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by Theresa Gowanlock and Theresa Delaney

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Title: Two months in the camp of Big Bear

Author: Theresa Gowanlock and Theresa Delaney

Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6604]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on December 31, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIG BEAR ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
 
This file was produced from images generously made available by
the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions.




TWO MONTHS IN THE CAMP OF BIG BEAR.

The Life and Adventures
Of
Theresa Gowanlock and Theresa Delaney.



CONTENTS.


PART I.

INTRODUCTION
WE LEAVE ONTARIO
INCIDENTS AT BATTLEFORD
ON TO OUR HOME
AT HOME
WOOD AND PLAIN INDIANS
THE MASSACRE
WITH THE INDIANS
PROTECTED BY HALF-BREEDS
THEY TAKE FORT PITT
COOKING FOR A LARGE FAMILY
INCIDENTS BY THE WAY
DANCING PARTIES
ANOTHER BATTLE
INDIAN BOYS
HOPE ALMOST DEFERRED
OUT OF BIG BEAR'S CAMP
RESCUED
WE LEAVE FOR HOME
AT HOME
TO ONE OF THE ABSENT
SHOT DOWN.
J. A. GOWANLOCK.
W. C. GILCHRIST.


PART II.

PREFACE.
MY YOUTH AND EARLY LIFE.
MY MARRIAGE LIFE.
THE NORTH-WEST TROUBLES.
CONCLUSION.
FATHER FAFARD.
THE SASKATCHEWAN STREAM.
MR. DILL.




ILLUSTRATIONS.


THE SCENE OF THE MASSACRE.
MRS GOWANLOCK.
SQUAW CARRYING WOOD.
WANDERING SPIRIT.
MR GOWANLOCK'S HOUSE, STORE AND MILL.
MR. GOWANLOCK.
MR. GILCHRIST.
THE WAR DANCE.
FROG LAKE SETTLEMENT.
MRS DELANEY.
MR DELANEY.
THE RESCUE.
FATHER FAFARD.
MR. DILL.




PART I.



INTRODUCTION.


It is not the desire of the author of this work to publish the
incidents which drenched a peaceful and prosperous settlement in
blood, and subjected the survivors to untold suffering and privations
at the hands of savages, in order to gratify a morbid craving for
notoriety. During all my perils and wanderings amid the snow and ice
of that trackless prairie, the hope that nerved me to struggle on,
was, that if rescued, I might within the sacred precincts of the
paternal hearth, seek seclusion, where loving hands would help me to
bear the burden of my sorrow, and try to make me forget at times, if
they could not completely efface from my memory, the frightful scenes
enacted around that prairie hamlet, which bereft me of my loved one,
leaving my heart and fireside desolate for ever. Prostrated by fatigue
and exposure, distracted by the constant dread of outrage and death, I
had well-nigh abandoned all hope of ever escaping from the Indians
with my life, but, as the darkness of the night is just before the
dawn, so my fears which had increased until I was in despair, God in
his inscrutible way speedily calmed, for while I was brooding over and
preparing for my impending fate, a sudden commotion attracted my
attention and in less time than it takes to write it, I was free. From
that moment I received every kindness and attention, and as I
approached the confines of civilization, I became aware of how
diligently I had been sought after, and that for weeks I had been the
object of the tenderest solicitude, not only of my friends and
relations, but of the whole continent.

There have appeared so many conflicting statements in the public press
regarding my capture and treatment while with the Indians, that it is
my bounden duty to give to the public a truthful and accurate
description of my capture, detention and misfortunes while captive in
the camp of Big Bear. The task may be an irksome one and I might with
justice shrink from anything which would recall the past. Still it is
a debt of gratitude I owe to the people of this broad dominion. To the
brave men who sacrificed their business and comfort and endured the
hardships incident to a soldier's life, in order to vindicate the law.
And to the noble men and women who planned for the comfort and
supplied the wants of the gallant band who had so nobly responded to
the call of duty and cry for help. And I gladly embrace this
opportunity of showing to the public and especially the ladies, my
appreciation of their kindness and sympathy in my bereavement, and
their noble and disinterested efforts for my release. In undertaking a
task which has no pleasures for me, and has been accomplished under
the most trying difficulties and with the greatest physical suffering,
I have embodied in the narrative a few of the manners and customs of
Indians, the leading features of the country, only sufficient to
render it clear and intelligible. I make no apology for issuing this
volume to the public as their unabated interest make it manifest that
they desire it, and I am only repaying a debt of gratitude by giving a
truthful narrative to correct false impressions, for their kindness
and sympathy to me.

I trust the public will receive the work in the spirit in which it is
given and any literary defects which it may have, and I am sure there
are many, may be overlooked, as I am only endeavoring to rectify
error, instead of aspiring to literary excellence. I express my
sincere and heartfelt thanks to the half-breeds who befriended me
during my captivity, and to the friends and public generally who
sheltered and assisted me in many ways and by many acts of kindness
and sympathy, and whose attention was unremitting until I had reached
my destination.

And now I must bid the public a grateful farewell and seek my wished
for seclusion from which I would never have emerged but to perform a
public duty.

THERESA GOWANLOCK.



MRS. GOWANLOCK


CHAPTER I.

WE LEAVE ONTARIO.


We left my father's house at Tintern on the 7th of October, 1884,
having been married on the 1st, for Parkdale, where we spent a few
days with my husband's friends. We started for our home on the 10th by
the Canadian Pacific Railway to Owen Sound, thence by boat to Port
Arthur, and then on to Winnipeg by rail, where we stopped one night,
going on the next day to Regina. We only stopped in that place one
day, taking rail again to Swift Current, arriving there the same day.
This ended our travel by the locomotion of steam.

After taking in a supply of provisions we made a start for Battleford,
distant 195 miles, by buckboard over the prairie, which stretches out
about 130 miles in length, and for the remaining 55 miles there are
clumps of trees or bluffs as they are called, scattered here and
there. Our journey over this part was very pleasant, the weather was
fine and the mode of travelling, which was new to me, delightful. Our
company, consisted in addition to ourselves, of only one person, Mr.
Levalley, a gentleman from Ottawa. We passed four nights under canvas.
The journey was not a lonely one, the ships of the prairie were
continually on the go, we passed several companies of freighters with
harnessed oxen, half-breeds and Indians. It was also full of incident
and adventure; on one occasion, when cooking our tea, we set fire to
the prairie, although we worked hard to put it out, it in a very few
minutes spread in a most alarming manner, and entirely beyond our
control, and we let it go looking on enjoying the scene. Upon nearing
Battleford a number of half-famished squaws came to us begging for
something to eat, but we were not in a position, unfortunately, to
supply their wants, on account of our larder having run dry. We
entered Battleford on the 19th of October.

The town of Battleford is situated on the Battle river. The old on one
side, the new on the other, in the direction of the fort. When the
Indians plundered that place it was the town on the south bank. The
houses on the opposite bank were protected by the guns at the fort. My
husband had a store on the north bank in the direction of the fort.

The town is very scattered, covering a large area of ground, it is
verily a place of distances and quite in keeping with the north-west
generally. There are a few fine houses in the place, notably, the
industrial home for Indian children and the residence of Judge
Rolleau.




CHAPTER II.

INCIDENTS AT BATTLEFORD


I remained at Battleford six weeks, while my husband went to Frog
Creek, (where he had thirteen men working on the house and mills,) and
while there I became initiated into the manners and customs of the
inhabitants. A few incidents which happened during my stay might be
interesting to the reader, therefore, I will jot them down as they
come to mind.

After our arrival the Indians and squaws came to see me and would go
and tell some of the others to come and see the monias, (squaw) and
when they saw my husband they asked him why he did not live with her,
and if she was well; and one day I walked with him over to where he
was keeping store before he went west and the Indians came in and
shook hands, and laughed, and the squaws thought my costume was rather
odd and not in keeping with that of the fashionable north-western
belle. The squaws cut off about three yards of print and make the
skirt; while others take flour sacks and cut holes through for the
waist and have leggings and moccasins; they would disdain to wear such
an article as hose.

They are quite adepts in the art of tanning. I saw them tanning
leather; they took the skin and put something on it, I do not know
what it was, and put it in the sun for a few days, then with a small
sharp iron fastened on a long handle, they scraped the skin with this
until very smooth, and greased it over and put it in the sun again for
some time, afterwards two squaws pulled it until nice and soft,
and then it was ready for use.

One afternoon I was out shopping and on my way home I saw some little
Indian children coasting down hill on an earthen plate, but before
getting to the end of the hill, to their evident surprise the plate
broke and they commenced crying because it was broken and went back
and got another one, and so on until they thought they would try tin
plates, and the little friend that was with me, Effie Laurie, took the
tin plate from them and sat down on it herself and went down the hill,
and they looked so astonished to think that a white woman would do
such a thing.

Another time on going out while two men were crossing the bridge over
Battle river; a horse broke through and was killed and the squaws
gathered around it taking the skin off, while others carried some of
the carcass away, and I asked what they were going to do with it, and
my husband said "they will take it home and have a big feast and if
the meat has been poisoned they will boil it for a long time, changing
the water, and in this way anything that was poisonous would not
affect them."

The way the Indians get their wood, they send their squaws to the bush
to cut the wood and they take a rope and tie around as much as they
can carry, and hang it on their backs. Those who have dogs to carry
the wood for them tie two long sticks together, fastening them on the
dog's back, then tying a large bundle of wood on the back part of the
cross sticks by that means the squaw is relieved from the task. The
squaws perform all manual labor, while the big, lazy, good-for-nothing
Indian lolls about in idleness.




CHAPTER III.

ON TO OUR HOME.


At the end of six weeks my husband returned from the west, and with
many pleasant recollections of Battleford, we left for our own home,
which I had pictured in my mind with joyous anticipation, as the place
of our continued happiness: a beautiful oasis, in that land of prairie
and sparse settlement, and with a buoyancy of spirit which true
happiness alone can bring, I looked forward with anticipated pleasure,
which made that little log house appear to me, a palace, and we its
king and queen.

On this last part of our journey we were favored with the company of
Mr. Ballentyne of Battleford who went with us, and after the first
day's travelling, we stopped all night at a half-breed's house, where
they had a large fire-place made of mud, which was just like a solid
piece of stone; they had a bright fire, and everything appeared nice
and tidy within; a woman was making bannock, and when she had the
dough prepared, she took a frying pan and put the cake in and stood it
up before the fire. This is the way they do all their baking, and then
she fried some nice white fish and hung a little kettle on a long iron
hook over the fire, put in potatoes, and boiled the tea-kettle, making
the tea in it too. She then spread a white cloth over the table and we
all enjoyed our supper together after the long ride. The squaw gave us
a nice clean bed to sleep in, making theirs on the floor and in the
morning I saw four little children crawling out from under the bed
where we slept, and my husband looked up at me and laughed, and said,
"that is where children sleep up in _this country_." Their ways
appeared very strange to me, and in the morning before going away,
they gave us a warm breakfast.

We travelled all the next day and camped that night. We had a small
tin stove which is part of a camping outfit, and which smoked very
much while cooking. We had great trouble to know how we would obtain a
light, but we had a candle and we lighted that, and then we had
nothing to hold it in, but as necessity is the mother of invention, we
found a way out of the difficulty; we took a pocket knife that had two
blades, and stuck one blade in the tent pole and opened the other half
way, fastening the candle into the blade, which answered the purpose
and enabled us to see while we ate our supper. We then turned down our
beds, and in a few minutes were fast asleep. When morning came we had
breakfast, and travelled on again. Mr. Ballentyne shot some prairie
chickens and we had them for our dinner, which was a great treat to
me. We arrived at Fort Pitt on the tenth, bidding Mr. Ballentyne
good-bye, stopped at Mr. McLean's all night, where we enjoyed a very
pleasant evening.

The next morning we left for Onion Lake, where we were welcomed by Mr.
Mann and family, and after a night's rest proceeded on our journey to
Frog Lake, reaching there on the 12th. We went to Mr. and Mrs.
Delaney's, who kindly allowed me to stop there until my husband fixed
up some articles of furniture at our own house two miles further on
and south-west of the Lake.

After arriving at Mrs. Delaney's, my husband left me and went down to
the house to work, on Saturday evening he came back. On Sunday morning
Mr. Quinn came over and asked us to go for a drive, we accepted the
invitation. It was a bright frosty morning; he took us to our little
home that I had not yet seen. On hearing the men singing who were
employed at the mill, we drove down to their cooking tent, where we
found Mr. Gilchrist cooking breakfast for fourteen men. They had a
large cooking stove inside, with a long board table; the table was
covered with tin plates and cups. They had rabbit soup, and bread and
coffee for breakfast; after getting ourselves warm we drove back to
Mr. Delaney's. On the following Thursday my husband drove up and took
me to our home, where all was in beautiful order, and Mr. Gilchrist
waiting for our arrival.




CHAPTER IV.

AT HOME.


Now we are at home and I am thankful. There they nestle in a pretty
valley, the simple house, the store, and beside the brook, the mill.
The music of the workman's hammer alone breaks the stillness that
pervades the scene, and the hills send back the echo without a
discordant note. The hills were covered with trees, principally poplar
and spruce, interspersed with berry-bearing shrubs. A most beautiful
and enchanting location.

That little settlement of our own was situated upon Frog Creek, about
three miles west of the lake of the same name, and distant from the
Frog Lake Settlement, our nearest white neighbours, about two miles.
But we had neighbours close by, who came in to see us the next day,
shaking hands and chatting to us in Cree, of which language we knew
but little. The Indians appeared to be very kind and supplied us with
white fish twice a week which they procured from the river for which
in return we gave sugar, tea, prints, &c., from the store. Christmas
and New Year's were celebrated in about the same manner that they are
amongst us civilized people. Both Indians and squaws put on their good
clothes, which at the best of times is very scant, and do their
calling. They salute the inmates of each house they enter with a
congratulatory shake, expecting to be kissed in return. Just think of
having to kiss a whole tribe of Indians in one day, that part we would
rather do by proxy. We would not countenance it in any way.
On Christmas day we went out for a walk along Frog Creek; on our way
we came to where two little Indian children were catching rabbits with
a snare, they stepped to one side and let us pass, and were delighted
to have us watching them while catching their game; and further on
some of the squaws had holes cut in the ice, and having a sharp hook
were catching fish. In this way they get fish all winter, and to look
at these "shrimpy-looking" women trotting along with their brown
babies slung in a sort of loose pocket dangling away behind their
backs, it was comical in the extreme, they would stop and look and
laugh at us, our appearance being so very different to their own dark
skin and sharp eyes. They wear their hair hanging, strung with brass
beads, and have small pieces of rabbit fur tied in; and the men wear
theirs cut very short in front, hanging over their brows, and
ornaments of every description. These people don't set at table on
chairs, rich or poor; they squat down on their feet in a fashion that
would soon tire us exceedingly. Then at night they wrap themselves up
in a blanket, lie down and sleep as soundly as we would in our warm
feather bed and blankets.

My husband and the men worked hard during the next two months on the
mill in order to get it finished before the spring set in. As far as
the weather was concerned it was very favourable for working. The men
lost no time from the cold. During that period the thermometer ranged
from zero to 60? below but the air was so clear and bracing that the
cold was never felt. I have experienced more severe weather in Ontario
than I ever did in this part. I have heard of north-west blizzards,
but they are confined to the prairie and did not reach us. It is the
most beautiful country I ever saw with its towering hills, majestic
rivers, beautiful flowers and rolling land. I had made up my mind to
see nothing but frost, ice and snow, but was agreeably disappointed.

Nothing of an eventful nature transpired, during those two months, the
mill was about completed and Williscraft and the other men were
discharged with the exception of Mr. Gilchrist, who assisted my
husband. The machinery was all in position and everything done but
finishing up, when on the 17th of March, two men, strangers, made
their appearance at the mill and asked for employment. They said they
were weary and worn and had left Duck Lake in order to avoid the
trouble that was brewing there. One was Gregory Donaire and the other
Peter Blondin, my husband took pity on them and gave them employment.
They worked for us until the massacre. They were continually going too
and fro among the Indians, and I cannot but believe, that they were
cognizant of everything that was going on, if not responsible in a
great degree for the murders which were afterwards committed.




CHAPTER V.

WOOD AND PLAIN INDIANS.


The Indians are in their habits very unclean and filthy. They will not
in the least impress anyone to such an extent that they would be
willing to forego the restrictions of civilized life, and enter upon
the free life of the red man.

The Indians living on the reserve in the neighbourhood of Frog Creek
are known as the Wood Crees, they were all peaceable and industrious,
and were becoming proficient in the art of husbandry. They lived in
the log cabins in the winter, but in the summer they took to their
tents. They numbered about 200 persons. They appeared satisfied with
their position which was much better than what falls to the lot of
other Indians. They did not take part in the massacre, nor where they
responsible for it in any way.

The Plain Crees are composed of the worst characters from all the
tribes of that name. They were dissatisfied, revengeful, and cruel,
they could not be persuaded to select their reserve until lately, and
then they would not settle upon it. Their tastes lay in a direction
the opposite to domestic; they were idle and worthless, and were the
Indians who killed our dear ones on that ever to be remembered 2nd of
April. Those same Indians were constantly fed by Mr. Delaney and my
husband. The following correspondence will show how he treated those
ungrateful characters:--Big Bear's Indians were sent up to Frog Lake,
it is said, by Governor Dewdney who told them, if they would go there,
they would never be hungry, but last winter their rations were
stopped, and they had to work to get provisions, or starve. They would
go around to the settlers houses and ask for something to eat, and Mr.
Delaney would give those Indians rations, paying for them out of his
own salary. Gov. Dewdney wrote a letter stating that he must stop it
at once; but he did not listen to him and kept on giving to them until
the outbreak. And the very men he befriended were the ones who hurled
him into sudden death.

