lost, and the reappearance of the canoe, apparently without me in it, had puzzled them not a little.

Before we were ready to cross the portage our Indian visitors overtook us and carried some of our baggage. When asked to take a canoe, they looked at it, lifted it shook their heads, laughed and told Carriere it was 'too heavy, they were not beasts.' Mr. F---- offered them a dollar to take it over to the next lake--less than half a mile. 'No'--they lifted it again carefully, taking everything out of it--"no, they wouldn't do it for five dollars."

Then Mr. M---- and Frank, putting their folded coats on their shoulders to rest the edge on, took up the canoe, one end on Mr. M----'s left shoulder, and the other on Frank's right, and went off at an easy run, the Indians watching them open mouthed. Then they again tried the weight of the other, anxious to get the money, but too lazy to earn it. At last Mr. F---- had a "happy thought". Showing the Indians the whisky keg, and holding the open bunghole to their noses, he made them understand that if they carried the canoe over they should have some of "the cratur" when they returned. This worked like a charm, in two minutes the canoe was hoisted on their shoulders, and they were off at double the pace of the others. Before they returned, Mr. F---- emptied out most of the whisky and replaced it with water, shaking the keg well to give it a flavour. It is against the law to give Indians spirits, but he knew that this mild draught could not hurt them. They were apparently quite satisfied, and left us, promising to bring us some potatoes to the end of the next portage. But either they detected the fraud, and did as Indians generally do when cheated--said nothing at the time, but would rather starve than give one a chance to cheat them again--or they were unable to procure the potatoes; at all events, we saw no more of them.

The next lake at which we arrived was very picturesque. I asked Carriere its name, but he laughed and replied, "It has no name, Miss F----. It is only one of those 'magnificent water stretches' we hear MacKenzie talking so much about." [Footnote: During the debate on the building of the Fort Francis Locks, when justifying their immense cost to the country in order to utilize the water communication, the Honourable Alexander MacKenzie, then leader of the Government, and Minister of Public Works, spoke frequently of the "magnificent water stretches between them and Winnipeg."] We were determined not to allow it to be nameless any longer, and unanimously decided to call it Otley Lake, after the brown-eyed baby.

It is a small lake, and soon crossed. A short portage follows, and on the sh.o.r.es of the next and yet smaller lake we stopped for luncheon. The portage was muddy; we had tucked up our skirts as high as we could to keep them out of harm's way, and were standing idly about, watching the maid wash, and Frank cook the ducks, when we heard distant shouting.

Before we could decide whence it came, Mr. F----, who had gone out in the canoe to reconnoitre, reappeared; but not alone. Mr. K---- was with him, in a new and spotless suit of Oxford grey, irreproachable collar and cuffs, light-blue necktie, and new hat; looking clean, fresh, and civilized. What a contrast! Mrs. F---- gave her dress a shake, and straightened her hat, while I, in my anxiety to let down the loops in my skirts, made sad havoc amongst the strings; and the maid exclaimed, in a tone of personal injury--

"Law! and we're such figures!"

I reproached him for making us feel our position so keenly. The scene would have made a good caricature: our travel-tossed party, with draggled skirts, and hats shapeless from much drenching rain; the men coatless, collarless, cuffless, with trousers rolled up and hair guiltless of parting; remnants of provisions, dishes, rugs, shawls, and coats littered over the ground,--all in sharp contrast with the perfect type and finished product of civilization landing from the canoe. The very grace with which he lifted his hat as he greeted us made us feel that contrast more!

However, we soon forgave him, we were so glad to see him; especially as he brought the mail-bag. While the men read their letters, I consoled myself for having none with a can of Californian pears, which were among the many things Mr. K---- brought. Don't misunderstand me, and think I ate them all; but I confess to a fair share. The ducks, too, fried in pork fat, were not bad, and we enjoyed our picnic very much, even though, not having provided for visitors, one did without a fork and another without a spoon, to make them go round. Before leaving the scene of our meeting, the lake was dubbed Picnic Lake. It was only a hundred yards or so across to Hawk Lake, which looked wild and stormy. But Mr. K---- had crossed it in safety a few hours before, so there was really little danger with good men and canoes. It was impossible to remain where we were without provisions, and there was every prospect of the wind's increasing instead of diminishing; so there was nothing for it but to venture.

