For some reason, James decided to omit names, or use people's nicknames in his memoirs. The main people presented in the story are:
Author: James M. Ewens
Mr. L----: Edward M. Loggin (see Pioneers Of Manitoba, paragraph 5)
Marshall: Hugh Marshall Dyer
F.: Frank Pearson
In the spring of 1881, being unable to settle down to a business office life in London, England, I suddenly made up my mind to join the Cape Mounted Police. Having a cousin who had served several years in that service, I wrote and asked his advice, but in the meantime I went up to London and passed the medical examination and got all the information from the authorities that I thought would be useful. Great was my disappointment when my cousin's letter arrived, strongly advising me not to come out to South Africa as the pay was poor, and the chance of advancement very small.
As fate would have it, a few days after, I received a letter from an old friend in Manitoba, who had emigrated two years before, advising me, if I intended going to the Colonies to come out to him, as there seemed to be a good opening for strong, active and willing young men in this new country. I immediately decided to go to Canada as soon as I could get my outfit together. My friend in Manitoba, Mr. L-----, asked me, in case I decided to come, to bring out one of his boys, whom he had left behind, with me. I wrote to his relations telling them the date I was sailing and saying I should be pleased to chaperone the youngster. An old friend from school named Marshall, on hearing of my decision, announced his intention of accompanying me, and a prospective brother-in-law of his also decided to come with us. Thus a little party of four in a few days booked passage on the Maravian and on the 20th of May we sailed out of Liverpool full of hope and courage to try our luck raising wheat on the prairies of Manitoba.
Conditions on board ship in '81 were not the same as to-day, and we felt a little above steerage class so we had taken intermediate tickets. We were somewhat surprised on going down to our berths, to find that they surrounded the dining table in the dining room and we could not use them during the day however unwell we might feel. Fortunately Marshall and I were good sailors, but the two younger lads were very much the reverse, and had to be accommodated with a cabin. In vain during the voyage we tried to get them on deck to get them some fresh air, and at last had to use force and carry them up, but as soon as our backs were turned they crawled back and begged to be allowed to die in peace.
The door of our dining room opened over the hatchway down to the steerage quarters. As there were thirteen hundred Scandinavians crowded down there, numbers of whom were very ill, and most of whom had not come in contact with soap and water for some time, we found it necessary on going to meals, to hold our noses and make a dash for it, and some of our fellow passengers who had not quite found their sea legs preferred to say on deck and go hungry.
In order to break the monotony of the voyage, Marshall offered to teach me some card games, and to make it more interesting proposed half-penny Nap. As I had never played a game of cards in my life, I agreed, expecting to have to pay my footing at the initiation. At the end of the first day's play I was agreeably surprised to find myself the winner of five shillings. I have never been able to make Marshall believe that I was the tyro he had imagined.
After a monotonous voyage of ten days, we sighted Quebec and glad indeed were we to get on to terra firma again and stretch our legs climbing the steep streets of the quaint old city and surveying the Citadel that had helped to make Canadian history in the past. After a long weary train journey round by Chicago, St. Paul and Minneapolis, we arrived in due time at Winnipeg, the capital of our adopted country. June and raining hard, a sea of mud such as we had never before experienced even in England.
The only way to get to and from the station was on loose planks, and woe to the unwary one who overbalanced or was foolish enough to trust the deceitful quagmire. The streets were one vast mudhole. Teams stuck on Main Street was the only excitement, so as we only had one night to stop there, we went in search of a Hotel. We found a stopping house, the proprietor of which generously offered to allow us to sleep on the bar floor for seventy-five cents, but as the said bar was doing a booming business, we had to wait till eleven o'clock before we could spread our blankets on the moist mixture of sawdust and tobacco juice.
In a few minutes our troubles were forgotten and the night seemed short enough when we were roused for breakfast and after a hearty meal of bacon, bread and butter, and coffee, we made our way back to the station to catch the train for Portage-la-Prairie, the end of the track.