Big Bear was only nominally the chief of this tribe, the ruling power
being in the hands of Wandering Spirit, a bad and vicious man, who
exercised it with all the craft and cunning of an accomplished
freebooter.



CHAPTER VI.

THE MASSACRE.

Now come the dreadful scenes of blood and cruel death. The happy life
is changed to one of suffering and sorrow. The few months of happiness
I enjoyed with the one I loved above all others was abruptly closed--
taken from me--for ever--it was cruel, it was dreadful. When I look
back to it all, I often wonder, is it all a dream, and has it really
taken place. Yes, the dream is too true; it is a terrible reality, and
as such will never leave my heart, or be effaced from off my mind.

The first news we heard of the Duck Lake affair was on the 30th of
March. Mr. Quinn, the Indian Agent at Frog Lake, wrote a letter to us
and sent it down to our house about twelve o'clock at night with John
Pritchard, telling my husband and I to go up to Mr. Delaney's on
Tuesday morning, and with his wife go on to Fort Pitt, and if they saw
any excitement they would follow. We did not expect anything to occur.
When we got up to Mr. Delaney's we found the police had left for Fort
Pitt. Big Bear's Indians were in the house talking to Mr. Quinn about
the trouble at Duck Lake, and saying that Poundmaker the chief at
Battleford wanted Big Bear to join him but he would not, as he
intended remaining where he was and live peaceably. They considered
Big Bear to be a better man than he was given credit for.

On the 1st of April they were in, making April fools of the white
people and shaking hands, and they thought I was frightened and told
me not to be afraid, because they would not hurt us. My husband left
me at Mr. Delaney's and went back to his work at the mill, returning
in the evening with Mr. Gilchrist. We all sat talking for some time
along with Mr. Dill, who had a store at Frog Lake and Mr. Cameron,
clerk for the Hudson Bay Company. We all felt perfectly safe where we
were, saying that as we were so far away from the trouble at Duck
Lake, the Government would likely come to some terms with them and the
affair be settled at once. The young Chief and another Indian by the
name of Isador said if anything was wrong among Big Bear's band they
would come and tell us; and that night Big Bear's braves heard about
it and watched them all night to keep them from telling us. We all
went to bed not feeling in any way alarmed. About five o'clock in the
morning a rap came to the door and Mr. Delaney went down stairs and
opened it, and John Pritchard and one of Big Bear's sons by the name
of Ibesies were there.

Pritchard said "There trouble."

Mr. Delaney said "Where?"

Pritchard "_Here_! Our horses are all gone, the Indians deceived
us, and said that some half-breeds from Edmonton had come in the night
and had taken them to Duck Lake, but Big Bear's band has taken them
and hid them, I am afraid it is all up."

My husband and I got up, and Mrs. Delaney came down stairs with a
frightened look. In a few minutes Big Bear's Indians were all in the
house, and had taken all the arms from the men saying they were going
to protect us from the half-breeds, and then we felt we were being
deceived. They took all the men over to Mr. Quinn's, and my husband
and I were sitting on the lounge, and an Indian came in and took him
by the arm saying He wanted him to go too; and he said to Mrs. Delaney
and I "do not to be afraid, while I go with this Indian." We stopped
in the house, and while they were gone some of the Indians came in and
went through the cupboard to find something to eat. They opened the
trap door to go down cellar, but it was very dark, and they were
afraid to venture down. Then the men came back and Mrs. Delaney got
breakfast. We all sat down, but I could not eat, and an Indian asked
Mr. Gowanlock to tell me not to be afraid, they would not hurt us, and
I should eat plenty. After breakfast they took us out of the house and
escorted us over to the church; my husband taking my arm, Mr. and Mrs.
Delaney were walking beside us. When we got to the church the priests
were holding mass; it was Holy Thursday, and as we entered the door,
Wandering Spirit sat on his knees with his gun; he was painted, and
had on such a wicked look. The priests did not finish the service on
account of the menacing manner of the Indians; they were both around
and inside the church. We were all very much frightened by their
behaviour. They then told us to go out of the church, and took us back
to Mr. Delaney's, all the Indians going in too. We stopped there for
awhile and an Indian came and told us to come out again, and my
husband came to me and said "you had better put your shawl around you,
for its very cold, perhaps we will not be gone long." We all went out
with the Indians. They were going through all the stores. Everything
was given to them, and they got everything they could wish for and
took us up the hill towards their camp. We had only gone but a short
distance from the house when we heard the reports of guns, but thought
they were firing in the air to frighten us; but they had shot Quinn,
Dill and Gilchrist, whom I did not see fall. Mr. and Mrs. Delaney were
a short distance ahead of my husband, I having my husband's arm. Mr.
Williscraft, an old grey-headed man about seventy-five years of age
came running by us, and an Indian shot at him and knocked his hat off,
and he turned around and said, _"Oh! don't shoot! don't shoot!"_
But they fired again, and he ran screaming and fell in some bushes. On
seeing this I began crying, and my husband tried to comfort me,
saying, "my _dear_ wife be _brave_ to the end," and immediately an
Indian behind us fired, and my husband fell beside me his arm pulling
from mine. I tried to assist him from falling. He put out his arms for
me and fell, and I fell down beside him and buried my face on his,
while his life was ebbing away so quickly, and was prepared for the
next shot myself, thinking I was going with him too. But death just
then was not ordained for me. I had yet to live. An Indian came and
took me away from my dying husband side, and I refused to leave. Oh!
to think of leaving my _dear_ husband lying there for those cruel
Indians to dance around. I begged of the Indian to let me stay with
him, but he took my arm and pulled me away. Just before this, I saw
Mr. Delaney and a priest fall, and Mrs. Delaney was taken away in the
same manner that I was. I still looking back to where my poor husband
was lying dead; the Indian motioned to where he was going to take me,
and on we went. I thought my heart would break; I would rather have
died with my husband and been at rest.

  "A rest that is sure for us all,
   But sweeter to some."




CHAPTER VII.

WITH THE INDIANS.


Hardly knowing how I went or what I did, I trudged along in a half
conscious condition. Led a captive into the camp of Big Bear by one of
his vile band. Taken through brush and briar, a large pond came to
view, we did not pass it by, he made me go through the water on that
cold 2nd of April nearly to my waist. I got so very weak that I could
not walk and the Indian pulled me along, in this way he managed to get
me to his tepee. On seeing Mrs. Delaney taken away so far from me, I
asked the Indian to take me to her; and he said _"No, No,"_ and
opening the tent shoved me in. A friendly squaw put down a rabbit robe
for me to sit on; I was shivering with the cold; this squaw took my
shoes and stockings off and partly dried them for me. Their tepees
consisted of long poles covered with smoke-stained canvas with two
openings, one at the top for a smoke hole and the other at the bottom
for a door through which I had to crawl in order to enter. In the
centre they have their fire; this squaw took a long stick and took out
a large piece of beef from the kettle and offered it to me, which I
refused, as I could not eat anything after what I had gone through.

Just then Big Bear's braves came into the tent; there were nearly
thirty of them, covered with war paint, some having on my husband's
clothes, and all giving vent to those terrible yells, and holding most
murderous looking instruments. They were long wooden clubs. At one end
were set three sharp shining knife blades. They all looked at me as I
eyed those weapons (and they well matched the expression of their
cruel mouths and develish eyes) thinking my troubles would soon be
over I calmly awaited the result. But they sat down around me with a
bottle full of something that looked like water, passing it from one
Indian to the other, so I put on a brave look as if I was not afraid
of them. After this they all went out and the most bloodcurdling yells
that ever pierced my ears was their war-whoop, mingled with dancing
and yelling and cutting most foolish antics.

I saw a little baby that I thought must be dead, lying in one part of
the tent, they had it done up in a moss bag. I will try and give an
idea of what it was like: they take a piece of cloth having it large
at the top, and cut it around where the feet should be, and on both
sides, of this little bag they have loops of very fine leather, then
they have a small thin cushion laid on this, the length of the child,
and three or four pieces of different colored flannels, then they
dress the baby in a thin print gown and put it in this bag, and its
little legs are put down just as straight as a needle, covered over
with moss, which they first heat very hot; then the arms are put down
in the same way and the flannels are wrapped around very tight and
then they lace the bag up, and all that can be seen is the little
brown face peeping out.

Just then Pritchard's little girl came in where I was; she could talk
a few words of English. I asked her where her pa was, and she said
that he was putting up a tent not far away, and then I had some hope
of getting from the Indians.

After I had been there for four hours, Louis Goulet and Andre Nault
came in, and Goulet said to me "Mrs. Gowanlock if you will give
yourself over to the half-breeds, they will not hurt you; Peter
Blondin has gone down to where the mill is, and when he comes back he
will give his horse for you." I asked them to interpret it to the
Indians in order to let me go to Pritchard's tent for awhile, and the
Indians said that she could go with this squaw. I went and was
overjoyed to see Mrs. Delaney there also. After getting in there I was
unconscious for a long time, and upon coming to my senses, I found
Mrs. Pritchard bathing my face with cold water. When Blondin came back
he gave his horse and thirty dollars for Mrs. Delaney and me. He put
up a tent and asked me to go with him, but I refused; and he became
angry and did everything he could to injure me. That man treated me
most shamefully; if it had not been for Pritchard I do not know what
would have become of me. Pritchard was kinder than any of the others.

After I had been a prisoner three days, Blondin came and asked me if I
could ride horse back, and I said "yes," and he said if I would go
with him, he would go and take two of the best horses that Big Bear
had and desert that night. I told him I would _never_ leave
Pritchard's tent until we all left, saying "I would go and drown
myself in the river before I would go with him."

Late that same night a French Canadian by the name of Pierre came into
the tent, and hid himself behind us, he said the Indians wanted to
shoot him, and some one told him to go and hide himself, ultimately
one of the half-breeds gave a horse to save his life. Mrs. Pritchard
told him not to stay in there. She did not want to see any more men
killed, and one of the half-breeds took him away and he was placed
under the protection of the Wood Crees. This man had been working with
Goulet and Nault all winter getting out logs about thirty miles from
Frog Lake.




CHAPTER VIII.

PROTECTED BY HALF-BREEDS.


On the 3rd of April Big Bear came into our tent and sitting down
beside us told us he was very sorry for what had happened, and cried
over it, saying he knew he had so many bad men but had no control over
them. He came very often to our tent telling us to "eat and sleep
plenty, they would not treat us like the white man. The white man when
he make prisoner of Indian, he starve him and cut his hair off." He
told us he would protect us if the police came. The same day Big
Bear's braves paid our tent another visit, they came in and around us
with their guns, knives and tomahawks, looking at us so wickedly.

Pritchard said, "For God sake let these poor women live, they can do
no harm to you: let them go home to their friends."

The leaders held a brief consultation.

An Indian stood up and pointing to the heavens said, "We promise by
God that we will not hurt these white women; we will let them live."

They then left the tent.

Every time I saw one of Big Bear's Indians coming in, I expected it
was to kill us, or take us away from the tent, which would have been
_far worse_ than death to _me_.

But they did not keep their word.

On the third night (Saturday, the 4th April,) after our captivity, two
Indians came in while all the men and Mrs. Delaney were asleep, I
heard them, and thought it was Pritchard fixing the harness, he
usually sat up to protect us.

A match was lighted and I saw two of the most hedious looking Indians
looking over and saying where is the _Monias_ squaw, meaning the
white women. I got so frightened I could not move, but Mrs. Delaney
put out her foot and awakened Mrs. Pritchard, and she wakened her
husband, and he started up and asked what they wanted, and they said
they wanted to take the white women to their tent, and I told
Pritchard they could kill me before I would go, and I prayed to God to
help me. Pritchard and Adolphus Nolin gave their blankets and dishes
and Mrs. Pritchard, took the best blanket off her bed to give to them
and they went off, and in the morning the Wood Crees came in and asked
if those Indians took much from us, and Pritchard told them "No"; the
Indians wanted to make them give them back. After that Pritchard and
other half-breeds protected us from night to night for we were not
safe a single minute.

During the two days which had passed, the bodies of the men that were
murdered had not been buried. They were lying on the road exposed to
the view of everyone. The half-breeds carried them off the road to the
side, but the Indians coming along dragged them out again. It was
dreadful to see the bodies of our _poor dear_ husbands dragged
back and forth by those demoniac savages.

On Saturday the day before Easter, we induced some half-breeds to take
our husbands' bodies and bury them. They placed them, with those of the
priests, under the church. The Indians would not allow the other
bodies to be moved. And dreadful to relate those inhuman wretches set
fire to the church, and with yelling and dancing witnessed it burn to
the ground. The bodies, I afterwards heard, were charred beyond
recognition.

Upon seeing what was done the tears ran profusely down our cheeks and
I thought my very heart would break. All the comfort we received from
that unfeeling band was, "that's right, cry plenty, we have killed
your husbands and we will soon have you."

On Easter Sunday night there was a heavy thunder storm and before
morning it turned cold and snowed; the tent pole broke, coming down
within an inch of my head, the snow blowing in and our bedding all
covered with it and nothing to keep us warm. I got up in the morning
and found my shoes all wet and frozen, and the Indians came in and
told us what they saw in the heavens. They saw a church and a man on a
large black horse with his arm out and he looked so angry, and they
said God must be angry with them for doing such a thing; the half-
breeds are as superstitious as the Indians.




CHAPTER IX.

THEY TAKE FORT PITT.


The morning of the 6th of April was a memorable one. Something unusual
was going to take place from the excited state of the camp. Everyone
was on the go. I was in a short time made acquainted with the reason.
It was more blood, more butchery, and more treachery. And oh! such a
sight presented itself to my eyes. The Indians were all attired in
full war habiliments. They had removed their clothes. A girdle around
their waists, was all--and their paint--every shade and color. Heads
with feathers, and those, who had killed a white, with quills. A quill
for every man scalped. Eyes painted like stars, in red, yellow and
green; faces, arms, legs and bodies elaborately decorated, and
frescoed in all their savage beauty, with bars, spots, rings and dots.
Brandishing tomahawks, bludgeons and guns; flinging and firing them in
every direction, accompanied with yells and whoops; a most hideous and
terrible sight. They embraced their wives and children, and the
command was given to start for Fort Pitt. In order to swell their
numbers they compelled the half-breeds and some of their squaws to
accompany them. The squaws ride horses like the men.

On Sunday the 12th of April they returned from the Fort flush with
victory. They had captured that place, killed policeman Cowan, taken
the whites prisoners, and allowed the police to escape down the river,
all without loosing an Indian or half-breed. The prisoners were
brought in while we were at dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Quinney came to our
tent. Mrs. Quinney said she was cold and wet. She sat, down and put
her arms around me and cried. I gave her a cup of hot tea and
something to eat. Shortly after the McLean's and Mann's came in. It
was a great relief to see white people again.

It was not long before they moved camp about two miles from Frog Lake.
Mrs. Delaney and I, walking with Mrs. Pritchard and family, through
mud and water: my shoes were very thin, and my feet very wet and sore
from walking. The Indians were riding beside us with our horses and
buckboards, laughing and jeering at us with umbrellas over their heads
and buffalo overcoats on. We would laugh and make them believe we were
enjoying it, and my heart ready to break with grief all the time. When
we camped, it was in a circle. A space in the centre being kept for
dancing.

I asked Blondin if he had any of our stockings or underclothing in his
sacks. He told me _no_ and shortly afterwards took out a pair of
my husband's long stockings and put them on before me, he would change
them three and four times a week. He had nearly all my poor husband's
clothes. Two men came in one time while Blondin was asleep and took
one of my husband's coats out of his sack and went out; Blondin upon
missing it got very angry and swore before me, saying that some person
had come in and taken one of his coats, and all the time I knew whose
coat it was they were quarrelling over. I wished then I could close my
eyes and go home to God. I went outside the tent and saw this other
half-breed named Gregory Donaire with my husband's coat on and pants,
and just as I looked up I thought it must be my own husband, and to
see the fellow laugh in my face, he evidently had an idea about what I
was thinking. Blondin wore my husband's overcoat, and all I had was my
little shawl and nothing to wear on my head, and the rain pouring down
in torrents on me; this fellow would walk beside the waggon and laugh,
and when it quit raining asked me if I wanted _his_ overcoat; I told
him _no_, I did not mind being wet as much as he did. That night Mrs.
Delaney and I lay down in one corner of the tent until morning came
and then we had all the baking to do. We dug a hole in the ground and
started a fire, taking flour, we stirred in water, kneading it hard.
We then with our hands flattened it out and placed it in a frying pan,
baking it before the fire, and by the time it was baked it was as
black as the pan itself. We dined on bannock and bacon for two months,
and were very thankful to get it.




CHAPTER X.

COOKING FOR A LARGE FAMILY.


My experience of camp life was of such a character, that I would
rather be a maid-of-all-work in any position than slush in an Indian
tepee, reeking as it is, with filth and poisonous odors. There is no
such a thing as an health officer among that band of braves. They have
a half spiritualized personage whom they desiginate the Medicine Man;
but he is nothing more or less than a quack of the worst kind. As in
every other part of their life, so in the domestic they were unclean.

One evening, just as we had everything ready for our meal, in rushed
the Big Bear's, gobbling up everything. After they had gone, I set to
work to wash the dishes. Mrs. Pritchard thereat became quite angry,
and would not allow me, saying that we would be glad to do more than
that for the Indians yet. I went without my supper that night; I would
rather starve than eat after that dirty horde.