Our canoe, as usual, took the lead, and shooting beyond an island well into the open, was soon joined by the others. Strict orders were given by our commander-in-chief, Mr. F----, to keep together: Mr. K---- and his two men in one canoe to the left towards the middle of the lake, about half a canoe's length ahead, and three away from ours; Mr. F----'s being about the same distance on the right, and nearest the sh.o.r.e. Thus Mr.

K----'s canoe broke the first dash of the wave, and ours made it still less strong against Mr. F----'s. But before long the delight of dancing over the waves made Mr. M---- and Carriere work to such purpose that we regained the lead, Mr. M---- shouting, "Here comes another, Carriere!

Head her up!" as a great wall of white-capped water rushing down upon us seemed to threaten destruction to our tiny boat; then, with a splash, struck it, dashing the spray over us as we rose above it and were ready for another. As the wave pa.s.sed behind we could hear it strike the next canoe, and then the wash of the water as it went under. It was great fun, and I could have wished it to last longer, but for a glance at Mrs. F----, who with white face and compressed lips clasped her baby closer in her arms as each wave came. Though of too true metal to make a fuss or give expression to her terror, one could see what she suffered every moment, until, getting to leeward of a large island, the lake became calm and the tension of her nerves relaxed. It took from an hour and a half to two hours to cross Hawk Lake, but to me it seemed only a few minutes.

Turning into a bay to the east, we landed on our last portage before reaching Ingolf. It was a long, wet track, with a narrow ravine in the middle, over which a rude road of loose logs had been made, while down the hills trickled tiny streams and a brawling, moss-bordered brook.

There were two trails, and while the Indians and canoe-men took the lower and shorter, we pursued the upper. We were too tired to notice the beauty of the country, and were glad to reach the canoes on Long Pine Lake. We pa.s.sed parties of men returning from their work, some of whom took charge of our luggage; and all crowding into one canoe, we were soon at Ingolf, the most western station on Contract 15.

Long Pine Lake looked still and pond-like; the weeds and slimy tendrils in the water were too visible, the bank we landed upon was too muddy, and the scattered _debris_ of recent building did not add to its attractions. Although the engineers had but lately moved into the house, and one wing of it was still in the workmen's hands, everything was as comfortable and well arranged as good taste could make it. Bachelors'

quarters they were--the only house on the contract uninhabited by woman--but the ingenuity and industry with which they had been fitted up more than compensated for her absence.

The walls of the sitting, smoking, and general lounging room were hung with trophies of the chase--Indian work, pictures and photographs of lovely faces from the artist world; while books, papers, and easy chairs tempted one to linger. The dining-room and kitchen were still unfinished.

So, when we had shaken ourselves straight, and resumed our despised collars and neckties, Mr. K---- took us over in the canoe to the contractor's shanty to dinner. The pretty woman who waited upon us could not complain of the fare not being appreciated. We did full justice to it; lingering until long after dark, telling our adventures and sharpening our wits against each other. The doctor also joined our party.

But a six-o'clock breakfast and early departure being decided upon, we had to break up at a reasonable hour.

In the morning we found we must keep to the canoe route, instead of going by waggon to Cross Lake as we had intended. Rain had fallen all night, but it was then bright and clear. Long Pine Lake looked better in the sunlight, and the portage to Hawk Lake, to which we had to return in order to reach Cross Lake, unnoticed the night before, was fully enjoyed now. The ground was carpeted ankle-deep with moss of endless variety, and ferns sparkling with raindrops. Hawk Lake was calm, only a light ripple glittering in the sun where had been white-capped waves before. Crossing the north-west end, we struck a short portage to a tiny lake, across which a few minutes' paddle carried us. It was now comparatively easy work for the men, all the heavy camping baggage having been left at Ingolf, and the remainder, except our hand-satchels, sent on by packers going through to Cross Lake. As Mr. K---- and his men accompanied us, no double trips were necessary.

Our last portage showed many signs of active life; there were several boats left by packers--glycerine cans, large racks on which whitefish-nets were drying, a shanty with a rugged garden round it, besides the well-worn paths which tell of frequent traffic. The men went briskly up the hill with our canoe, and were soon out of sight; but thinking that the lower path was likely to be the coolest and most sheltered, we followed that. It was so pretty and dry for the first half-mile that we congratulated ourselves upon our choice, and pitied the poor men toiling up the rocks in the heat. But our self-satisfaction was short-lived. A few yards further the path began to descend, getting wetter and more swampy at every step. Mr. K----, who carried his paddles, threw them across the mud as bridges, and by taking advantage of all the fallen trees and stumps, we got on pretty well for a time. But the task became more and more difficult every minute. Once, while scrambling along a half-submerged log, I grasped some tall weeds to save myself from falling; they tinned out to be stinging nettles, and I do not feel called upon to recommend them as a means of support. Presently Mr. F----, who was in front, called out--