We think the roadbed of the C.N.R. now-a-days pretty rough, but the roughest day on the Atlantic was a lullaby beside the ride we got to Portage. However, we survived it and at last found ourselves and trunks dumped on the prairie, with a journey of seventy-five miles ahead of us, without the slightest idea of what point on the compass to steer to and without any means of locomotion except shanks' pony.
However, we knew that Stony Creek was the nearest post office to our destination, but on making enquiries, no one seemed to have ever heard of such a place. We were at our wit's end and were contemplating buying an ox and cart and starting out on our own hook to stake homesteads, when the hotel man came with the welcome news that there was a man in town who knew the place and was willing to take us and our luggage there. We soon located him and found a small wizened Irishman, with small, bright, shifty eyes, but with an unusual amount of blarney. After some bargaining he agreed to take us and our belongings to Stoney Creek for fourteen dollars.
As he was starting in the morning, we passed the rest of the day strolling about the streets and buying provisions for the trip which we were informed, would take us the best part of a week. We visited the city barber who had just stuck out his pole in a little shack and were greatly amused when after cutting F's hair he produced a razor with the intention of shaving his neck, but F., imagining that he was going to have his head shaved, sprang from the chair, making his way toward the door and nothing would induce him to return and have the finishing touches. We thought seventy-five cents rather steep for the job, but did not like to show our ignorance, so paid up and looked pleasant.
The morning broke fine, and with light hearts, we loaded up our boxes on some split rails laid lengthwise on the wagon bunks. A team of very ancient looking oxen was hitched to the wagon by a yoke which caused us some surprise as we had never seen anything in this style of harness before. Climbing on to our boxes with a cheery "So long" to the amused spectators, our teamster cracked his whip and shouting, "Ged up, Buck", we rolled down the street in style, out onto the Great North Trail, fairly launched on the Great Adventure.
Our bright skies and brilliant sunshine did not last long, as a fierce thunder storm broke on us and wetted us to the skin, but our Charioteer, by the name of "Bear", told us that June was the rainy month and that we must expect a shower most days. If that was a shower, then heaven help us when it rained, and to our sorrow we experienced plenty of both of them before we reached our destination.
The shower settled down into a steady downpour through which we trudged doggedly until evening, when we camped for supper, pitched our six-foot tent, turned the oxen loose to feed, and as everything in the way of firewood was drenched, ate our grub without the comfort of something warm to drink, and prepared to pass our first night on the prairie.
Just as we were turning in, another team drove up, and the owner having nothing to shelter him from the downpour, asked for a corner of our tent. As he was half sea's over and rather a hard looking citizen, we were not very enthusiastic, but under such weather conditions one could hardly refuse shelter to a dog, so we let him in.
Six in a six foot tent is on a par with sardines in a tin. We piled in edgewise, and if ones on the outside touched the tent, they were swamped. We had taken the precaution of laying our raincoats on the ground under our blankets, but by morning, as we had not dug a trench, we were almost swimming. Several times during the night Bear had lit a smudge of wet grass as the mosquitoes were terrible, the roof of the tent being black with them, but even the choking smoke was preferable to the tormenting little demons.
In the morning our faces were a sight and our own mothers would hardly have recognized us. These infernal pests seemed to revel in our rich English blood and we envied Bear's immunity from the torment. He tried to cheer us up by saying that next year they would not bother us, but that was a long way ahead to look forward to.
Our acquaintance of the night before left us and struck for his homestead on another trail to the north-west. We were not sorry to lose his company as our grub was barely enough to carry us to the next stopping house and our appetites were unappeasable.
The country we were passing through was flat and uninteresting, soaked with water. The only break in the monotony of the journey was unloading our wagon when we stuck in the mudhole and carrying our boxes to solid land. The oxen seemed to know when a mudhole was bad and invariably broke into a melancholy low as they began wading into the mud. It nearly always meant that we had to unload, although they were very good to pull and never gave in until it was hopeless. It would have been interesting if we had kept count of the number of times we unloaded and loaded before we reached our destination.
