



Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
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TWO MONTHS IN THE CAMP OF BIG BEAR.

The Life and Adventures Of Theresa Gowanlock and Theresa Delaney

By 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  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 <DW72>s 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 he 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
third 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 <DW64> 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 the 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

*** 