"Hallo! here's a jolly puddle!" and plunged in up to his knees. It was too wide to bridge, the paddles were too narrow to afford us foothold; and before we guessed his intention, Mr. F---- deposited the satchels he carried on the other side, came back and took his wife on his back, saying I was to wait till he returned. The extra weight made him sink deeper in the swamp; and as Mrs. F----'s dress floated on the slimy surface, Mr. K---- followed, and raising it tenderly on the blade of the paddle, the procession moved on; while I, the sole spectator, stood, like a stork, on a stump barely wide enough to support one foot at a time, awaiting my turn.

When we arrived at the lake, a few minutes afterwards, we found the maid, who had gone on with Mr. M---- and the baby, while we were loitering at the last landing, busy removing the mud which encased her clothes.

_She_ had found no friendly back on which to rise above the swamp, and had accordingly fared badly. While waiting for the canoes, we spread our shawls on the gra.s.sy sh.o.r.e under some trees and sat down. Presently some one regretted the absence of the provision-bag, and the maid regretted that she had not asked how to make the buns we had for breakfast. (She amused us much by her anxiety to collect receipts.) To soothe these mourners, Mr. M----, with some little trouble, produced from one of his pockets a can of salmon.

"Hungry! Oh yes, we were hungry enough to eat anything." But when the tin was opened, we found that canned salmon, without bread or vinegar, went a long way. Even our hunger could not tempt us to take more than one taste, after which we unanimously resolved not to spoil our appet.i.tes for dinner.

Cross Lake is long, narrow, and uninteresting, and the surrounding country flat, though rocky. When we crossed it was quite calm, but Carriere said that it was one of the roughest of the lakes in a storm, the west wind having a clear sweep over it. After paddling for about an hour and a half, when we reached the spot where the railway line crossed a narrow part of the lake, and the embankment was partly filled in, we turned to our left into a narrow, winding creek, very like Falcon River, and in five minutes were at Denmark's Ranche.

Then we climbed up a very muddy bank, and along a still muddier dump, or railroad embankment, to the shanty, a large log-hut with several additions, one of a single room ten feet square. The cook, his wife--a delicate-looking woman--and two children lived here. They welcomed us kindly, and with many apologies for the want of s.p.a.ce. Their room was neat and clean, and the inmates seemed contented with everything except the mud, which was so deep all round the shanty that it was impossible to go out with any comfort, and the absence of exercise was very much felt.

The ranche was always full of people coming and going, so there was no lack of society or news. The room we dined in was large, about twenty feet by sixteen. The table was covered with brown oil-cloth, and had benches along it at one end. The other was filled with temporary bunks like the berths in a steamer, one above the other. The _menu_ contained, among other things, a wild goose, roasted and stuffed with a mixture of breadcrumbs and raisins, more like an imitation plum pudding than anything else, flat pies filled with dried apples, and the inevitable plates of fresh, sliced cheese, which is the chief peculiarity of Ontario farmhouse tables.

While at dinner a heavy shower fell, and we were told that we could form no idea of the state of the road in consequence of so much rain. No vehicle could traverse it, and we must walk the remaining six miles to the end of the track. Mr. M---- went immediately to detain the train until we could reach it, and after saying good bye to Mr. K----, who returned to Ingolf, we followed, Mr. D---- coming with us to "carry the baby," he said. And so he did, the whole distance, and his own bairns, miles away, had many a hug that day by proxy, I fancy.

Poor Carriere, too, though very lame, rather than let the baggage be left behind and Mr. K---- inconvenienced, also came. For the first mile it _was_ muddy, but, thinking it better than our expectations, we slipped and plodded along very contentedly, stopping every now and then to sc.r.a.pe our boots, but this made our progress slow, and we had no time to waste.