The second day we struck a sheet of water. As far as the eye could reach there was no sign of dry land. The Bear informed us that Lake Manitoba had overflowed its bank and inundated the low country to the south of it. The water was from two to three feet deep and after toiling for eight miles we decided to stop and have supper which we ate sitting on our boxes on the wagon.
The poor oxen were nearly played out, but they had to satisfy their hunger by chewing the cud, up to their middles in water. After giving them time to rest, we started off again to try to find a place to camp and grass for the poor beasts. About ten o'clock when it was almost dark we came to some rising ground and glad indeed were we and our team to get to comparatively dry land.
In the morning a fine, bright sun put renewed hope in our hearts and as the grub was about done, Marshall and I took our guns and struck away from the trail to try to bag a duck or two for our dinner. We found nothing larger than a plover and it created much amusement by evading the shots that Marshall aimed at it, flying a few yards then pitching and uttering its ironical call of "pee-whit, pee-whit". It tempted fate too long however, and we returned to the outfit rather crestfallen to find dinner over and all the grub eaten.
That afternoon we came upon the White Mud River, and it did not belie its name. It was running bank high with a liquid resembling good thick pea soup. We were seized with consternation to find the bridge was gone, and only a few timbers left clinging to the bank. Fortunately we espied a punt tied to a post on the opposite bank. How to get it across was the puzzle. As Marshall and I were good swimmers, we tossed to decide who should swim over and bring it across. Marshall lost, so stripping he plunged into the water and soon sculled the clumsy tub up to the stringers of the old bridge which were floating, one end in the water and the other spiked to posts in the bank.
Our great concern was to keep our guns and ammunition dry. So, holding our two guns in each hand, I started to "walk the plank" or rather, square timber about 8 x 8 inches. All went well until I passed the centre of gravity, when as I neared the water's edge, and was congratulating myself on my feat, the timber began to sink and as the inclined plane became more acute, my pace, much against my will, was accelerated and to save myself from a ducking I made a wild leap for the punt. Unfortunately, the old scow had not been built with the idea of upholding athletic stunts and promptly turned turtle. I vainly tried to hold our magazine above water, but the river was deep and I disappeared beneath the vicious flood.
I had not time to see or think what had happened to my companion, but the first thing I heard on coming to the surface was "You bally fool" and found Marshall very much peeved, trying to hold onto the punt and prevent her going down stream. We finally got her right side up and after some maneuvering, ferried the other two lads across.
Bear would not attempt the crossing there, but went about a mile upstream where he said there was a ford with good bottom and he could swim the oxen over. Our boxes were roped on so we were not afraid of losing them, but when Bear rejoined us, we found on opening them that all our things were soaked and a great many spoiled.
That night we camped wet and hungry, but all our supplies consisted of a hunk of bread and one plover. Setting our billy on the fire we sat and watched the poor little bird stew and after what seemed ages, we doled it out; a cup full of soup, a little, - very little bird and a small crust of bread each. I think that was the best soup I ever tasted. Muddy, smokey water flavored with plover, was food for the gods. "Hunger is the best sauce."
Sunday and no breakfast. Bear told us there was a small settlement near, so we took our guns and ranged away from the trail and fortunately as we were getting into more bluffy country with ponds we succeeded in bagging a brace of fine ducks.
On striking back to the trail to catch the outfit, we met a man riding a small Indian pony. He stopped us and began reading us a lecture on Sabbath breaking. We found he was a Methodist preacher who was on his way to hold service at some nearby farmhouse. I am afraid our replies were not in keeping with the Sabbath, or the respect due to the cloth, but an empty stomach does not improve the temper, so we left him to continue his exhortations to the desert air.