One day, Pritchard brought in a rabbit for dinner. I thought we were
going to have a treat as well as a good meal; we were engaged at other
work that day, and Mrs. Pritchard did the cooking herself, but I had
occasion to go in the direction of the fire, and there was the rabbit
in the pot boiling, it was all there, head, eyes, feet, and everything
together. My good dinner vanished there and then. I told Mrs. Delaney
there was no rabbit for me. I only ate to keep myself alive and well,
for if I showed signs of sickness I would have been put with the
Indians, and they would have put an end to me in a short time.

We had fifteen in our tent to bake for, besides the Indians, that came
in to gorge, about thirty at a time. We cut wood and carried water and
did Mrs. Pritchard sewing for her nine children; making their clothing
that came from our own house. She took some muslin that Mrs. Delaney
had bought before the trouble, and cut it up into aprons for her
little baby, and gave me to make, and then she went to the trunk that
had all my lace trimming that I had made through the winter, and
brought some for me to sew on the aprons. I made them up as neatly as
I possibly could, and when finished, she thanked me for it. The little
children played with keepsakes that my _mother_ had given to me
when a little girl, and I had to look and see them broken in pieces
without a murmur, also see my friends photographs thrown around and
destroyed. I gathered up a few that were scattered around in the dirt
and saved them when no one was looking.

If Big Bear's braves would say move camp immediately, and if we should
be eating and our tent not taken down just then, they would shout in
the air and come and tear it down. In travelling, the Indians ride,
and their squaws walk and do all the work, and they pack their dogs
and have "travores" on their horses, upon which they tied their little
children, and then all would move off together; dogs howling, and
babies crying, and Indians beating their wives, and carts tumbling
over the banks of the trail, and children falling, and horses and oxen
getting mired down in the mud, and squaws cutting sacks of flour open
to get a piece of cotton for string, and leaving the flour and
throwing away the provisions, while others would come along and gather
it up. We rode on a lumber waggon, with an ox team, and some of the
squaws thought we did not work enough. Not work enough, after walking
or working all day, after dark we were required to bake bannock and do
anything else they had a mind to give us. They wanted to work us to
death.




CHAPTER XI.

INCIDENTS BY THE WAY.


The Indians are not only vicious, treacherous and superstitious, but
they are childlike and simple, as the following incident will show:--
After the Indians came back from Fort Pitt, one of them found a glass
eye; that eye was the favorite optic of Stanley Simpson, who was taken
a prisoner there by Big Bear. He brought it with him for one of his
brother Indians who was blind in one eye, imagining with untutored
wisdom that if it gave light to a white man, it should also to a red,
and they worked at it for a time, but they could not get the focus,
finally they threw it away, saying it was no good, he could not see.

While we were in camp, Mr. Quinn's little two year old girl would come
in and put her little arms around our necks and kiss us. The dear
little thing had no one to care for her, she would stay with us until
her mother would come and take her away. The squaws also carried her
around on their backs with nothing but a thin print dress on and in
her bare feet. How I did feel for her, she was such a bright little
girl, her father when alive took care of her. It was very hard to see
her going around like any of the Indian children.

One day while travelling we came to a large creek and had to get off
the waggon and pull our shoes and stockings off in-order that they
would be dry to put on after we got across; the water was up to our
waists and we waded through. Miss McLean took her little three year
old sister on her back and carried her over. After crossing we had to
walk a long distance on the burnt prairie to get to the waggon, then
we sat down and put our shoes on. Some of the Indians coming along
said, "oh! see the monais squaw." We would laugh, tell them it was
nice; that we enjoyed it. If they thought we did not, we were in
danger of being taken away by them and made to work for them like
their squaws.

One of Big Bear's son's wives died, and they dug a hole in the ground
and wrapped blankets around her, and laid her in it, and put sacks of
bacon and flour on top so that she could not get out, they covered her
over with earth; and watched the place for some time for fear she
would come to life again.

Their dances occur every day, they go and pick out the largest tents
and go and take them from the Wood Crees, and leave them all day
without any covering, with the white people who were prisoners, with
them. They thought the white people took it as an honor to them, and
every time in moving, Big Bear's band would tell us just where to put
our tents, and if one camped outside this circle, they would go and
cut their tent in pieces. In some of their dances, Little Poplar was
arrayed in some of Miss McLean's ribbons, ties and shawls, another
with my hat on, and another with Mrs. Delaney's, and the squaws with
our dresses, and they had a large dish of meat in the centre and
danced awhile, and sat down and ate and danced again, keeping this up
all day long. And if anyone lagged in the dance, it was a bad day for
him. Little Poplar had a whip, and he would ply it thick on the back
of the sluggish dancer.

One day just as we were eating dinner, an Indian came and invited us
out to a dog feast; the men went, but we preferred bannock and bacon,
to dog. They sent each of us _three yards_ of print to make us a
dress; a squaw takes no more than that. And then a friendly Indian
made me a present of a pair of green glasses.

A most dreadful affair occurred one day, they killed one of their
squaws, an old grey beaded woman that was insane. The Indians and
half-breeds were afraid of her, and she told them if they did not kill
her before the sun went down, she would eat the whole camp up. They
got some of the half-breeds to tie her; and they carried her out on a
hill, and one old half-breed struck her on the head, and the Indians
shot her in the head three times, cut it off and set fire to it; they
were very much afraid she would come back and do some harm to them.

One evening after making our bed for the night, four squaws came into
our tent and sat down for two hours, crying and singing and clapping
their hands, and after going out, some of the Indians took and tied
them until morning; it was a most strange procedure. I could go on
enumerating incident after incident, but I have, I think, given
sufficient to give the reader an insight into their character.




CHAPTER XII.

DANCING PARTIES.


While we were on the way too Fort Pitt, a letter was received from the
Rev. John McDougall, of Calgary, stating that troops were coming
through from Edmonton, and that they would make short work of Big
Bear's band for the murders they had committed at Frog Lake. They were
terribly frightened at that news, and took turns and watched on the
hills night and day. Others spent their time in dancing--it was
dancing all the time--all day and all night.

I will explain their mode of dancing as well as I can:--They all get
in a circle, while two sit down outside and play the tom-tom, a most
unmelodious instrument, something like a tambourine, only not half so
_sweet_; it is made in this way:--they take a hoop or the lid of
a butter firkin, and cover one side with a very thin skin, while the
other has strings fastened across from side to side, and upon this
they pound with sticks with all their might, making a most unearthly
racket. The whole being a fit emblem of what is going on in the other
world of unclean spirits. Those forming the circle, kept going around
shouting and kicking, with all the actions and paraphernalia of a
clown in a pantomine, only not so dumb.

We passed a short distance from where Mrs. Delaney lived, and all we
could see standing, was the bell of the Catholic Mission, and when we
came to Onion Lake, they had burnt some of the buildings there, and as
we passed they set fire to the rest. They burnt all the flour and
potatoes, some three hundred sacks, and when we reached Fort Pitt our
provisions were getting scarce, and the half-breeds went to the Fort
to get some flour, but the Indians had previously poured coal and
machine oil on what was left, and they only got a few sacks and not
very clean at that. Still we felt very thankful to have it as it was.

While in this neighbourhood, Blondin and Henry Quinn went down to the
river to make their escape, and Blondin well knew that the Indians had
said if one prisoner ran away they would kill all the rest. The half-
breeds hearing what they had done, went after them and brought them
back, and that night Big Bear's braves came into our tent where Quinn
and Blondin were, and wanted to go to work and cut Quinn in pieces.
Blondin was like one of themselves. Pritchard sat on his knees in
front of Quinn and kept them from doing it. They were in our tent
nearly the whole night with their guns, large sharp knives and war
clubs. After Pritchard had talked some hours to them they went out
only partly pacified. Some of them said, "he has ran away once, let us
kill him and have no more trouble with him; if he runs away he will be
going away and telling the police to come."

When near the Fort they had their "Thirst Dance." An Indian went to
the bush and broke off a green bough, and carried it to the place
arranged for the dance, and all the other Indians shot at it. Then the
Indians got their squaws with them on horse-back; some thought it
would not be polite if they did not invite the white women to help
them also, and Mrs. Pritchard and another squaw came in and put Mrs.
Delaney in one corner and covered her over, and me in another with a
feather bed over me, so as not to find us. Then some said, "Oh, let
the white women stay where they are," and they took their squaws and
went to the woods. I should say about fifty rode to the woods for one
stick at a time, fastening a chain around it, dragged it along to this
place singing and yelling as they went. After they had enough sticks,
they arranged a tent in the centre of the circle. They stood a long
pole up, and on this pole they tied everything they wished to give to
the _sun_, and this is never taken down, and then they erected
smaller poles about five feet high, all around in a large circle, and
from the top of these they fastened sticks to the long pole in the
centre, and covered it all with green boughs, they then partitioned
the tent into small stalls, and tied print and anything bright all
around inside on these poles; after they had this arranged they began
dancing. It continues three days and three nights, neither eating or
drinking during the entertainment. They danced all that night and the
squaws had each a small whistle made of bone which they blow all the
time in addition to the musical "tom-toms." Mrs. Delaney and I lay
awake all night, and I said to her, "I hope the police will come in
while they are having this dance." Mrs. Pritchard asked us next
morning if we would go and see them at it, and remarked "they will not
like it if you white women do not go and see them." We went with her,
and when we got inside they laughed and were delighted at seeing us
come. There they were, some of the squaws with my clothes on, and one
Indian with my husband's on, and my table linen hanging on the poles.
The squaws stood in those little stalls and danced. They had their
faces painted, and fingers and ears filled with brass rings and
thimbles. Some of the Indians were dressed in the police uniforms and
had veils over their faces; and just as we got nicely there, two
Indians came riding around and saying the police were all on this side
of the river with their tents pitched. There must be hundreds of them,
some said, and the others said no, because they have their wives and
children with them; and then came the scattering, they ran in all
directions like scared rabbits and tore their tents down, the Indians
riding around on horse-back singing and yelling, and saying "let us go
and meet them" that was to fight, and others said "_no_, let us
move," and we all left and moved through the woods.

But it proved to be more than a mere scare. _Our_ friends were drawing
near--too near to be comfortable for the _noble_ "red man," the
murderers of defenceless settlers, the despoilers of happy homes, the
polluters of poor women and children. They did all that, and yet they
are called the noble "red man." It might sound musical in the ears of
the poet to write of the virtues of that race, but I consider it a
perversion of the real facts. During the time I was with them I could
not see anything noble in them, unless it was that they were _noble_
murderers, _noble_ cowards, _noble_ thieves. The facts, I think, also
go to show that the Indians are not treated properly. There is no
distinction made between the good (there are good Indians) and bad.
The character of the Indian is not studied sufficiently, or only so
far as self-interest and selfish motives are concerned. But the
majority of the present race can be designated anything but the noble
"red man."

They would in many instances, be better without the missionary. If all
denominations would only amalgamate their forces and agree upon an
unsectarian basis for missionary effort, the Indians would become
evangalized more quickly then they are at present. It would be better
for the Indians, and more honorable for the Christian Church. Give the
Indians the Gospel in its simplicity without the ritual of the
denominations.




CHAPTER XIII

ANOTHER BATTLE.


Was it the distant roar of heaven's artillery that caught my ear. I
listened and heard it again. The Indians heard it and were frightened.

A half-breed in a stage whisper cried, "a cannon! a cannon!"

An Indian answered, "a cannon is no good to fight."

I looked at them and it showed them to be a startled and fear-stricken
company, notwithstanding that they held the cannon with such disdain
as to say "cannon no good to fight." That night was full of excitement
for the Indians; they felt that the enemy was drawing near, too close
in fact to be safe. The prisoners were excited with the thought, that
perhaps there was liberty behind that cannon for them, and taking it
all round, there was little sleep within the tepees.

The next morning I awoke early with hopefulness rising within my
breast at the thought of again obtaining my liberty. The first sound I
heard was the firing of cannon near at hand; it sounded beautiful; it
was sweet music to my ears. Anticipating the prospect of seeing
friends once more, I listened and breathed in the echo after every
bomb.

The fighting commenced at seven o'clock by Gen. Strange's troops
forcing the Indians to make a stand. It was continued until ten with
indifferent success. The troops surely could not have known the
demoralized condition of the Indians, else they would have compelled
them to surrender. The fighting was very near, for the bullets were
whizzing around all the time. We thought surely that liberty was not
far away. The Indians were continually riding back and fro inspiring
their followers in the rear with hope, and we poor prisoners with
despair. At last they came back and said that they had killed twenty
policemen and not an Indian hurt. But there were two Indians killed,
one of whom was the Worm, he who killed my poor husband, and several
wounded. We were kept running and walking about all that morning with
their squaws, keeping out of the way of their enemies, and our
friends. We were taken through mud and water until my feet got so very
sore that I could hardly walk at all.

The Indians ordered us to dig pits for our protection. Pritchard and
Blondin dug a large one about five feet deep for us, and they piled
flour sacks around it as a further protection but they dug it too deep
and there was two or three inches of water at the bottom. They then
threw down some brush and we got into it, twenty persons in all, with
one blanket for Mrs. Delaney and me. McLean's family had another pit,
and his daughters cut down trees to place around it. Mr. Mann and
family dug a hole in the side of the hill and crawled into it. If I
had my way I would have kept out of the pit altogether and watched my
chance to escape.

We fully expected the troops to follow but they did not; and early in
the morning we were up and off again. Some of the Indians went back to
see how about the troops, and came back with the report that the
"police" (they call all soldiers police) had vanished, they were
afraid. When I heard it, I fairly sank, and the slight spark of hope I
had, had almost gone out. Just to think that succor was so near, yet
alas! so far. But for Mrs. Delaney I would have given way and allowed
myself to perish.




CHAPTER XIV.

INDIAN BOYS.


Just here a word about Indian boys would not be amiss. An Indian boy
is a live, wild, and untamed being. He is full of mischief and cruelty
to those he hates, and passably kind to those he likes. I never saw in
their character anything that could be called love. They have no idea
of such a tender tie. Thus by nature he is cruel without having a
sense of humor, much less gayety, and in all my experience I never saw
or heard one give a hearty laugh, except on the occasion of a mishap
or accident to any one, and then the little fragment of humor is
aroused.

He is skillful in drawing his bow and sling, and has a keenness of
sight and hearing. He takes to the life of a hunter as a duck takes to
water, and his delight is in shooting fowl and animals. He does it all
with an ease and grace that is most astonishing. In everything of that
nature he is very skillful. Pony riding is his great delight, when the
ponies were not otherwise engaged, but during my stay with them, there
was too much excitement and change all around for the boys to exercise
that animal.

While we were driving along after breaking up camp the little fellows
would run along and pick flowers for us, one vieing with the other as
to who would get the most and the prettiest. They were gifted with a
most remarkable memory and a slight was not very soon forgotten, while
a kindness held the same place in their memory.

The general behaviour of Indian boys was nevertheless most intolerable
to us white people. In the tepee there was no light and very often no
fuel, and owing to the forced marches there was not much time for
cutting wood, also it was hard to light as it was so green and sappy.
The boys would then wrap themselves up in a blanket, but not to sleep,
only to yell and sing as if to keep in the heat. They would keep this
up until they finally dozed off; very often that would be in the early
hours of the morning.

Like father, like son; the virtues of young Indians were extremely
few. They reach their tether when they fail to benefit self. Their
morality was in a very low state. I do not remember that I saw much of
it, if I did it was hardly noticible.

Where the charm of a savage life comes in I do not know, I failed to
observe it during my experience in the camp of the Crees. The charm is
a delusion, except perhaps when viewed from the deck of a steamer as
it glided along the large rivers and lakes of the Indian country, or
perhaps within the pages of a blood and thunder novel.




CHAPTER XV.

HOPE ALMOST DEFERRED.


Almost a week afterwards, on a Saturday night, the fighting Indians
gathered around a tepee near ours and began that never ending dancing
and singing. It was a most unusual thing for them to dance so close to
our tent. They had never done so before. It betokened no good on their
part and looked extremely suspicious. It seemed to me that they were
there to fulfil the threat they made some time previous, that they
would put an end to us soon. The hour was late and that made it all
the more certain that our doom had come. I became very nervous and
frightened at what was going on. When all at once there was a
scattering, and running, and yelling at the top of their voices,
looking for squaws and children, and tearing down tents, while we two
sat in ours in the depths of despair, waiting for further
developments. I clung to Mrs. Delaney like my own mother, not knowing
what to do. The cause of the stampede we were told was that they had
heard the report of a gun. That report was fortunate for us, as it was
the intention of the Indians to wrench us from our half-breed
protectors and kill us.

The tents were all down and in a very few minutes we were on the move
again. It was Sunday morning at an early hour, raining heavily, and
cold. We were compelled to travel all that day until eleven o'clock at
night. The halt was only given then, because the brutes were tired
themselves. Tents were pitched and comparative quietness reigned. Our
bedding consisted of one blanket which was soaked with water. Andre
Nault took pity on us and gave us his, and tried in every way to make
us comfortable. I had a great aversion to that fellow, I was afraid to
look at him I was so weak and tired that I could not sleep but for
only a few minutes. I had given up and despair had entered my mind. I
told Mrs. Delaney I wished I could never see morning, as I had nothing
to look forward to but certain death. In that frame of mind I passed
the night.




CHAPTER XVI.

OUT OF BIG BEAR'S CAMP.