Soon the path, or what had once been one, terminated, and we had to jump the drain to the embankment, and climb that. In five minutes our feet weighed pounds, and we understood the navvies' saying that they "took up land wherever they worked." Goloshes were useless, and we soon discarded them, and, but for fear of hurting my feet with hidden stones or sticks, I would have discarded my shoes too. Still on we plodded, sinking to our ankles at almost every step; it was warm work. At the end of the second mile, near a group of shanties, the road was a little dryer, and a pile of ties gave us a resting-place for a few minutes. After this the road got worse and worse, and trying to walk on the greasy, slippery railway ties scattered about was even more difficult than plodding through the mud. The maid, who entered a protest against the country at every opportunity, was sliding and slipping over these ties in front; glancing down the embankment, three or four feet in depth, she uttered a heartfelt "Thank G.o.d! a path at last," and, giving one jump, she sank nearly to her knees in the marsh. The doleful expression of her face, and the hopeless disappointment with which she scrambled up the muddy bank back to the slippery ties, was too much for my gravity. I am afraid my laughter offended the poor girl, and it was scarcely fair, either, as she had borne all the disagreeables far better than people in her cla.s.s generally do.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Tilford--Pedestrians under Difficulties--The Railway at last--Not exactly a First-cla.s.s 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.

We reached Tilford about six. How we pitied the pretty, sad-looking woman, wife of the engineer, for having to live in a house stranded upon a bank of mud, just high enough to keep the water out, and with mud and marsh on all sides for miles, making it impossible to go out! They had no society, and only the bare necessaries of life about them; the mail carrier and the telegraph were their only means of communication with the outside world.

Excusing our travel-stained appearance, they persuaded us to stay to dinner. My hands were so muddy that I tried to keep them under the table as much as possible; but, finding this awkward, I looked to see if it was noticed, and was relieved by finding I had companions in misery.

We left Tilford at seven, and for some little distance the road seemed better. Fortunately, it was a moonlight night, or we should have had difficulty in keeping the trail. For some distance it ran along the muddy dump, then came a great open culvert, with a gang of men sitting round a fire at the bottom. One of them called out as we appeared, "Ye's can't git down here; ye's'll have to go round." Retracing our steps a hundred feet, we found a track down the side to a submerged bridge, which we traversed as quickly as possible, but not without getting wet to our knees in ice-cold water. Next we climbed up a narrow path, so close to the edge that a false step would have precipitated us ten or twelve feet to the rock below. A steep, uneven fragment of path had to be traversed, and we were in the middle of the cutting. Just beyond was another culvert in a more advanced stage; and we walked carefully across a narrow single board, whose ends lay loosely over one another in the careless way in which men generally run up scaffolding, so that one nail is the only thing that keeps them in this world. The planks were slippery, and in the uncertain moonlight we scarcely breathed while crossing them. On, on, through more mud and water, until, about half-past eight, we saw the whitewashed walls of the telegraph office at the end of the track, and Mr. M---- came springing down the bank to meet us.

"I have just been asking if you were still at Tilford," he said. "I never thought you could get through but would give in and stay there all night.

The engine-driver was getting impatient to be off, so I came to find out."

When we reached the train a load of ties blocked the way, so we had to climb up on a truck, jump down again, and go round a cattle-van to the open truck or freight-car, where our luggage was already piled, and on which we were to make our trip to Winnipeg. Spreading the robes on the floor, Mr. M---- piled the bags and valises in the centre for us to lean against, and covered us with blankets and shawls. Before settling down, however, I took friendly advice, and trusting to the covering of the semi-darkness, changed my shoes, throwing the mud-laden ones overboard.

Then, when well under the blankets, I was comparatively warm. Carriere and Frank came to say good-bye before the train started. They, poor fellows, had to trudge back to the ranche that night, and I, being perhaps the only one of the party who was never likely to see them again, parted from the kindly, good-natured men with regret. Mr. D---- also left us, with many good wishes and good-byes.

The track was not ballasted for the first forty-five miles, and the car rocked frightfully. The wind was bitterly cold, and we crouched down closer under the blankets, but were unable to keep warm until after ten o'clock, when Mr. F---- stopped the train at Whitemouth and borrowed a roll of blankets from the engineer there. With this additional covering, we succeeded in warming our wet clothes. The dear little baby slept all the time in its mother's arms, as cozy and comfortable as possible. Her only dread was that it might be smothered, and many an anxious peep was taken under its many coverings to make sure of its existence. We talked in s.n.a.t.c.hes; and until after eleven amused ourselves with learning some railway technicalities, in order that we might be able to talk of "when we were out on the line." But as the moonlight faded, we grew very quiet and drowsy. Once, when I was just dropping into a little nap, Mrs. F----'s caution, "Don't go to sleep, or you will roll off!" roused me to the consciousness of not having a sofa or even _terra firma_ to repose upon.

On that part of the line the country is flat and uninteresting, entirely muskeg or marsh, with the exception of one small rock cutting, where the necessary drainage formed the princ.i.p.al item in the cost of construction.

