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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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.

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