Monday morning, May 31st, was ushered in dark and gloomy, foggy and
raining, but it proved to be the happiest day we had spent since the
31st of March. As the night was passing, I felt its oppressiveness, I
shuddered with the thought of what another day might bring forth; but
deliverance it seems was not far away; it was even now at hand. When
the light of day had swallowed up the blackness of darkness, the first
words that greeted my ears was Pritchard saying "I am going to watch
my chance and get out of the camp of Big Bear." Oh! what we suffered,
Oh! what we endured, during those two long months, as captives among a
horde of semi-barbarians. And to think that we would elude them, just
when I was giving up in despair. It is said that the darkest hour is
that which preceedes dawn; weeping may endure for a night, but joy
cometh in the morning. So with me, in my utter prostration, in the act
of giving way, God heard my prayer, and opened a way of deliverance,
and we made the best of the opportunity.

   "No foe, no dangerous path we lead,
    Brook no delay, but onward speed."

Some of the Indians it seems had come across General Strange's scouts
the night before, and in consequence, all kinds of rumors were afloat
among the band. They were all very much frightened, for it looked as
if they were about to be surrounded. So a move, and a quick one, was
made by them, at an early hour, leaving the half-breeds to follow on.
This was now the golden opportunity, and Pritchard grasped it, and
with him, five other half-breed families fled in an opposite
direction, thereby severing our connection with the band nominally led
by Big Bear.

We cut through the woods, making a road, dividing the thick brush,
driving across creeks and over logs. On we sped. At one time hanging
on by a corner of the bedding in order to keep from falling off the
waggon. Another time I fell off the waggon while fording a stream; my
back got so sore that I could not walk much. On we went roaming
through the forest, not knowing where we were going, until the night
of June 3rd the cry was made by Mrs. Pritchard with unfeigned disgust,
"that the police were coming." Mrs. Delaney was making bannock for the
next morning's meal, while I with cotton and crochet needle was making
trimming for the dresses of Mrs. Pritchards nine half-breed babies.

I threw the trimming work to the other end of the tent, and Mrs.
Delaney called upon Mrs. Pritchard to finish making the bannocks
herself, and we both rushed out just as the scouts galloped in.




CHAPTER XVII.

RESCUED.


Rescued! at last, and from a life worse than death. I was so overjoyed
that I sat down and cried. The rescuing party were members of General
Strange's scouts, led by two friends of my late husband, William
McKay, and Peter Ballentyne of Battleford. We were so glad to see
them. They had provisions with them, and they asked us if we wanted
anything to eat. We told them we had bannock and bacon, but partook of
their canned beef and hard tack. It was clean and good; and was the
first meal we enjoyed for two months.

I could not realize that I was safe until I reached Fort Pitt. The
soldiers came out to welcome us back to life. The stories they heard
about us were so terrible, that they could scarcely believe we were
the same.

The steamer was in waiting to take us to Battleford. Rev. Mr. Gordon
took my arm and led me on board. The same gentleman gave us hats, we
had no covering for our heads for the entire two months we were
captives We were very scant for clothing. Mrs. Delaney had a ragged
print dress, while I managed to save one an Indian boy brought me
while in camp. Upon reaching Battleford we were taken to the residence
of Mr. Laurie.

Coming down on the steamer, on nearing a little island, we saw a
number of squaws fishing and waving white flags. All along wherever we
passed the Indians, they were carrying white flags as a token that
they had washed off their war paint and desired rest.




CHAPTER XVIII.

WE LEAVE FOR HOME.


We leave Battleford for Swift Current, and our journey takes us across
the prairie; that same stretch that I travelled a few months before,
but under different circumstances and associations. Then I went up as
a happy bride, Now I go down _alone_ and bowed with grief. Everything
around is full of life, the prairie is a sea of green interspersed
with beautiful flowers and plants. It is a pretty scene to feast upon,
yet my soul cannot drink it in. I am on the way to friends, a feeling
of desolation takes hold of me; but I must control myself, and by
God's help I will, for his goodness is forever sure.

Rev. John McDougall, Dr. Hooper, Captain Dillon, Capt. Nash and
Messrs. Fox and Bayley, of Toronto, and Mrs. Laurie accompanied us on
the journey, and did everything they could to make us comfortable. The
trip over the prairie was a pleasant one. When we got to the South
Saskatchewan, a thunder storm came on which roughened the water so, we
could not cross for about an hour. After it quieted down a scow came
and carried us over. Friends there took care of us for the night, and
on the 1st of July we boarded a train for Moose Jaw. Capt. Dillon on
going to the post office met several young ladies in a carriage who
asked where we were as they wished to take us to their homes for tea,
he informed them that the train had only a few minutes to stop and
that it would be impossible. Those same young ladies were back to the
train before it started with a bottle of milk and a box full of
eatables. At eleven o'clock p.m., we arrived at Regina, and remained
with Mr. and Mrs. Fowler, going next morning to a hotel. We were there
four days. At Moose Jaw we received the following kind letter from
Mrs. C. F. Bennett, of Winnipeg:--

                       NEW DOUGLASS HOUSE, WINNIPEG, JUNE 8TH, 1885.

Mrs. Delaney and Mrs. Gowanlock:

DEAR MADAMS,--Although an entire stranger to both of you, I cannot
resist the impulse to write you a few lines to say how thankful and
delightful I am to hear of your rescue.

Before I was dressed this morning; my husband came up to tell me that
you were both safe. And I cannot express to you, neither can you
comprehend the joy that intelligence brought to everyone. The terrible
stories of your being tortured and finally murdered, outraged the
feelings of the whole civilized world, and while men swore to avenge
your wrongs, women mourned you, as sisters.

I am very thankful to see by the papers that you were not so inhumanly
treated as reported, although your experience has been a terrible
one--and one which you can never forget.

I presume that as soon as you are a little rested, you will go east to
your friends; should you do so, I will be most happy to entertain you
while you are in Winnipeg.

After your captivity, you must be destitute of everything, and if you
will come down here, we will be delighted to supply you with what you
require. I do not know if you have personal friends here, or not, but
your sufferings have given you a sister's place in every heart, and
_every one_ in Winnipeg would be deeply disappointed if you did
not give them an opportunity of expressing their deep sympathy and
regards.

Mr. Bennett unites with me in best wishes, and in hopes that you will
accept our hospitality on your way east.

                 I am in deepest sympathy,
                                 Sincerely yours,
                                                MRS. C. F. BENNETT.

I shall never forget the words of sympathy that are expressed in this
epistle, or the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. McCaul and the people of
Winnipeg generally. On our way from Winnipeg to Parkdale we received
every attention and assistance, which I can assure the reader went a
long way in making sorrow lighter and more able to bear. I thank God
for the sympathy that was extended to me by his people. Mr. J. K.
Macdonald of Toronto, was most assiduous in his attention to us from
Winnipeg until we left the train at Parkdale on the 12th of July. I
must not forget the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong also of
Toronto, or the other ladies and gentlemen who were our fellow
passengers on the journey.




CHAPTER XIX

AT HOME.


Home--torn from mine--back to the parental. I will now look back over
the scene, taking a panoramic view of the whole, as it occurred from
the day I left my father's house full of happiness and joy, until I
entered it full of sorrow and suffering.

It is well for mankind that they are forbidden the knowledge of what
will be their destiny. It was well-conceived by a loving father that
it was for our interest to be kept in ignorance of what was in store,
for we, his creatures. And thus it was that I entered upon the duties
of the household, with a lightness of heart equal to that of any
matron. In the humble home (I commence from there) in that beautiful
north-west land of quietness and peace, there was not a ruffle heard,
or a rumor sounded, of what was in store for that industrious little
community. We were living in the bonds of fellowship with all mankind,
and we had no fear. But in all that stillness there was an
undercurrent at work that would soon make itself felt. Dissatisfaction
on account of grievances, real or fancied, was blowing. It had broken
out in one place, why should it not in another. This disaffected
spirit was prevalent in all parts of that country. Who was to blame?
who was the cause? direct or indirect, it is not my intention or
desire to say; suffice it is to note, that there was discontent; and
therefore there must have, been grievances, and an attempt should have
been made or an understanding arrived at, whereby this state of
discontent should have been replaced by that of content, without
disturbance. Where there is discontent there must be badness and
suffering, with evils and excesses lying in its wake.

To have removed those grievances was the imperative duty of the
dispensers of law and order and thus avoid those excesses, but it was
not done in time and the inevitable did come swift and sure; the
innocent were made to feel its fury. For that little hamlet by the
creek was entered, and its domestic quietness destroyed and future
prospects blighted. There was a degree of uneasiness felt after we
were informed of the horror of Duck Lake. Two half-breeds, Blondin and
Donaire, who were employed by my husband, were observed in frequent
and earnest conversation with the Indians. Those two had but arrived
from the scene at Duck Lake. For what were they there? Was it to
incite the Indians? Their actions were, to say the least, suspicious.

I will not dwell on the terrible slaughter which followed, it is too
painful a subject, simply stating that I had not believed that
anything so awful would have been perpetrated by either half-breeds or
Indians, until we were taken out of Mrs. Delaney's the second time,
and then I felt that there would be trouble, but not in such a manner
as that. When I was dragged from the death-bed of my husband, who had
the ground for a couch and the canopy of heaven for a coverlet, I was
in a bewildered condition. Half-unconsciously I allowed the Indian to
drag me on to his tepee, and once in, the circumstances which led to
my position, flitted through my brain in quick succession. I then
realized that it was most critical; in a few hours I would be forced
to undergo ill-treatment that would very soon kill me. With those
thoughts within my mind, the tepee opened and a little girl entered,
an angel sent by God to be my deliverer. Although not aware, she was
his instrument in taking me out of danger and placing me in a purer
atmosphere. That child was Pritchard's little girl and I asked her to
send her father. He came and by his influence I was transferred to his
care for a while. And when I entered his tent and there saw Mrs.
Delaney, I was overjoyed for a minute, and then all was a blank; the
excitement proved too much for me and I swooned away. When I returned
to consciousness they were all doing their best for me.

In a short time Blondin came in, (at the commencement of the massacre
he left for our house) he brought with him our waggon, and oxen, and
all the furniture and provisions he could take. Immediately thereafter
the Indians appeared and it was then that he offered them $30 and a
horse for our release. The offer was accepted and I was transferred to
Blondin. The wretch was there with evil intent in his heart. I fully
believe that he felt exultant over the doings of the day. Why did he
go down to our house when that dreadful affair was going on? Why did
he help himself to our goods? _Only_ for a bad purpose. Oh! God I
saw it all. He had everything arranged for me to live with him. All my
husband's things; all my things; and a tent. But I refused to accept
him or his conditions. I resented the infamous proposals as strongly
as I was able, and appealed to John Pritchard for protection and he
generously granted my request. I will never forget his kindness to me
as long as I live: "Yes, Mrs. Gowanlock, you can share my tent, with
myself and family, and I will protect you."

That dated the commencement of the shameful treatment I received at
the hands of Blondin, and whenever Pritchard was absent, it was meted
out to me to the full. Blondin purchased my liberty, that would have
been a good action if prompted by honorable motives, but in the
absence of that it has no weight with me. He was amply repaid, he got
our oxen, our waggon, our provisions, our clothes, we had money there,
perhaps he got that. I have wondered since was it not my money with
which he purchased me. By the help of God I was saved from him; and a
life worse than death. If the worst had come I would have drowned or
killed myself; but it did not. "God moves in a mysterious way."

During the next two months I was called upon to witness heart-rending
scenes; first the brutal treatment of the dead bodies of our
husbands', as well as cruelty to ourselves; for even under Pritchard's
care we were not safe and did not know what minute would be our last.
Not content with murdering them in cold blood, they must needs perform
diabolical deeds which causes me to shudder when I think of it. They
danced around them with demoniac glee, kicking and pulling them in
every direction, and we were the unwilling witnesses of such
behaviour. And when we had them buried under the church they burned it
down, with dancing and yelling, accompanied with hysterical laughter.
The sight was sickening to me and I was glad they moved in the
direction of Fort Pitt, leaving that place with all its associations
of suffering and death. But when I heard that they intended to take
the Fort, and destroy more life, I felt that I would rather remain
where we were than witness any more scenes of so sad a nature. I have
no happy tale to tell for this period was filled with woe and pain.

I will not enumerate further the trials I had to undergo day after
day, but will pass rapidly on until the gladsome note was sounded by
our hostess Mrs. Pritchard the "police are here." God delivered us
again.

It is unnecessary to itemize in detail what passed from that time
until I reached Ontario. I have told my tale, simple and truthful, and
what remains for me now is my old home, my old associations, and my
old life--the lines are hard to bear--"Thy will not mine be done."

 Once I thought my cross to heavy,
   And my heart was sore afraid,
 Summoned forth to stand a witness
    For the cause of truth betrayed.

 "Send, O Lord," I prayed, "some Simon,
    As of old was sent to Thee."
 "Be a Simon," said the Master,
    "For this cross belongs to me."

 Still is crucified my Saviour,
   I myself must a Simon be;
 Take my cross and walk humbly
   Up the slopes of Calvary.




TO ONE OF THE ABSENT.

   You bade me good-bye with a smile, love,
      And away to the west wild and drear;
   At the sound of war's bugle shrill calling
      You went without shadow of fear.
   But when I complained of your going,
      To face dangers untold in the west;
   You chided me gently by singing:
      "Encourage me dear 'twill be best."

  "I know you will miss me each hour
      And grieve when I'm far, far away:
   But its duty's demand and I'm ready:
      Could I show the white feather to-day?
   Oh! Now, you're my own bright eyed blessing
      And show the true spirit within:
   Those eyes now so fearlessly flashing
      Shall guide me through war's crash and din."

   With your men you went cheerful and willing,
      To defend and take peace to the poor
   Helpless children and sad prisoned women
      Who had homes on Saskatchewan's shore,
   And now I'm so proud of you darling
      I can worship a hero so brave,
   While I pray for your safe home returning;
      When the peace flag shall quietly wave.

   O'er the land where poor Scott's heartless murderer,
     Has added much more to his sin;
   By the cold-blooded uncalled for slaughter,
      Of Gowanlock, Delaney and Quinn,
   Who like many others now sleeping,
     Shroudless near the sky of the west,
   May be called the sad victims and martyrs
      Of Riel who's name we detest.

   Many hearts are now mourning their lov'd ones
      Who died at their post, true and brave,
   In defiance of one heartless rebel,
      Who's life not e'en "millions" should save.
   So keep your arms strong for the fray dear,
      I'll not wish you back 'ere the fight
   Shall decide for you, country and comrades,
      In favor of honour and right.

   Let justice be done now unfailing
      Nought but _death_ can atone for his sin;
   Let the fate be has meted to others;
      By our dauntless be meted to him,
   Don't return until quiet contentment;
      Fills the homes now deserted out west,
   And the true ring of peace finds an echo,
      In each sturdy settler's breast.

   And when you are homeward returning,
      With heart that has never known fear;
   Remember the love light is burning,
      Unceasingly, constantly, here
   And "Bright Eyes" will give you a welcome
      Which even a soldier may prize
   While the lips will be smiling with pleasure,
     That have prayed in your absence with sighs.

   And the whole world shall ring with the praises
      Of Canada's noblest and best;
   Who shoulder to shoulder defended,
      And saved the unhappy North-West
   While in coming years 'round the hearthstone
      Will be told how the dark coats and red,
   Put to rout Riel, rebels and half-breeds
      And aveng'd both the living and dead.

                                     CLEOMATI.
20 Alexander St., Toronto.




SHOT DOWN.


They died a brutal death on the 2nd of April, disarmed first, and then
shot down. The perpetrators of that outrage were actuated by fiendish
instincts, nevertheless they had an intuition of what was meant by
civilization. How they could have so forgotten the training they had
received religiously and socially to have allowed the lower instincts
of the savage to gain the ascendancy and fell in cold blood--not
extortioners or land-grabbers--but their spiritual advisers; their
superintendent; their farm instructor, and those who had left
comfortable homes in the east in order to carry civilization into the
remote places of the west. The work that they were performing was
calculated to elevate the Indian and make him a better man; taking him
from his miserable mode of living and leading him into a more happy
and prosperous life for this and the next. It is unaccountable, and
there is yet a something that will come to the surface that was the
real cause for this dreadful act. At this point a brief sketch of the
lives of some of those killed would not be out of place.

They numbered nine, the entire male population of that growing little
village. There were T. Quinn, J. Delanay, J. A. Gowanlock, T. Dill, W.
C. Gilchrist, J. Williscraft, C. Gouin and Father Fafard and a priest
from Onion Lake. Mr. Quinn was the Indian agent for that district well
fitted in every particular for the position he held. Mr. Dill kept a
general store and at one time lived at Bracebridge, was a brother of
the member of Muskoka in the local house. Mr. Williscraft came from
Owen Sound where his friends reside. C. Gouin was a native of the
north-west.




MR. GOWANLOCK.


John Alexander Gowanlock, one of the Frog Lake martyrs, was born in
the City of Stratford, Province of Ontario, on the 17th of April,
1861. He was the youngest son of Mr. Jas. Gowanlock, of East Otto,
Cattaraguas County, New York State. He has three brothers living, and
one sister, A. G. and J. Gowanlock of Parkdale, Ontario, R. K.
Gowanlock, of Oscoda, Michigan, and Mrs. Daisy Huntsman, of Tintern,
Co. Lincoln. From a boy he was a general favorite, quiet and
unassuming, yet withal, firm and decided in his opinions. After
leaving Stratford he resided for some time in Barrie, and then went to
the Village of Parkdale, where he resided until he left for the north-
west.