On each side we could see the long "take offs" glittering in the moonlight, like silver ribbons thrown at random on the gra.s.s. The Jules muskeg, about two miles across, was at first only pa.s.sable when frozen in winter, except for pedestrians, and we heard of several gangs of men who were sent there to work, digging all day and being unable next morning to find any trace of their labours. The only breaks in this monotonous marsh are Whitemouth and Broken-Head Rivers, flowing between wooded sh.o.r.es. The former is about forty miles from Ingolf, and the latter nearly seventy.

Both are small streams flowing into the most southerly end of Lake Winnipeg. At the junction near Selkirk are a small store and bar-room, apparently well patronized, if one may judge from the mental and physical wanderings of a man who asked the way to Winnipeg, and the wild notes of a fiddle issuing from the open doorway. While the train waited for the switch signal, we were too tired to take much note of our surroundings, the appearance of a rail fence between the track and the outlying country being more suggestive of approaching civilization to our Ontario eyes than anything else.

Receiving the signal, the train backed down the Pembina branch. There the wind was less trying, the road smoother, and we were getting accustomed to our cramped position. Gradually the train slackened, until it was almost at a footpace. Scarcely had we begun to wonder what was wrong, when the speed suddenly increased, and after rushing madly along for a few minutes slackened again, without any apparent cause. The man who had held a lantern at the back of our truck from the junction now began to grumble. "What can the driver mean by going at such a rate?" he exclaimed. Then, when the train slackened, he growled, "Hang the fellow, he's gone to sleep!" At last Mr. F---- said he would go in the engine-car and keep the man awake. When we stopped to take in water a few minutes afterwards he left us, and we reached the station at St. Boniface, the terminus of the railway, at three o'clock, without any further anxiety.

There were only a couple of sleepy porters at the station, so we left the blankets, etc., lying on the platform until one porter found the man who had the key of the storehouse. Picking up our satchels, and shivering as the cold morning air came in contact with our wet clothes, we went over the prairie a hundred yards or so to a hotel, hastily put up for the accommodation of benighted travellers, there being no means of crossing the Red River for Winnipeg before seven.

The house was crowded to excess, the bar-room was full of noisy revellers, the landlord was in bed, and there were no rooms to be had. We waited at the head of the narrow flight of stairs, while a sleepy porter roused five men from their slumbers in the sitting-room, and heard a very grumbling discussion going on behind a half-open door near us, a woman in an injured tone protesting that, "It weren't no good wakin' her!

She couldn't help the house not bein' big enough, nor more people coming nor it would hold;" while the man said, "It weren't his'n, neither; but places must be found to put 'um in."

Presently the sitting-room door opened, and a young man, looking as if he had slept in his hat and used his coat for a pillow, emerged, staring at us as if taking an inventory of our wardrobe, and disappeared downstairs.

With a great yawn, and a muttered remark about something being "a d----d shame," a man who looked like a cattle-dealer followed. Then his partner appeared, an energetic, scrubby-looking little man, who informed us that we might enter: which we did, glad to get a place to sit down in; but hastily retreated, on discovering another man just getting up from the floor, and one busy lacing his boots. When the latter raised his head we recognized our clergyman from the Contract. He had come in over the Dawson route with the poor man who had lost his eyesight and arm by striking the rock where nitro-glycerine had been spilt. His fellow workmen had among themselves collected eleven hundred dollars towards supporting him, or getting him into some asylum, and he was now returning by the line.

Mr. M---- went back to the station to fetch a robe and some blankets, which we spread on the floor, and lay down, to wait for morning. The room was small--eight by ten feet--the furniture, a short uncomfortable sofa, two chairs, a table, and a couple of pictures, of Pope Leo IX. and St.

Joseph. Daylight seemed a long time coming.

Mr. M---- looked more like a ghost than anything else. The poor man had walked up and down the station platform all the time. Neither storekeeper nor key being found, he had feared to leave our luggage lying about unguarded. Crossing the river in the clear bright morning among tidy-looking women going to market, and natty men in clean white shirts and well-brushed clothes, made us feel more disreputable than ever. And we _were_ disreputable! Our skirts, draggled and muddy half-way to our waists, clinging and wet still; our hair un-brushed, our faces bespattered with mud, and blackened with smoke and dust from the engine and our night's travel--the railway hotel not having afforded us sufficient water to wash them; while the fatigue and wakeful night gave us a haggard, wobegone, been-out-on-a-spree appearance quite indescribable.