Seeing a house in the distance we made for it hoping to be able to buy some bread with the mallards make up for the loss of breakfast with a good dinner. The family, when we arrived, were dressed in their Sunday best and evidently bound for church. On asking if we could buy some bread as we were nearly starving, we were answered, "We don't sell anything on Sunday.". Nothing daunted, we asked if they would give us some, but in this case their religious scruples were more pronounced than ever. We left them with our opinion of their straight-laced religion.
Seeing the roof of another house in the distance we thought we would try our luck again, as there is nothing like hunger to cure one of undue modesty. On entering the yard, we found an old lady carrying a brimming pail of milk and in answer to our inquiry if we could buy some bread, we received an emphatic "No". "But come along into the house boys and get a good drink of milk". Scarcely believing our ears, we followed the old lady into the log house.
Taking a cup from the cupboard she told us to help ourselves. We had thought the soup good, but that drink of warm new milk was the elixir of life. She produced two large, home-baked loaves, and our offering to pay for our refreshment was highly offending. Did we think she would take pay for a wee bite like that, and from two poor green lads from the old sod, withall.
With blessings on her head, we gaily departed in search of the team and hungry teamsters, contrasting in strong terms the difference in the religion of the two neighbors. What a Sunday dinner we had, and strengthened in body and mind we continued our journey.
That afternoon we came to the village of Gladstone, and there we met with a surprise. Bear, after much snivelling told us he could take us no further as he thought Stoney Creek was near Gladstone and his road lay north-west. Enquiries established the fact that Stoney Creek was about forty miles west. Bear, after a lot of wiggling, offered to take us there for an additional fourteen dollars and to that we had to consent.
We thought in the future we had better get a written contract and on presenting it to our charioteer for his signature, were informed that he could not write, but was willing to put his cross if we would sign for him. He added that he did not spell his name the same as the animal but that was all the information he could give. As he wanted the cash down before he started I put my hand into an inside pocket to get my purse, but to my consternation found it was gone. I was not only penniless, but had lost all the youngest boy's funds that had been entrusted to my care.
Luckily the others were able to make up our share and we started out again with a replenished larder. We were informed afterwards by Bear that our friend who had stayed with us the first night had been seen with my knife and probably he had taken the money too. But I often wondered if Bear, with his cunning pig eyes did not know something about it.
That night we camped in a bluff near a settler's house and as the mosquitoes were fierce, after supper we walked across to have a chat, and found a brawny Scotch Canadian who welcomed us cordially and invited us in and introduced us to his mother, a very old lady, who sat beside the stove smoking a cuddy.
They were so pressing that we stayed the night and slept on the floor, glad to get away from the diabolical skeeters. As we had very little tobacco, we presented the old lady with some broken cigars we had in our pockets, and before we left after a good breakfast, she had broken them up fine and was enjoying a real good smoke, as she had been reduced to chewing tobacco when we arrived.
That day we struck a gravel ridge on which the Mounted Police Barracks was stationed and where Arden now stands, and glad we were to get on to sound dry footing after those weary days toiling through the mud.
That afternoon we were a little east of the present site of Neepawa, when a terrific thunderstorm broke over us. Unhitching the oxen we flew to get the tent pitched in the shelter of a bank covered with young poplar, but we were wet to the skin before we got the tent up and ship-shape. A little gully with a small stream was just ahead of us. We had had a pretty good sample of what Manitoba could do as far as rain was concerned, as every day since we had left Portage there had been a good solid downpour. But they were as dew as compared to that torrent. We were forced to sit and watch the dazzling lightening and listen to the almost continuous roll of thunder.
Having nothing dry to light a fire with, we chewed a rasher of raw salt rattlesnake, glad to have something to allay the pangs that do not or ever seem quenched in the new Canadian the first year out.
When the storm ended as suddenly as it had begun, the little trickling stream was a rushing torrent and we had to swim our team through to get to a house on the other bank. We never seemed to be able to gauge our appetites as we were nearly always on short commons. That night we bought enough provisions to take us to the end of our journey.
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