Being in ill-health (at the age of 19), his physician and aunt, Dr. J.
K. Trout, of Toronto, advised a change of climate, and acting upon
that advice left for that great country. After a short residence every
symptom of disease had vanished, and upon his return some eighteen
months after, he felt and was a new man in every particular. In three
months time he returned to the land of his adoption. By honesty and
energy he succeeded well. He took hold of every kind of work that he
thought would pay. He became farmer, mill-builder, speculator,
surveyor, store-keeper and mill-owner in succession, buying and
selling, and at the same time pushing further west. His greatest
success was in Battleford, the Indians of that district would flock to
his store, because they knew they could get a good article at a
reasonable price. Last year the Government wanted mills for the
reserves in the region of Frog Lake, and after negotiating with them
for some time he finally decided, in conjunction with Mr. Laurie, to
accept the offer made, the Government giving them the sum of $2,800 as
an inducement.

In the month of October of last year, he began operations, which, if
those poor, deluded savages, who did not know when they were well off,
had allowed him to finish, would long ere this been a hive of industry
and a blessing to those Indians. He visited Ontario the same year,
buying all the machinery necessary for the mills and superintending
its shipment. He also took unto himself a wife from among the fair
daughters of Ontario, and never a happier couple went forth to brave
the cares of life. Both young and fell of energy.

But they were not allowed to enjoy their domestic bliss long. The sad
event which terminated with him being murdered, along with eight
others, being still fresh in the memory of all; it was a sudden call,
but he was prepared for it. An oath was never uttered by him, nor did
he know the taste of liquor, a temperance man in the full meaning of
the term. He also took a hearty interest in church matters having been
one of the managers of the Battleford Presbyterian Church. Wherever he
went he did good, in a gentle and kind way; and he will be remembered
by both Indian, half-breed and settler, as one who never took
advantage of them in any way, and the very soul of honor.

    Not himself, but the truth that in life he had spoken,
     Not himself, but the seed that in life he had sown,
    Shall past to the ages--all about him forgotten,
     Save the truth be had spoken, the things he had done.




MR. GILCHRIST.


One of the victims of the Frog Lake massacre was William Campbell
Gilchrist, a native of the village of Woodville, Ontario, and eldest
son of Mr. J. C. Gilchrist, Postmaster of that place. He was an
energetic young man, of good address, and if spared would have made
his mark in the land of promise. Prior to going there, he held
situations in various parts of this province, and they were all of
such a nature, as to make him proficient in the calling of his
adoption, he had splendid business ability and with a good education,
made progress that was quite remarkable for one of his years, at the
time of his murder he was only in his twenty-fourth year.

He was clerk for Mr. E. McTavish of Lindsay, for some time; he then
returned to his home to take a situation which had been offered him by
Mr. L. H. Staples, as assistant in his general store; he afterwards
went to the village of Brechin as Clerk and Telegraph Operator, for
Messrs. Gregg & Todd. While there he formed the acquaintance of Mr. A.
G. Cavana, a Surveyor, and it was through his representations that he
directed his steps to the great unknown land. Shortly after his
acquaintance with Mr. Cavana, that gentleman received a government
appointment as surveyor in the territories, taking Mr. Gilchrist with
him in the capacity of book keeper and assistant surveyor; they left
in the spring of 1882. He was well fitted for the position, for
besides being an excellent penman, was an expert at figures; when the
winter set in, he remained there, taking a situation in a store in
Winnipeg, and when the summer opened out he again went with Mr. Cavana
on the survey, (1883) on his way home in the autumn he fell in with
Mr. J. A. Gowanlock, who induced him to remain with him as clerk, with
whom he never left until that sad morning on the 2nd of April, when he
was shot down in his strength and manhood. He was a member of the
Presbyterian church having confessed at the early age of 14 years. It
was his intention to enter the Manitoba College as a theological
student.





PART II.




PREFACE.


Several friends have asked me to write a sketch of my life and more
especially of my adventures in the North-West. At first I hesitated
before promising to comply with the request. There is a certain class
of orators who, invariable, commence their public address by stating
that they are "unaccustomed to public speaking." It may be true in
many cases, but most certainly no public speaker was ever less
accustomed to address an audience, than I am to write a book. Outside
my limited correspondence, I never undertook to compose a page, much
less a book. But, if any excuse were necessary, I feel that the
kindness of the people I have met, the friendliness of all with whom I
have come in contact, during the last eventful half-year, would render
such excuse uncalled for. I look upon the writing of these pages as a
duty imposed upon me by gratitude. When memory recalls the sad scenes
through which I have passed, the feeling may be painful, but there is
a pleasure in knowing that sympathy has poured a balm upon the deep
wounds, and that kindness and friendship have sweetened many a bitter
drop in the cup of my sorrow and trouble.

"There is a tide in the affairs of men," sang England's great Bard,
but we never know when it is about to turn, or if that turn will be
the ebb or the flow of happiness. "The veil of the Future is woven by
the hand of Mercy." Could I have but caught a glimpse through its
folds, some three years ago, I might not have the story to tell that
you, kind reader, will find in this short work. I might not be, to-
day, mourning the loss of a dear husband.

But who can judge of the ways of Divine Providence? For His own wise
ends has the Almighty permitted such things to take place: and
submissive to His will, I feel that instead of repining, I should
return Him thanks for my Own life and preservation; and, under God, I
must thank my friends one and all!

If this little sketch should prove instructive or even interesting to
anyone I will feel doubly repaid. The scenes I have to describe, the
story I have to tell, would require the pen of a Fenimore Cooper to do
them justice. Feeling myself unable to relate all I experienced and
suffered, in an adequate manner, I will merely offer the public, a
simple, truthful, unvarnished tale and for every fact thereof, I give
my word that it is no fiction, but real truth.

With this short preface I will now crave the indulgence of my readers,
while they peruse the following pages.

THERESA DELANEY.




MRS. DELANEY.

CHAPTER I.

MY YOUTH AND EARLY LIFE.


AS the principal object of this work, is to give an account of my
experiences in the North-West, and my many adventures during the last
few months, I would deem it out of place to detain my readers with any
lengthy description of my birth-place or any details of my younger
days. I have noticed many false reports that have been circulated
through the press, upon the different situations and conditions in the
North-West--whether as to the whites, the half-breeds, or the Indians.
In the second chapter I will give a truthful version of what I saw,
heard and know. Still I cannot well enter upon this work, with justice
to myself or to my late husband, without informing my readers whence
we came and how our lots happened to be cast together amidst the
scenes of our new home, and upon the theatre of the fearful tragedy in
which we played such important parts.

My grandfather, Henry Marshall Fulford, while yet a young man, about
the year 1812, came from Woburn Massachusetts, and established his
home on the Aylmer road, near Bytown, the Ottawa of to-day, where he
carried on an extensive lumbering and farming business. My father was
born there, and it was also the place of my own birth. Our home was
situated about two miles and a half from Aylmer, and about five miles
from the present capital of the Dominion.

In those days Ottawa was called Bytown. No one then dreamed that it
was destined to become the capital and the seat of the future Federal
government of the country. The town, for it was then a town, was small
and far from attractive, and the surrounding country was not very much
inhabited. The lumbering operations constituted the staple commerce,
and the shanties were the winter homes of the greater number of the
people.

Nearly all my life, except the last three years, was spent at home. I
never travelled much, and in fact, never expected to become a
traveller, and above all, an unwilling heroine in the North-West
troubles. I had several sisters and brothers. I was the eldest of the
family, and as such, for many years had to devote my time to household
cares. My school-days seem now the pleasantest period of my early
life. Since then I have known many ups and downs; but never felt the
same peace of mind and gayness of spirit that I have felt in days now
gone. I might say that I have lived three distinct lives. From my
birth until the day of my marriage, which took place on the 27th of
July, 1882, I led a uniform life. Few, if any changes, marked each
passing year. The seasons came and went, and the winter's snow fell
and the summer's sun ripened the golden harvests, and days flowed into
weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and year succeeded year
as I felt myself growing into womanhood. The changes in my life were
few and my troubles so small, that memory had scarcely ever to recall
a dark or dreary scene and hope always beckoned me on to the future.

The only events that seemed to stand out, landmarks in the past, were
two deaths in the family--the first my eldest brother and the second
my dearly beloved and much lamented father.

Had it not been for these two events I might drop a veil over all the
past and consider merely that I had lived through such a number of
years:-these years, like the great desert of the east, would stretch
back, an unbroken tract, with no object to break the monotony of the
scene. But, as the kirches tombs or monuments of Arabia, rise up in
solemn grandeur from out the loneliness of the plain, casting their
shadows of the sandy waste, so these two monuments or tombs appear
upon the level scene of my uneventful past. Could I, then, have caught
one glimpse adown the valley of the "Yet to be," what a different
picture would have presented itself to my vision! A confusion of
adventures, a panorama never ending, ever shifting, of an eventful
life.

My second life might be called a period from my wedding day until the
arid of April, 1885. And the third, the last and most eventful life,
is that of three months--April, May and June, 1885. To the second
important period in my career I will consecrate the next chapter and
to the third and final part of my life will be devoted the last
chapter.

My husband was born in Napean, in the Province of Ontario, about the
end of 1846. Physically speaking, he was a, man of very fine
appearance. Over six feet in height and weighing about two hundred and
ten pounds. His youth was spent in his native place, where he went to
school and where he commenced his life of labor and exertion. I don't
know, exactly, when it was that I first met him; but I must have been
quite young, for I remember him these many years. He was, during the
last ten years that he lived in the Ottawa valley, foreman for
different lumber firms. Naturally gifted to command, he knew the great
duty of obedience, and this knowledge raised him in the estimation of
all those whose business he undertook to direct. And owing to that
good opinion, he received a general recommendation to the government,
and in the year 1879, he was appointed Indian instructor for the
north-west. Like my own life, his was uneventful. Outside the circle
of his friends--and that circle was large--he was unknown to the
public. Nor was he one of those who ever sought notoriety. His
disposition was the very opposite of a boastful one.

Often I heard tell of the north-west. But I never took any particular
interest in the country previous to his appointment and departure for
his new sphere. I knew by the map, that such a region existed--just as
I knew that there was a Brazil in South America, or a vast desert in
the centre of Africa. Our statesmen were then forming plans to build
the great Pacific Road, that band of iron which was soon destined to
unite ocean to ocean. However, I never dreamed that I would one day
visit those vast regions, the former home of the buffalo, the haunt of
the prairie-chicken and the prairie-wolf. It never dawned upon me,
that as I watched the puffing of the engine that rushed along the
opposite side of the Ottawa from my home, that, one day, I would go
from end to end of that line,--pass over those vast plains and behold
the sun set, amidst the low poplars of the rolling prairies,--listen
to the snort of the same engine as it died away, in echo, amongst the
gorges of the Rockies. My husband had been three years, previous to
our marriage, in the north west. His first winter was spent at "Onion
Lake," there being no buildings at "Frog Lake." In fact, when he
arrived there, "Frog Lake" district was a wilderness. During those
three years I began to take some interest in that "land of the setting
sun,"--but, as yet, I scarcely imagined that I would ever see the
places he described. In 1882, my husband returned to Ottawa and his
principal object in coming, was to take me, as his wife, away with him
to his new home.

We were married in Aylmer on the 27th July, 1882. Our intention was to
start for the wilds on the first day of August. In the next chapter I
will take up that second period of my life and strive to describe our
trip and what we saw, learned and experienced during the following
three years.

My readers will have to excuse what may seem egotism on my part, in
speaking so much about myself and my husband. But as the subject
demands that I should detail, all that can be of any public interest,
in my short life, it would be difficult to write my story and not
appear, at times, somewhat egotistical.

This first chapter must necessarily be short, when one has nothing to
write about it is hard to fill up pages, and my life, and that of my
husband, so far as I know, were most uneventful up to the day of our
union, when

  "We joined the hands of each other.
     To move through the stillness and noise
   _Dividing_ the _cares_ of existence,
     But _doubling_ its _hopes_ and its _joys_."

My younger days seem to have passed away like a quiet dream, leaving
but a faint memory behind; but my last period of life resembles more
some frightful night-mare and I often wonder can it be true that I
have passed through such scenes or is the whole affair a fevered
vision of the night!

Now that I am safely home again with my good dear mother beside me, my
fond brothers and sisters around me, it would appear as if I had never
got married, never left them, never saw the north-west, never suffered
the exposure, loss, sorrow, turmoil, dangers and terrors of the late
rebellion. But fancy cannot destroy the truth--the real exists in
spite of the ideal, and, as I enter upon my description, faint and
imperfect as it may be, I feel my hand shake with nervous excitement,
my pulse throb faster, my heart beat heavier, as scene after scene of
the great drama passes before me, clear and perfect as when first
enacted. Had I only the language at my command, as I have the pictures
before me, at my summons--I feel that I could do justice to the
subject. But as I was never destined to be an authoress and my powers
of composition were dealt out to me with a sparing hand, I can but
express my regret that an abler writer does not hold my pen. A cloud
has come over my life-dream. The angel of death passed by and in the
shadow of his wing a heavy and better stroke was dealt. It may not be
of much interest to the public to know how I feel over my loss, but if
each one would, for a moment, suppose the case their own and then
reflect upon what the feeling must be. Let them attempt to write a
cold, matter-of-fact statement of the events, to detail them simply as
they took place, without giving expression to sentiments of sorrow, I
think that, at least, ninety-nine out of every hundred would fail, and
the one who could succeed would appear, in my mind, a person without
heart or feeling, unable to love and unworthy of affection.

I will strive to push on to the end of my undertaking without tiring
my readers, with vain expressions of sorrow, regret or pain; but do
not expect that I can relate the story from first to last, without
giving vent to my feelings.

There is one pleasure, however, in knowing that I have no complaints
to make, no blame to impute, no bitter feelings to arouse, no harsh
words to say. But on the contrary, I will try not to forget the
kindness, sympathy, and protection, that from one source or another
were tendered to me.

I hope this little book will please all who read it; amuse some;
instruct others; but I pray sincerely that not one of all my readers
may ever be placed in the painful situation through which I have
passed. Methinks some good prayers have gone up to heaven for me, and
that the Almighty lent an attentive ear to the supplications; for like
the angel that walked through the flaming furnace to protect the just
men of old, some spirit of good must have stood by my side to guide me
in safety through the fiery ordeal and to conduct me to that long
wished for haven of rest--my old home on the Aylmer Road.




CHAPTER II

MY MARRIAGE LIFE.


My wedding took place in the usual manner: the same congratulations,
presents, kisses, well-wishes all the world over. I need not dwell
upon the event any further.

On the 1st August, 1882, my husband took the train at Ottawa, _en
route_ for the North-West. As far as the first portion of our trip
is concerned I have little or nothing to say, I could not see much
from the car window and every place was new to me and, in fact, one
place seemed as important as another in my eyes.

We passed through Toronto and thence to Sarnia, and on to Chicago. We
crossed to Port Huron and proceeded at once to St. Paul. This was our
first stoppage. We spent a day in St. Paul, and, indeed, the city
deserves a day, at least, from all who travel that way. It is a
beautiful place. However, it seemed to me much on the same plan and in
the same style as all the Western American cities. From St. Paul's we
went on to Winnipeg. I must say that I was not very favourably
impressed by my first visit to this metropolis of the North-West On my
homeward trip I found vast changes for the better in the place. Still
it may have been, only to my eye that the city appeared far from clean
and anything but attractive. I must admit that it was rainy weather--
and oh! the mud! I have heard that there are two classes of people
leave Quebec after a first visit--the one class are those who caught a
first glimpse of the Rock City on a beautiful day. These people are
unceasing in their admiration of Quebec. The other class are those,
who came into the city, for the first time, on a rainy day, when the
streets were canals and mud was ankle deep. It would be impossible to
convince these people that Quebec was anything but a filthy, hilly,
crooked, ugly, unhealthy place. I may be of the latter class, when I
refer to Winnipeg. But most assuredly I am not prejudiced, for since
my last passage through that city I have changed my idea of it
completely.

From Winnipeg we proceeded by rail to Brandon and thence, by
construction train, to Troy. We were then four hundred miles from
Winnipeg and we had four hundred miles to travel. But our cars ceased
here. At Troy we got our tent ready, supplied ourselves with the
necessaries upon such a journey, and getting our buckboard into order,
we started upon the last, the longest and yet pleasantest part of our
voyage.

How will I attempt to describe it! There is so much to tell and yet I
know not what is best to record and what is best to leave out.

Half a day's journey from Troy we crossed the Qu'Appelle river. The
scenery upon the banks of that most picturesque of streams would
demand the pencil of a Claude Lorraine, or the pen of a Washington
Irving to do it justice. Such hills I never before beheld. Not
altogether for size but for beauty. Clad in a garb of the deepest
green they towered aloft, like the battlement of two rival
fortresses--and while the sun lit up the hills to our right, the
shades of mid-day deepened upon the frowning buttresses to our left.
Every tree seemed to have a peculiar hue, a certain depth of color
completely its own. Indeed, one would imagine that Dame Nature had
been trying a gigantic crazy quilt and had flung it over the bed of
the Qu'Appelle valley, that all who went by might admire her
handiwork.

I might here remark that the days of the summer are longer, in the
north-west, than in the Ottawa district. In fact, we used to rise at
three o'clock in the morning and drive for three hours before our
breakfast. It would then be grey dawn and the flush of approaching
day-light could be seen over the eastern hills. At nine o'clock in the
evening it would be twilight The days of midwinter are proportionately
shorter.

The road we had to travel was a lovely one: at times it might be a
little rough, but indeed it could well compare with most of the roads
in our more civilized places. Nearly every night we managed to reach a
clump of bushes or shelter to camp. Except for two days, when on the
"Salt Plains," when like the caravans in the deserts of the east we
had to carry our own fuel and water.

We crossed the South Saskatchewan at Aroline--or the "Telegraph
Crossing," also known as Clark's Ferry--from the man who kept the
ferry, and who made the new trail running to the Touchwood Hills. We
again crossed the North Saskatchewan near Fort Pitt--which is
thirty-five miles from our destination.

