Two months in the camp of Big Bear

T >> Theresa Gowanlock and Theresa Delaney >> Two months in the camp of Big Bear

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CLEOMATI.
20 Alexander St., Toronto.

SHOT DOWN.

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

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

MR. GOWANLOCK.

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

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

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

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

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

MR. GILCHRIST.

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

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

PART II.

PREFACE.

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

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

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

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

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

THERESA DELANEY.

MRS. DELANEY.

CHAPTER I.

MY YOUTH AND EARLY LIFE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER II

MY MARRIAGE LIFE.

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

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

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

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

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