We went by the river road, and after we crossed the salt plains, and
got into the woods at Eagle Creek, we had a splendid trip through a
rich fertile abundant farming country. The houses are not very
attractive, but the farms are really fine. I will dwell upon this
question at a greater length presently.

That less confusion may take place, I will sub-divide this chapter
into three sections. In the first I will speak of the farms and
farmers--their homes and how they live; in the second, I will describe
our own home and its surroundings; and in the third, I will speak of
the Indians under my husband's control, and tell how we got along
during the three years I was there.


THE FARMERS AND THEIR FARMS.


It would be out of place and even impossible for me, at present to
give you any figures relating to the crops and harvests of the
North-West. Suffice, to say that for two summers, at Frog Lake,
in my husband's district, we raised wheat that was pronounced by
competent judges to equal the best that ever grew in Ontario.

The land is fertile and essentially a grain-bearing soil. It is easy
to clear, and is comparatively very level. There is ample opportunity
to utilize miles upon miles of it, and the farms that exist, at
present, are evidences of what others might be. No one can tell the
number of people that there is room for in the country. Europe's
millions might emigrate and spread, themselves over that immense
territory, and still there would be land and ample place for those of
future generations. We were eight hundred miles from Winnipeg, and
even at that great distance we were, to use the words of Lord
Dufferin, "only in the anti-chamber of the great North-West."

The country has been well described by hundreds, it has also been
falsely reported upon by thousands. At first it was the "Great Lone
Land,"--the country of bleak winter, eternal snow and fearful
blizzards. Then it became a little better known, and, suddenly it
dawned upon the world that a great country lie sleeping in the arms of
nature, and awaiting the call of civilization to awaken it up and send
it forth on a mission of importance. The "boom" began. All thoughts
were directed to the land of the Rockies. Pictures of plenty and
abundance floated before the vision of many thousands. Homes in the
east were abandoned to rush into the wilds of the West. No gold fever
of the South was ever more exciting, and to add thereto, they found
that the government proposed building a line of railway from end to
end of the Dominion. Then the Frazer, Saskatchewan, Red River and
Assiniboine became household words.

In this story of a fancied land of plenty, there was much truth, but
as in every case in life, there was much falsehood as well. It suited
the purpose of monied speculators to laud to the skies the North-west
in general. But rich and extensive as the land may be, no man can
expect to make a fortune there, unless through hard labor, never
ceasing exertion and great watchfulness. There, as in all other lands,
you must "earn your bread by the sweat of your brow." That sentence
passed on man, when the, first sin darkened his soul, shall exist and
be carried into execution unto the end of time. And no man is exempt,
and no land is free from it. Many have failed in finding riches in the
North-West; gold did not glitter along the highway, nor were precious
stones to be picked up in every foot path. The reason is, because they
went there expecting to have no work to do, merely to sit down, to go
to bed, to sleep and wake up some morning millionaires. But those who
put their shoulder to the wheel and their hands to the plough, turned
up as rich a soil as England's flag floats over, and sowed seeds that
gave returns as plentiful as the most abundant harvests on the
continent. It would do one good to drive along the river road by the
Saskatchewan, and observe those elegant, level, fertile, well tilled
farms that dot the country. It is a great distance to procure
materials for building, and as yet the most of the houses are rough
and small, but comfortable and warm, and sufficient for the needs of
the farmers.

Much of the labor is done in the old style, as in my own native place,
before the days of machinery. But soon we will see the mower and
reaper finding their way into the very furthest settlements--and if
ever there was a country laid out for the use of machinery it is
certainly the north-west.

Before many years, there will be good markets for the produce, as the
towns are growing up pretty rapidly and the railroad is lending a
great encouragement to the farmers near the line.

Half a century ago the country was unheard of, save through the Hudson
Bay Company's agents and factors: quarter of a century ago it was
considered a _probably_ future portion of our Dominion. Behold it
to-day! Its cities, its roads, its villages, its farms, its
inhabitants! What then may the immense territory not become before
fifty years more shall have rolled into eternity? I do not feel myself
competent to judge-but I have no doubt but it will become the grainery
of the continent and the supplier of half Europe.

The farmer in the Provinces who has a good farm and who can make a
fair living would be foolish to leave it for the hazard of an attempt
in the new country. But should a person be commencing life and have
the intention of depending upon themselves, their own exertion and
energy, then the sun shines not on a finer land, holding out a broader
prospect than in that great country that lies towards the Pacific.

I have only spoken hurriedly and from a general standpoint of the
farmers, and when I say farmers, I mean white people. The Indian
fanning is of a different nature altogether. That will demand my
attention before I close this chapter.


FROG LAKE AND SURROUNDINGS.


Although the name of the place would indicate that the lake abounded
in frogs, still I have no recollection of seeing any extra number of
them around the place. I think the name comes from a tradition--
perhaps in some age, long lost in the twilight of Indian story, the
frogs may have been more plentiful in that special locality than
elsewhere. Twenty miles for our farm and twelve miles from Fort Pitt
is "Onion Lake", farm, where my husband spent his first winter. I
cannot tell how that place got its name no more than how our district
was called _Aieekesegahagan_. When I first arrived at Frog Lake
there were no buildings excepting my husband's house and warehouse--a
shed and garden, added thereto, formed the whole establishment. These
were built by my husband. Since then, in the course of three years
that I was there, several buildings were put up, until, in fine, our
little settlement became quite a village.

Mr. Quinn's, (the agent) house, and his storehouse, were erected since
I arrived there. Mr. Quinn was the gentleman whose name has appeared
so much in the public prints since the sad events of the second of
April last. When I come to my experience during the last three months
of my North-West life, I will give more fully the story of Mr. Quinn's
fate. There were three reserves near us, the Indians upon which were
under my husband's control--In the next section of this chapter I will
refer to these bands and give what I know about them.

The scenery around Frog Lake is surpassingly beautiful. We lived on
Frog Creek, which runs from the Lake into the North Saskatchewan. In
October last, Mr. Gowanlock, who shared the same fate as my husband,
and whose kind and gentle wife was my companion through all the
troubles and exposures of our captivity and escape, began to build a
mill two miles from our place, on the waters of Frog Creek. He put up
a saw mill and had all the timber ready to complete a grist mill, when
he was cut short in his early life, and his wife was cast upon the
mercy of Providence. They lived two miles from us. Many of those whom
I knew were mill hands. Gilchrist who was killed, was an employee of
Mr. Gowanlock.

Frog Lake is pretty large. I know that in one direction it is twelve
miles long. In the centre of the lake is a large island, that is
clothed in a garb of evergreen. The pine and spruce upon it are extra
large, sound and plentiful. In fact it would be difficult to find a
place where better timber for building and other purposes, could be
cut. The place is gradually becoming developed, and when I consider
all that has been done, in the way of improvement, since I first went
there, I would not be surprised to learn, that in the near future, the
principal parts of the country shall be under cultivation, that the
clang of the mill shall be heard upon every stream, and that down the
Saskatchewan may float the produce of a fresh, a virgin, a teeming
soil, to supply the markets of the Old World, and to supplant the
over-worked fields of the eastern countries.

Also since my arrival at the Frog Lake Reserve, the priest's house,
the school house and church were built. Even there in the far west,
away so to speak, from the atmosphere of civilization, beyond the
confines of society, we have what Sir Alexander Selkirk mourned for so
much, when alone on Juan Fernandez--_Religion_. Even there, the
ministers of the Gospel, faithful to their duties, and mindful of the
great command to "go forth and teach all nations,"--leaving their
homes and friends in the land of the east, seek out the children of
those Indian tribes, and bring to them the lights of faith and
instruction. Untiring in their exertions, indefatigable in their
labors, they set a glorious example, and perform prodigies of good.
The church was small, but neat, although its ornaments are few, still
I am sure that as fervent and as acceptable prayers went up, like
incense, towards heaven, and blessings as choice, like dew, fell upon
the humble worshippers, as ever the peal of the cathedral organ
announced, or as ever descended upon the faithful beneath the gorgeous
domes of the most splendid Basilicas. Memory still often summons up
before me the scenes of silent, dusky, faithful children of the
forest, kneeling in prayer, and with mingled feelings of awe, wonder,
admiration and confidence, listening to the divine truths as explained
in their own language, by the missionaries. But the picture becomes
dark, when I reflect upon the fate of the two good men whose sad story
I have yet to tell. Most assuredly theirs was a _confession of
blood_--and dying at their posts, faithful to their mission,
relieving the soul of an expiring Christian when the hand of death
fell upon them. Theirs must have been a triumphal entry into heaven,
to the kingdom of God! The great cross that the 90th Battalion placed
over the united graves of the victims of the Frog Lake massacre, is a
fitting emblem and a worthy monument; its base rests upon the soil
that covers their union in the grave, but its summits points to where
their souls are united above.

I will now take up the question of the Indians under my husband's
control, and I will tell how they got along, improved, and were
contented and happy. That will bring me to my last and all important
chapter--the one which will contain the story so tragically mournful.


THE INDIANS AS THEY ARE


It would not become me, perhaps, to comment upon the manner in which
the country is governed, and the Indians instructed, for I am no
politician. In fact I don't know one party from another except by
name. But I cannot permit this occasion, the last I may ever have, to
go past without saying plainly what I think and what I know about the
north-west and its troubles.

The half-breeds, or whites or others may have real or imaginary
grievances that they desire to see redressed. If they have, I know
nothing about them; I never had anything to do with them and maybe I
could not understand the nature of their claims, even if explained to
me. But be that as it may--even if I did know aught I would not feel
myself justified in writing down that which I could only have learned
by hear say. But there is one thing I do know and most emphatically
desire to express and have thoroughly understood and that is the fact,
_the Indians have no grievances and no complaints to make_. Their
treatment is of the best and most generous kind. The government spares
no pains to attempt to make them adopt an agricultural life, to teach
them to rely upon their own strength, to become independent people and
good citizens. Of the Indians I can speak openly for I know them
thoroughly. There may be, here and there, a bad man amongst them; but
as a people they are submissive, kind, and, if only from curiosity,
they are anxious to learn. My husband remarked that according as they
advanced in their agricultural knowledge that they commenced to have a
liking for it. And I noticed the same in the young squaws whom I
undertook to instruct in household duties.

Many an English, Scotch or Irish farmer, when he comes poor to Canada
and strives to take up a little farm for himself, if he had only one
half the advantages that the government affords to the Indians, he
would consider his fortune forever made. They need never want for
food. Their rations are most regularly dealt out to them and they are
paid to clear and cultivate their own land. They work for themselves
and are, moreover, paid to do so--and should a crop fail they are
certain of their food, anyway. I ask if a man could reasonably expect
more? Is it not then unjust to lead these poor people into a trouble
which--can but injure them deeply! If half-breeds have grievances let
them get them redressed if they chose, but let them not mix up the
Indians in their troubles. The Indians, have nothing to complain of
and as a race they are happy their quite home of the wilderness and I
consider it a great shame for evil-minded people, whether whites or
half-breeds, to instill into their excitable heads the false idea that
they are presecuted by the government. In speaking thus I refer to
_our_ Indians that is to say those under my late husband's control.
But if all government agencies and reserves are like that at Frog
Lake, I hesitate not to say, that the government is over good to
the restless bands of the west.

I have no intention in my sketch to use any names--for if I mention
one of my friends I should mention them all and that would be almost
impossible. No more will I mention the names of any persons who might
be implicated in the strange and dishonest acts that have taken place
previous to, during and since the outbreak. Yet I feel it a duty to
present a true picture of the situation of the Indian bands and of the
two great powers that govern in the country and whose interests are
the very opposite of each other.

These two governing parties are the Hudson Bay Company and the
Dominion Government. There is not the slightest doubt, but their
interests are directly opposed. The company has made its millions out
of the fur trade and its present support is the same trade. The more
the Indians hunt the more the Company can make. Now the Government
desires to civilize them and to teach them to cultivate the soil. The
more the Indian works on his farm the less the Company gets in the way
of fur. Again, the more the Government supplies the Indians with
rations the less the Company can sell to them.

Two buffalos are not given for a glass of whiskey--one-third highwines
and two-thirds water--as when the Company had full sway. The fire-
water is not permitted to be brought to them now. No longer have the
Indians to pay the exorbitant prices for pork, flour, tea, &c., that
the Company charged them. The Government has rendered it unnecessary
for them to thus sacrifice their time and means. Did the Company ever
try to civilize or christianize the Indians! Most certainly not. The
more they became enlightened the less hold the Company would have upon
them. Again, if it were not for the Government, the lights of the
gospel would scarcely ever reach them. The more the Government
civilizes them and developes the country, the less plentiful the game
becomes, and the less profit the Company can make. Therefore it is
that I say, the interests of the Company and those of the Government
are contradictory. The former wants no civilization, plenty of game,
and Indians that will hunt all the year around. The latter require
agriculture, the soil to be taken from the wild state, the rays of
faith and instruction to penetrate the furthest recess of the land,
and to have a race that can become worthy of the dignity of citizens
in a civilized country. So much the worse for the Government if the
Indians rebel and so much the worse for the Indians themselves; but so
much the better for the Company's interests.

I have my own private opinions upon the causes of the rebellion but do
not deem it well or proper to express them. There are others besides
the half-breeds and Big Bear and his men connected with the affair.
There are many objects to be gamed by such means and there is a "wheel
within a wheel" in the North-West troubles.

As far as I can judge of the Indian character, they are not, at all,
an agricultural people--nor for a few generations are they likely to
become such. Their habits are formed, their lives are directed in a
certain line--like a sapling you can bend at will and when grown into
a tree you can no longer change its shape-so with them. From time
immemorial they have ranged the woods and it is not in the present nor
even the next generation that you can uproot that inclination. Take
the negro from the south and place him amongst the ice-bergs of the
arctic circle and strive to make him accustomed to the hunting of the
seal or harpooning of the walrus;--or else bring down an Esquimaux and
put him into a sugar-cane plantation of the topics. In fact, take a
thorough going farmer from the old-country and attempt to accustom him
to hunt moose and trap beaver. He may get expert at it; but give him a
chance and he will soon fling away the traps and pick up the spade,
lay down the rifle and take hold of the plough. So it is with the
Indians--they may get a taste for farming, but they prefer to hunt.
Even the best amongst them had to have a month every spring and
another month every fall to hunt. And they would count the weeks and
look as anxiously forward to those few days of freedom, of unbridled
liberty, as a school-boy looks forward to his mid-summer holidays.

Yet, in spite of this hankering after the woods and the freedom of the
chase, they are a people easily instructed, quick to learn, (when they
like to do so), and very submissive and grateful. But they are very,
very improvident. So long as they have enough for to-day, let to-
morrow look out for itself. Even upon great festivals such as
Christmas, when my husband would give them a double allowance of
rations, they would come before our house, fire off their guns as a
token of joy and thanks, and then proceed with their feast and never
stop until they had the double allowance all eaten up and not a scrap
left for the next day.

In my own sphere I was often quite amused with the young squaws. They
used to do my house-work for me. I would do each special thing for
them--from cleaning, scrubbing, washing, cooking to sewing, fancy
work, &c. and they would rival each other in learning to follow me.
They would feel as proud when they could perform some simple little
work, as a child feels when he has learned his A. B. Cs. With time and
care, good house-keepers could be made of many of them, and it is too
bad to see so many clever, naturally gifted, bright creatures left in
ignorance and misery. I think it was in Gray's Elegy that I read the
line: "How many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its
fragrance on the desert air."

When I look back over these three years, I feel a pang of more than
sorrow. Ours was a happy home; I grew to like my surroundings, I
became fond of my Indian protegees, and to crown all, in December
last, Mrs. Gowanlock came to live near us. I felt that even though a
letter from home should be delayed, that I would not feel as lonesome
as before. My husband was generous to a fault. He was liked by all the
bands;--our white neighbours were few, but they were splendid people,
fast and true friends, and I might say since Mrs. Gowanlock arrived, I
felt at home; I looked upon the place as my own, and the Indian
children as my children; the same as my husband looked upon the men as
his care, and they regarded him as a father. It was no longer to be a
lonely life. It was to become a life of usefulness, joy, labor, peace
and contentment. Such was the vision I had of the future, about the
middle of last winter! But who knows what is in store for us! "There
is a Providence that shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we will!"

I will here quote a few lines from deposition given at Regina: "When
he, (my husband) first came up here, he had five bands to look after
until a year ago, when the Chippewans were taken from his supervision
and given to Mr. John Fitzpatrick. A little later, Mr. Fitzpatrick was
transferred to another jurisdiction, and the Chippewans came again
under my husband's care. He then had to look after the Chippewans,
Oneepewhayaws, Mistoo-Kooceawsis and Puskeakeewins, and last year he
had Big Bear's tribe. He was so engaged when the outbreak took place.
All the Indians were very peacably inclined and most friendly to us
all. My husband was much respected, and really beloved by all under
his care, and they seemed to be most attached to him. We were,
therefore, greatly astonished at their action towards us, but after
all it was only Big Bear's followers that showed their enmity towards
us. These too, pretended to be most friendly, and have often told us,
'that but for my husband they would have starved.'"

With this, I close my second chapter, and will now, in the third offer
my readers a picture of the scenes from the first of April last until
the close of the struggle.




CHAPTER III.

THE NORTH-WEST TROUBLE.


There are scenes that are hard to properly describe. There are parts
of our lives that can never be reproduced or transmitted to others
upon paper. As Father Abram J. Ryan, the Poet Priest of the South so
beautifully tells us:

  "But far on the deep there are billows,
     That never shall break on the beach;
   And I have heard Songs in the Silence,
     That never shall float into speech;
   And I have had dreams in the Valley,
     _Too lofty for language to reach."_

So with me and my story. However I may have succeeded so far in
expressing what I desired to convey to the public, I feel confident
that I am far from able to do justice to this last chapter. The events
crowd upon my mind in a sort of kaliedescope confusion and scarcely
have the intention of giving expression to an idea, than a hundred
others crop up to usurp its place in my mind. Although I will tell the
story of the tragic events as clearly and as truthfully as is
possible, still I know that years after this little sketch is printed,
I will remember incidents that now escape my memory. One has not time,
or inclination, when situated as I was, to take a cool survey of all
that passes and commit to memory every word that might be said or
remark that might be made. Notwithstanding the fear I have of leaving
out any points of interest or importance, I still imagine that my
simple narrative will prove sufficient to give an idea, imperfect
though it may be, of all the dangers we passed through, the sufferings
we underwent, and the hair-breadth escapes we had.

Up to the 30th of March, 1885, we had not the faintest idea that a
rebellion existed, nor that half-breeds and Indians were in open
revolt. On that day we received two letters, one from Captain Dickens,
of Fort Pitt, and one from Mr. Rae, of Battleford. Mr. Dickens' letter
was asking all the whites to go down to Fort Pitt for safety as we
could not trust the Indians; and Mr. Rae's letter informed us of the
"Duck Lake" battle and asking us to keep the' Indians up there and not
let them down to join Poundmaker. When we were informed of the great
trouble that was taking place, Mr. and Mrs. Gowanlock were apprised of
the fact and they came up to our place for safety. My husband had no
fear for himself, but he had slight misgivings as to poor Mr. Quinn's
situation. Mr. Quinn was the agent in that district and was a Sioux
half-breed. Johnny Pritchard, his interpreter, was a Cree half-breed.
My husband decided at once not to go to Fort Pitt. It would be a shame
for us, he thought, to run away and leave all the Government
provisions, horses, &c., at the mercy of those who would certainly
take and squander them, moreover he feared nothing from the Indians.
His own band were perfectly friendly and good--and not ten days
previous, Big Bear had given him a peace-pipe or _calumet_, and
told him that he was beloved by all the band.

However, knowing the Indian character so well, and being aware that
the more you seemed to confide in them the more you were liked by
them, he and Mr. Quinn concluded to hold a council with the chiefs and
inform them of the news from Duck Lake, impressing upon them the
necessity of being good and of doing their work, and not minding those
troublesome characters that were only bringing misery upon themselves.

Consequently, on the first of April, the council was held, but to
their great astonishment and dismay, the Indians knew more than they
did about the affair, and, in fact, the Indians knew all about the
troubles, long before news ever reached us, at Frog Lake, of the
outbreak. At the council were "Aimasis" (The King-bird), one of Big
Bear's sons and "The Wandering Spirit." They said that Big Bear had a
bad name, but now that he had a chance he would show himself to be the
whiteman's friend. All day, the 1st of April, they talked and held
council, and finally the Indians went home, after shaking hands with
my husband. They then told him that the half-breeds intended to come
our way to join Riel! that they also intended to steal our horses, but
that we need not fear as they (the Indians) would protect us and make
sure no horses would be taken and no harm would be done. They also
told us to sleep quiet and contented as they would be up all night and
would watch. Big Bear, himself, was away upon a hunt and only got to
the camp that night, we did not see him until next morning. During
that day, the Indians, without an exception, asked for potatoes and of
course they got them. They said we did not need so much potatoes and
they would be a treat for them as they meant to make a big feast that
night and have a dance.

Now as to their statement about the half-breeds coming to take horses
or anything else we did not know whether to believe them or not. Of
course it would never do to pretend to disbelieve them. However, the
shadow of a doubt hung over each of us. We knew that the Indians had a
better knowledge of all that was taking place than we had, and since
they knew so much about the troubles, it looked probable enough that
they should know what movements the half-breeds were to make. And
moreover, they seemed so friendly, so good-spirited and in fact so
free from any appearance of being in bad humor, that it would require
a very incredulous character not to put faith in their word.

But on the other hand it seemed strange, that, if they knew so much
about our danger, they never even hinted it to us until our men first
spoke of it to them. However, be these things as they may, we felt
secure and still something told us that all was not well: often to
others as well as to Campbell's wizard,

  "The sun set of life, gives them mystical lore--
   And coming events cast their shadows before."

Thus we parted on the night of the first of April, and all retired to
bed, to rest, to dream. Little did some amongst us that it was to be
their last sleep, their last rest upon imagine earth, and that before
another sun would set, they would be "sleeping the sleep that knows no
waking"--resting the great eternal rest from which they will not be
disturbed until the trumpet summons the countless millions from the
tomb. Secure as we felt ourselves, we did not dream of the deep
treachery and wicked guile that prompted those men to deceive their
victims. The soldier may lie down calmly to sleep before the day of
battle, but I doubt if we could have reposed in such tranquility if
the vision of the morrow's tragedy had flashed across our dreams. It
is indeed better that we know not the hour, nor the place! And again,
is it not well that we should ever be prepared, so that no matter how
or when the angel of death may strike, we are ready to meet the
inevitable and learn "the great Secret of Life and Death!"

At about half past-four on the morning of the second of April, before
we were out of bed, Johnny Pritchard and Aimasis came to our house and
informed my husband that the horses had been stolen by the half-
breeds. This was the first moment that a real suspicion came upon our
mind. Aimasis protested that he was so sorry. He said that no one,
except himself and men, were to blame. He said dial they danced nearly
all night and when it got on towards morning that all fell asleep, and
that the half-breeds must have been upon the watch, for it was then
that they came and stole the horses. The two then left us and we got
up. About an hour after, Aimises came back and told us not to mind the
horses, as they would go and hunt for them and bring them back.

I since found out, that as the horses were only two miles away in the
woods, they feared that my husband might go and find them himself and
that their trick would be discovered. It is hard to say how far they
intended, at that time, to go on with the bad work they had commenced.

In about half an hour some twenty Indians came to the house, Big Bear
was not with them, nor had they on war-paint, and they asked for our
guns, that is my husband's and Mr. Quinn's. They said they were short
of firearms and that they wished to defend us against the half-breeds.
No matter what our inclinations or misgivings might then be, we could
not however refuse the arms. They seemed quite pleased and went away.
An hour had scarcely elapsed when over thirty Indians painted in the
most fantastic and hedious manner came in. Big Bear also came, but he
wore no war-paint. He placed himself behind my husband's chair. We
were all seated at the table taking our breakfast. The Indians told us
to eat plenty as we would not be hurt. They also ate plenty
themselves--some sitting, others standing, scattered here and there
through the room, devouring as if they had fasted for a month.

Big Bear then remarked to my husband that there would likely be some
shooting done, but for him not to fear, as the Indians considered him
as one of themselves. Before we had our meal finished Big Bear went
out. The others then asked us all to go up to the church with them. We
consequently went, Mr. and Mrs. Gowanlock, Mr. Dill, Mr. Williscraft,
my husband and myself.

When we arrived at the church the mass was nearly over. The Indians,
on entering, made quite a noise, and clatter. They would' not remove
their hats or head-dresses, they Would not shut the door, nor remain
silent, in fact, they did anything they considered provoking and ugly.
The good priest, the ill-fated Father Fafard, turned upon the altar,
and addressed them. He warned them of the danger of excitement and he
also forbade them to do any harm. He told them to go quietly away to
their camps and not disturb the happiness and peace of the community.
They seemed to pay but little attention to what they heard, but
continued the same tumult. Then Father Fafard took off his vestments
and cut short the mass, the last that he was destined ever to say upon
earth; the next sacrifice he would offer was to be his own life. He as
little dreamed as did some of the others that before many hours their
souls would be with God, and that their bodies would find a few days
sepulchre beneath that same church, whose burnt ruins would soon fall
upon their union in the clay.

The Indians told us that we must all go back to our place. We obeyed
and the priests came also. When we reached the house the Indians asked
for beef-cattle. My husband gave them two oxen. Some of the tribe went
out to kill the cattle. After about an hour's delay and talk, the
Indians told us to come to their camp so that we would all be together
and that they could aid us the better against the half-breeds. We
consequently started with them.

Up to this point, I might say, the Indians showed us no ill-will, but
continually harped upon the same chord, that they desired to defend
and to save us from the half-breeds. So far they got everything they
asked for, and even to the last of the cattle, my husband refused
nothing. We felt no dread of death at their hands, yet we knew that
they were excited and we could hot say what they might do if provoked.
We now believed that the story of the half-breeds was to deceive us
and throw us off our guard--and yet we did not suspect that they
meditated the foul deeds that darkened the morning of the second of
April, and that have left it a day unfortunately, but too memorable,
in the annals of Frog Lake history.

When I now look back over the events, I feel that we all took a proper
course, yet the most unfortunate one for those that are gone. We could
have no idea of the murderous intentions on the part of the Indians.
Some people living in our civilized country may remark, that it was
strange we did not notice the peculiar conduct of the Indians. But
those people know nothing either of the Indian character or habits. So
far from their manner seeming strange, or extraordinary, I might say,
that I have seen them dozens of times act more foolishly, ask more
silly questions and want more rediculous things--even appear more
excited. Only for the war-paint and what Big Bear had told us, we
would have had our fears completely lulled by the seemingly open and
friendly manner. I have heard it remarked that it is a wonder we did
not leave before the second of April and go to Fort Pitt; I repeat,
nothing at all appeared to us a sign of alarm, and even if we dreaded
the tragic scenes, my husband would not have gone. His post was at
home; he had no fear that the Indians would hurt him; he had always
treated them well and they often acknowledged it; he was an employee
of the Government and had a trust in hand; he would never have run
away and left the Government horses, cattle, stores, provisions,
goods, &c., to be divided and scattered amongst the bands, he even
said so before the council day. Had he ran away and saved his life, by
the act, I am certain he would be then blamed as a coward and one not
trustworthy nor faithful to his position. I could not well pass over
this part of our sad story without answering some of those comments
made by people, who, neither through experience nor any other means
could form an idea of the situation. It is easy for me to now sit down
and write out, if I choose, what ought to have been done; it is just
as easy for people safe in their own homes, far from the scene, to
talk, comment and tell how they would have acted and what they would
have done. But these people know no more about the situation or the
Indians, than I know about the Hindoos, their mode of life, or their
habits.

Before proceeding any further with my narrative--and I am now about to
approach the grand and awful scene of the tragedy--I will attempt, as
best I can, to describe the Indian war-paint--the costume, the head-
dress and attitudes. I imagined once that all the stories that
American novelists told us about the war-dance,--war-whoops,--war-
paint,--war-hatchet or tomahawk, were but fiction drawn from some too
lively imaginations. But I have seen them in reality, more fearful
than they have ever been described by the pen of novelist or pencil of
painter.

Firstly, the Indians adorn their heads with feathers, about six inches
in length and of every imaginable color. These they buy from the
Hudson Bay Company. Also it is from the Company they procure their
paints. An Indian, of certain bands, would prefer to go without food
than be deprived of the paint. Our Indians never painted, and in fact
Big Bear's band used to laugh at the Chippewans for their quiet
manners and strict observance of their religious duties. In fact these
latter were very good people and often their conduct would put to the
blush white people. They never would eat or even drink a cup of tea
without first saying a grace, and then, if only by a word,--thanking
God for what they received. But those that used the paint managed to
arrange their persons in the most abomonable and ghastly manner. With
the feathers, they mix porcupine quills and knit the whole into their
hair--then daub, their head with a species of white clay that is to be
found in their country. They wear no clothing except what they call
loin-cloth or breach-cloth, and when they, go on the war-path, just as
when they went to attack Fort Pitt, they are completely naked. Their
bodies are painted a bright yellow, over the forehead a deep green,
then streaks of yellow and black, blue and purple upon the eyelids and
nose. The streaks are a deep crimson, dotted with black, blue, or
green. In a word, they have every imaginable color. It is hard to form
an idea of how hedious they appear when the red, blue, green and
white feathers deck the head, the body a deep orange or bright yellow
and the features tatooed in all fantastic forms. No circus clown could
ever equal their ghostly decorations. When one sees, for the first
time, these horrid creatures, wild, savage, mad, whether in that war-
dance or to go on the war-path, it is sufficient to make the blood run
cold, to chill the senses, to unnerve the stoutest arm and strike
terror into the bravest heart.

Such was their appearance, each with a "greenary-yellowy" hue, that
one assumes when under the electric light, when we all started with
them for their camp. We were followed and surrounded by the Indians.
The two priests, Mr. and Mrs. Gowanlock, Mr. Gilchrist, Mr.
Williscraft, Mr. Dill, Mr. Gouin, Mr. Quinn, my husband and myself
formed the party of whites. My husband and I walked ahead. When we had
got about one acre from the house we heard shots, which we thought
were fired in the air. We paid little or no attention to them. I had
my husband by the arm. We were thus linked when old Mr. Williscraft
rushed past, bear-headed. I turned my head to see what was the cause
of his excitement, when I saw Mr. Gowanlock fall. I was about to speak
when I felt my husband's arm drop from mine--and he said, "I am shot
too." Just then the priests rushed up and Father Fafard was saying
something in French, which I could not catch. My husband staggered
over about twenty feet from me and then back again and fell down
beside me. I bent down and raised his head upon my lap. I think over
forty shots must have been fired, but I could not tell what side the
shot came from that hit my husband. I called Father Fafard and he came
over. He knelt down and asked my husband if he could say the
"confiteor." My husband said "yes" and then repeated the prayer from
end to end. As he finished the prayer, the priest said: "my poor
brother, I think you are safe with God," and as the words died upon
his lips he received his death-wound and fell prostrate across my
husband. I did not see who fired the shot. I only saw one shot fired;
I thought it was for myself but it was for my husband and it finished
him. In a couple of minutes an Indian, from the opposite side, ran up,
caught me by the wrist and told me to go with him. I refused, but I
saw another Indian shake his head at me and tell me to go on. He
dragged me by force away. I got one glance-the last-at my poor
husband's body and I was taken off. After we had gone a piece I, tried
to look back-but the Indian gave me a few shakes pretty roughly and
then dragged me through the creek up to my waist in water--then over a
path full of thorns and briars and finally flung me down in his tent.

I will not now stay to describe my feelings or attempt to give in
language, an idea of the million phantoms of dread and terror; memory
seemed but too keen, and only too vividly could I behold the
repetition of the scenes that had just passed before me. I stayed all
day in the tent. I had the hope that some one would buy me off. Yet
the hope was mingled with dispair. I thought if I could see Alec, one
of our own Indians, that he would buy me, but I could not find out
were he was. Towards evening I went to Johnny Pritchard's tent and
asked him to buy me. He said he had been trying all day but could not
succeed, however he expected to strike a bargain before night. He had
only one horse and the Indians wanted two horses for me. As good luck
would have it, he got Nolin--another half-breed--to give the second
horse. It was all they had and yet they willingly parted with that
_all,_ to save me from inhuman treatment, and even worse than a
hundred deaths. There was a slight relief in knowing that I was out of
the power of the painted devil that held me, since my husband's death.
But we were far from safe. Pritchard took me to his own tent, and
placed me with his wife and family. There I felt that if there existed
any chance of an escape at all I would be able to take advantage of
it. I fully trusted to Pritchard's manliness and good character, and I
was not deceived. He not only proved himself a sincere friend and a
brave fellow, but he acted the part of a perfect gentleman,
throughout, and stands, ever since, in my estimation the type of God's
noblest creatures--A TRULY GOOD MAN.

For three weeks I was watched, as a cat would watch a mouse. All night
long the Indians kept prowling about the tent, coming in, going out,
returning; they resembled, at times, a pack of wolves skulking around
their prey, and, at times, they appeared to resemble a herd of demons
as we see them represented in tho most extravagant of frightful
pictures. However, Pritchard spoke to them and their attentions became
less annoying. They may have watched as closely as ever and I think
they did, but they seldom came into my tent and when they did come in,
it was only for a moment. I slept in a sitting position and whenever I
would wake up, in a startled state from some fevered dream, I
invariably saw, at the tent door, a human eye riveted upon me.

Imagine yourself seated in a quiet room at night, and every time you
look at the door, which is slightly ajar, you catch the eye of a man
fixed upon you, and try then to form an idea of my feelings. I heard
that the human eye had power to subdue the most savage beast that
roams the woods; if so, there must be a great power in the organ of
vision; but I know of no object so awe-inspiring to look upon, as the
naked eye concentrated upon your features. Had we but the same
conception of that "all seeing eye," which we are told, continually
watches us, we would doubtlessly be wise and good; for if it inspired
us with a proportionate fear, we would possess what Solomon tells us
in the first step to wisdom--"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of
wisdom."

But I never could describe all the miseries I suffered during those
few weeks. I was two months in captivity; and eight days afterwards we
heard of Major-General Strange's arrival, I managed to escape. The
morning of our escape seemed to have been especially marked out by
providence for us. It was the first and only time the Indians were not
upon the close watch. Up to that day, we used to march from sunrise to
sunset, and all night long the Indians would dance. I cannot conceive
how human beings could march all day, as they did, and then dance the
wild, frantic dances that they kept up all night. Coming on grey dawn
they would tire out and take some repose. Every morning they would
tear down our tent to see if we were in it. But whether attracted by
the arrival of the soldiers--by the news of General Strange's
engagement--or whether they considered we did not meditate flight, I
cannot say--but most certainly they neglected their guard that day.

Some of them came in as usual, but we were making tea, and they went
off. As soon as the coast was clear we left our tea, and all, and we
departed. Maybe they did not know which way we went, or perhaps they
were too much engaged with their own immediate danger to make chase,
but be that as it may, we escaped. It was our last night under the
lynx-eyed watchers. We went about two miles in the woods, and there
hid. So far I had no covering for my head, and but scant raiment for
my body. The season was very cold in April and May, and many a time I
felt numb, chill, and sick, but there was no remedy for it; only "grin
and go through." In the last part of my captivity, I suffered from
exposure to the sun. The squaws took all my hats, and I could not get
anything to cover my head, except a blanket, and I would not dare to
put one on, as I knew not the moment we might fall in with the scouts;
and they might take me for a squaw. My shawl had become ribbons from
tearing through the bush, and towards the end I was not able to get
two rags of it to remain together. There is no possibility of giving
an idea of our sufferings. The physical pains, exposures, dangers,
colds, heats, sleepless nights, long marches, scant food, poor
raiment, &c., would be bad enough,--but we must not loose sight of the
mental anguish, that memory, only two faithful, would inflict upon us,
and the terror that alternate hope and despair would compel us to
undergo. I cannot say which was the worst. But when united, our sad
lives seemed to have passed beneath the darkest cloud that could
possibly hang over them.

When the Indians held their tea-dances or pow-wows in times of peace,
the squaws and children joined in, and it was a very amusing sight to
watch them. We often went three miles to look at a tea-dance, and I
found it as attractive and interesting as a big circus would be to the
children of a civilized place. But I had then no idea of the war-
dance. They differ in every respect. No fire-arms are used at the tea-
dance, and the guns and tomahawks and knives play the principal part
in the war dance. A huge fire throws its yellow, fitful light upon the
grim spectre-like objects that bound, leap, yell and howl, bend and
pass, aim their weapons, and using their tomahawks in a mimic warfare,
a hideous pantomine, around and across the blaze. Their gesticulations
summon up visions of murder, horror, scalps, bleeding and dangling at
their belts, human hearts and heads fixed upon their spears; their
yells resemble at times the long and distant howl of a pack of
famished wolves, when on the track of some hapless deer; and again
their cries, their forms, their actions, their very surroundings could
be compared to nothing else than some infernal scene, wherein the
demons are frantic with hell, inflamed passions. Each one might bear
Milton's description in his "Paradise Lost," of Death:

                      "The other shape--
   If shape it might be called, that shape had none,
   Distinguishable, in member, joint or limb:
        *       *       *       *       *
                         black it stood as night.
   Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as hell,
   And shook a dreadful dart.--"

And the union of all such beings might also be described in the words
of the same author.

  "The chief were those who from the pit of hell,
   Roaming to seek their prey on earth, durst fix
   Their seats; long after, next the seat of God,
   Their altars, by his altar; gods adored
   Among the nations round; and durst abide
   Jehovah thundering out of Sion, throned
   Between the cherubim; yea of 'en placed
   Within his sanctuary itself their shrines,
   Abominations: and with cursed things
   His holy rites and solemn feasts profaned."

The scenes at the little church the morning of the second of April,-
the massacre of God's anointed priests, the desecration of the temple,
the robbery of the sacred vessels and ornaments, the burning of the
edifice-are not those the deeds of beings not human, but infernal? Is
the likeness too vivid or too true? But in the wild banquet of their
triumph, while still holding the sacred vessels, they were checked as
of old was Belshazzer. Those scenes shall never pass, from my memory,
with Freneau I can say

  "And long shall timorous fancy see,
   The painted chief, the pointed spear;
   And reason's self shall bow the knee,
   To shadows and delusions here"

Now that I have passed once more over the trying scenes of the sad and
eventful month of April, I will describe some of the dangers of our
position, how we moved, camped, slept, and cooked. I will come to the
transition from wild adventure to calm security, from the dangers of
the wilderness to the safety of civilization. Once free from the toils
of the Indians and back in the bosom of society, I will have but to
describe our trip home, tell of the kindness received, and close this
short sketch, bid "good-bye" to my kind and patient readers and return
to that quiet life, which God in His mercy has reserved for me.

After our escape, we travelled all day long in the same bush, so that
should the Indians discover us, we would seem to be still with them.
We had nothing to eat but bread and water. We dare not make fire as we
might be detected by the savages and then be subjected to a stricter
_surveillance_, and maybe punished for our wanderings. Thus
speaking of fire makes me think of the signals that the bands had, the
beacons that flared from the heights at stated times and for certain
purposes. Even before the outbreak, I remember of Indians coming to my
husband and telling him that they were going on a hunt, and if such
and such a thing took place, they would at a certain time and in a
certain direction, make a fire. We often watched for the fires and at
the stated time we would perceive the thin column of smoke ascend into
the sky. For twenty and thirty miles around these fires can be seen.
They are made in a very peculiar manner. The Indian digs a hole about
a foot square and in that start the flame. He piles branches or fagots
up in a cone fashion, like a bee-hive, and leaving a small hole in the
top for the smoke to issue forth, he makes a draught space below on
the four sides. If the wind is not strong, that tiny column of blue
smoke will ascend to a height often of fifty or sixty feet. During the
war times they make use of these fires as signals from band to band,
and each fire has a conventional meaning. Like the _phares_ that
flashed the alarm from hill-top to hill-top or the tocsin that sang
from belfry to belfry in the Basse Bretagne, in the days of the rising
of the Vendee, so those beacons would communicate as swiftly the
tidings that one band or tribe had to convey to another. Again,
speaking of the danger of fire-making, I will give an example of what
those Indians did with men of their own tribe.

A few of their men desired to go to Fort Pitt with their families,
while the others objected. The couple of families escaped and reached
the opposite side of a large lake. The Indians did not know which
direction the fugitives had taken until noon the following day, when
they saw their fire for dinner, across the lake. They started, half by
one side and half by the other side of the lake, and came up so as to
surround the fugitives. They took their horses, blankets, provisions,
and camps, and set fire to the prairie on all sides so as to prevent
the unhappy families from going or returning. When they thus treated
their own people, what could white people expect at their hands?

The second day after our escape we travelled through a thicker bush
and the men were kept busy cutting roads for us. We camped four times
to make up for the day before, its fast and tramp. We made a cup of
tea and a bannock each time. The third day we got into the open
prairie, and about ten in the morning we lost our way. We were for
ever three hours in perplexity We feared to advance too much as we
might be getting farther from our proper track. About one o clock the
sun appeared and by means of it we regained our right course. At four
we camped for the night. We found a pretty clump of poplars and there
pitched our tents for a good repose. I had just commenced to make a
bannock for our tea, when Pritchard ran in and told me that the police
were outside and for me to go to them at once. I sincerely believe
that it was at that moment we ran the greatest of all our risks. The
police had taken us for a band of Indians, and were on the point of
shooting at us when I came out and arrested the act When they found
who we were, they came in, placed their guns aside, and gave us some
corned beef and "hard tack," a species of biscuit. These were luxuries
to us, while out tea and bannock were a treat to them. We all had tea
together, and then we went with them to the open prairie, where we
travelled for about two hours Next morning we moved into Fort Pitt. It
was a glad sight to see the three steamboats, and both sailors,
soldiers, and civilians gave me a grand reception.

It was upon Friday morning that we got into Fort Pitt, and we remained
their until Sunday. On Friday night the military band came down two
miles to play for us. It was quite an agreeable change from the
"tom-tom" of the Indians. Next day we went to see the soldiers drill.
If I am not mistaken there were over 500 men there Sunday, we left per
boat, for Battleford, and got in that night. We had a pleasant trip on
the steamer "The Marquis." While at Fort Pitt we had cabins on board
the very elegant vessel "North West." We remained three weeks at
Battleford, expecting to be daily called upon as witnesses in some
cases. We travelled overland from Battleford to Swift Current, and
thence by rail to Regina. At Moose Jaw, half way between Swift Current
and Regina, we were greatly frightened. Such a number of people were
collected to see and greet us, that we imagined it was Riel and his
followers who had come to take us prisoners. Our fears were however,
soon quelled. We remained four days at Regina; thence we came to
Winnipeg. There we remained from Monday evening until Tuesday evening.
Mostly all the people in the city came to see us, and I cannot
commence to enumerate the valuable presents we received from the open-
hearted citizens. We stopped with a Mrs. Bennett; her treatment to us,
was like the care of a fond mother for her lost children.

We left on Thursday evening for Port Arthur, and thence we came by
boat, to Owen Sound. A person not in trouble could not help but enjoy
the glorious trip on the bosom of that immense inland sea. But,
although we were overjoyed to be once more in safety, and drawing
nearer our homes, yet memory was not sleeping, and we had too much to
think off to permit our enjoying the trip as it could be enjoyed. From
Owen Sound we proceeded to Parkdale by train. Parkdale is a lovely
spot just outside of Toronto. I spent the afternoon there, and at nine
o'clock that night left for home. I said good-bye to Mrs. Gowanlock;
after all our sorrows, troubles, dangers, miseries, which we partook
in union, we found it necessary to separate. And although we scarcely
were half a year acquainted, it seemed as if we had been play-mates in
childhood, and companions throughout our whole lives. But, as we could
not, for the present, continue our hand-in-hand journey, we separated
merely physically speaking--for "time has not ages, nor space has not
distance," to sever the recollections of our mutual trials.

I arrived home at 6 o'clock on Monday morning. What were my feelings
as I stepped down from the hack, at that door, where three years
before I stepped up into a carriage, accompanied by my husband! How
different the scene of the bride leaving three years ago, and the
widow returning to-day! Still, on the first occasion there were tears
of regret at parting, and smiles of anticipated pleasure and
happiness--on the second occasion there are tears of memory, and yet
smiles of relief on my escape, and happiness in my safe return.

My story draws to a close "Like a tale that is told," it possesses,
perhaps, no longer any interest for my readers. Yet, before dropping
the veil upon the past, and returning to that life, out of which I had
been forced by adverse circumstances. Before saying good-bye to the
public forever, I feel that I have a few concluding remarks which I
should make, and which I will now offer to my readers as an _adieu_!




CONCLUSION.


St. Thos A. Kempis, in his beautiful "Imitation of Christ," asks: "who
is it that has all which he wishes for? Not I, not you, nor any man
upon earth." Although, we often are disappointed in our expectations
of happiness, and fail to attain all we desire, yet we have much to be
thankful for. I have passed through more than I ever expected I would
be able to bear; and still I feel most grateful, and I would not close
this short sketch, without addressing a few words to those who are
objects of my gratitude.

Firstly, to my readers, I will say that all I have told you, in these
few passages, is the simple truth; nothing added thereto, nothing
taken therefrom. You have toiled through them despite the poverty of
composition and the want of literary style upon them; and now that the
story is told, I thank you for your patience with me, and I trust that
you may have enjoyed a few moments of pleasure at least, while engaged
in reading.

Secondly, let me say a word to my friends of the North-West, and to
those of Canada, I cannot name anyone in particular, as those whose
kindness was great, yet whose names were accidently omitted, would
feel perhaps, that I slighted their favors. Believe me, one and all,
that (in the words of a great orator of the last century), "my memory
shall have mouldered when it ceases to recall your goodness and
kindness, my tongue shall forever be silent, when it ceases to repeat
your expressions of sympathy, and my heart shall have ceased to beat
when it throbs no longer for your happiness."

The troubles of the North-West have proven that there is no land,
however, happy, prosperous or tranquil it may be, that is totally free
from the dangers of internal revolts,--it has likewise proven that our
country possesses the means, the strength, the energy and stamina, to
crush the hydra of disunion or rebellion, no matter where it may
appear. For like the upas tree, if it is permitted to take root and
grow, its proportions would soon become alarming, while its poisonous
influence would pollute the atmosphere with misery, ruin, rapine and
death.

The rebellion is now a thing of the past. It is now a page in Canadian
history. When a few generations shall come and go; our sad story of
the "Frog Lake Massacre," may be totally forgotten, and the actors
therein consigned to oblivion; but, these few papers, should they by
any chance, survive the hand of time, will tell to the children of the
future Canada, what those of your day experienced and suffered; and
when those who are yet to be learn the extent of the troubles
undergone, and the sacrifices made by those of the present, to set
them examples worthy of imitation, and models fit for their practice,
to build up for them a great and solid nation, they may perhaps
reflect with pride upon the history of their country, its struggles,
dangers, tempests and calms. In those days, I trust and pray that
Canada may be the realization of that glowing picture of a grand
nation, drawn by a Canadian poet--

  "The Northern arch, whose grand proportions,
     Spans the sky from sea to sea,
   From Atlantic to Pacific--
     Home of unborn millions free!"

The heartfelt sympathy of the country has been expressed in many
forms, and ever with deep effect, and has twined a garland to drop
upon the graves of those who sleep to-night away in the wilds of the
North-West. Permit me to add one flower to that chaplet. You who are
mothers, and know the value of your dutiful sons, while living, and
have felt the greatness of their loss, when dead; you, who are
sisters, and have known a brother's affection, the recollection of
which draws you at times to his last resting place, to decorate that
home of the dead with a forget-me-not; you, above all, who have
experienced the love and devotion of a husband, and have mourned over
that flower which has forever faded in death--you will not hesitate in
joining with me, as I express, though feebly, my regret, and bring my
sincerest of tributes to place upon the lonely grave by the
Saskatchewan. Its united waters will sing their _requiem_ while I
say with Whittier:

  "Green be the turf above thee,
     Friend of my better days;
   None knew thee but to love thee,
     None named thee but to praise!"

END.




REV. ADELARD FAFARD.


Leon Adelard Fafard, as the name denotes, was a French Canadian, born
at St. Cuthbert, in the County of Berthier, Province of Quebec, on the
8th of June 1850. He was a son of Mr. Charles Fafard, cultivator, St.
Cuthbert, and brother of Dr. Chas. Fafard, Jr., Amherst, Montreal. He
entered the College of the Assumption on September 1st, 1864. From
early years, he was devoted to his religion, and an enthusiastic
student. He entered a monastic life on the 28th of June, 1872, and
took his first vows on the 29th of June, 1873, one year later, and his
perpetual vows on June the 29th, 1874.

In the Catholic Mission No. 839, July 3rd, 1885, Monseignor Grandire,
says, Poor Father Fafard belonged to the Diocese of Montreal; he
entered our congregation in 1872, and received his commission for my
missions in 1875. I ordained him priest on December 8th, 1875, and
sent him successively on missions to the savages under the direction
of an experienced father. He was always distinguished for his zeal and
good tact. For nearly two years he was Superior of a district, and by
superhuman efforts succeeded in making a fine establishment by working
himself, as a hired laborer, in order to diminish the expenses of his
district.

Rev. P. Lebert speaks of him as a pious, humble, subdued, very
obedient, full of good will and courage. He adds that he had talent
and showed a good disposition for preaching; his voice was full and
strong, and his health robust. He was beginning to see the fruits of
his labors, when on the 2nd of April, 1885, he was so fouly murdered
while administering consolation to dying men.




MR. DILL.


Geo. Dill, who was massacred at Frog Lake, was born in the Village of
Preston, in the County of Waterloo, Ont., and was at the time of his
death about 38 years of age. At the age of about 17 years, he joined
his brother, who was then trading for furs at Lake Nipissing, in 1864.
In 1867 his brother left Nipissing, leaving him the business, which he
continued for a few years, when he left that place and located on a
farm on Bauchere Lake in the Upper Ottawa River. In 1872 he went to
Bracebridge, Muskoka, where his brother, Mr. J. W. Dill, the present
member for the Local Legislature, had taken up his residence and was
doing business. After a short time, he set up business as a general
store at Huntsville, where he remained until 1880; he then took a
situation in a hardware store in the Village of Bracebridge. While
living in Huntsville, he was married to Miss Cassleman, of that place.
They had a family of two children, who are now living somewhere in
Eastern Canada. In 1882, at the time of the Manitoba boom, he went to
see that country, and engaged with a Dominion Land Surveyor, retiring
to Bracebridge again in the winter following, remaining till spring
1883, he again went to the North-West, and again engaged with a
Surveyor; his object was to secure a good location and settle down to
farming, but his inclination led him to trading again, and after
speculating until the fall of 1884, he left Battleford for Frog Lake.

He was the only trader in the Frog Lake district, and was well
respected by the community generally.




THE SASKATCHEWAN STREAM.


Mr. Delaney while in Ontario on a visit from the North-West, in the
year 1882, for the purpose of taking back a bride, gave vent to the
following beautiful words:

I long to return to the far distant West,
  Where the sun on the prairies sinks cloudless to rest,
Where the fair moon is brightest and stars twinkling peep;
  And the flowers of the wood soft folded in sleep.

Oh, the West with its glories, I ne'er can forget,
  The fair lands I found there, the friends I there met,
And memory brings back like a fond cherished dream;
  The days I have spent by Saskatchewan stream.

By dark Battle river, in fancy I stray,
  And gaze o'er the blue Eagle Hills far away,
And hark to the bugle notes borne o'er the plain,
  The echoing hills giving back the refrain.

Ah, once more I'll go to my beautiful West,
  Where nature is loveliest, fairest and best:
And lonely and long do the days to me seem,
  Since I wandered away from Saskatchewan stream.

Ontario, home of my boyhood farewell,
  I leave thy dear land in a fairer to dwell,
Though fondly I love thee, I only can rest,
  'Mid the flower strewn prairie I found in the West.

And as by the wide rolling river I stray,
  Till death comes at night like the close of the day,
The moon from the bright starry heavens shall gleam
  On my home by the banks of Saskatchewan stream.







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Two months in the camp of Big Bear
by Theresa Gowanlock and Theresa Delaney

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