Chapter 25.
We left for home on a bright Monday morning early in April. Though forty-three years have passed since then, I still remember how, rising early, I gazed and gazed from my little attic window, feeling as if I could not say goodbye to the fields and woods that had grown so dear to me.
Our journey was uneventful. We spent the first night at a comfortable farm house; the second we were forced to camp in a Mennonite dwelling. The house was dirty and crowded and mother preferred sleeping in the sort of hall which connected the stable with the house. It had four doors, one to the stable, one to the house, one to the outside and the fourth to the chimney. The fire was built in a sort of small room, which slanted gradually up. Then flues connected it with the house, so that in the living room there was a dais through which the heat came and warmed all the house. This dais was a favorite seat for the family. I do not know whether the straw we slept on was damp or whether it was the draughts from the many doors, but mother and I both waked up with heavy colds.
We reached Emerson that night, and hospitable Mrs. Scott’s house. There was a good bridge across the Red River now and no more trouble with ferries and slippery banks. I wish I could describe the crowds of people we met that last day on the prairie. Emigrants were pouring into the country; stalwart farmers with oxen and wagons laden with household goods, ploughs, harrows, etc. The Englishman always declared himself by the tin hath on top of the load. Many had horses, but the roads were terrible, full of what are known as “pitch holes”, like a wash board, and it was very hard on the horses. We heard afterwards that many died on the road. This state of things was caused by the sudden change to warm weather and the quantity of snow, which was so rapidly melting. The ice was already beginning to break in the river, and the water from all the surrounding country, running into it, was raising it perceptibly every hour. The banks, as I have said, were very steep, but by the end of the week the river was overflowing them and the whole town and country was flooded.
Every home in Emerson felt the flood. Whoever could do so retreated upstairs, and those who had no upstairs took refuge with more fortunate neighbors. There was one small hill just outside the town and to this all the cows were driven. The sidewalks were all floating; one person could walk on it but if two people met the walk sank. My friend Mrs. Ireland had her nice new piano hung by ropes to the ceiling. Only one life was lost and that was the young Mr. Macpherson whom I had so often met at Mrs. Scott’s. His brother was taken dangerously ill and he went out during the height of the flood to seek a doctor. He was drowned and the brother died that night.
But all these things happened after we left, as we made no long stay in Emerson but hurried on to Toronto. Alf only waited one day to rest the horses, and as Mr. Harvey was already waiting for them they started at once, crossing the fine new bridge the day before it was washed away by the ice.
Our journey was anything but pleasant. The Red River was in flood and we went for miles through the water which covered the railway tracks, going of course very slowly, and finally stopping altogether at a culvert which had been washed away. It was twelve hours before it was repaired, then all our connections were spoiled. They landed us at a place called West Liberty, where we waited for hours. Then another train took us to Albert Lea and again we waited. There were six or seven very nice middle-aged farmers on the train, who made it their business to take special care of mother and me, or I do not know how we should have got through. Mother used to make coffee for them all each morning.
We reached Chicago on the fourth day, and here the agent insisted that we should go in a second-class smoker, as we had excursion tickets. There was not room for everyone to even sit down, and we had to spend nearly twenty-four hours in this car. In the next seat to us were two very big, tall men, Methodist ministers, I think, and they declared it would make more room if they turned the seat and sat opposite to us, so we four were crowded into this very small space from 3 p.m. to 7 a.m. next morning. One of the men had a bottle of green tea, cold, which he gave us drinks of at intervals, and the other had a big bag of doughnuts, of which we partook. At 7 a.m. we came into Canadian territory, and the fresh guard with many apologies took us at once to the first class car. We reached Toronto about 12 noon and made the best of our way to Lady Robinson’s. As soon as we had had dinner I went to bed and slept the biggest sleep of my life, only waking once to take a biscuit and some milk, until the next morning.
It was very pleasant to see all my old friends again, and in a short time we were once more in our own house, and a week or two later Dora and Sophie returned. My arm was still giving me a great deal of pain and I went with mother to Dr. Hewitt, who had recently begun to practice homeopathy in Toronto. He treated it most successfully, though it was some months before it was perfectly well.
The great event of the summer was Mim’s wedding, which took place in July. It was a very quiet affair, only her girl friends being invited, the only older people being Aunt Biddy (Mrs. Judge Wilson) and my mother, and naturally the parents of the bride and groom. They went to live in Quebec, and poor Jue was very desolate. During the summer I visited Brantford, and Dora and I spent some weeks in Bowmanville with Mrs. Reid.
Meantime we had received exciting letters from Graham. He and Alf had set off together as arranged, to seek a new homestead, but were stopped, I think, at the Saskatchan River, which was flooded. While waiting for the water to go down, they fell in with Major Boulton, who it will be remembered had gone up at the same time I did, with his brother-in-law Mr. Gilly. Poor Mr. Gilly took ill of pneumonia and died not long after they arrived. In the autumn Major Boulton’s wife and four little children, also Mrs. Gilly (her sister), had come up, and they had finally settled on Mrs. Gilly’s homestead in a beautiful part of the country not far from Birtle. Of course the Major was keen to get new settlers, and he soon persuaded Graham to turn aside and come to Russell with him.
The Major had had quite a few adventures during the First Riel Rebellion some years before, and in return for his services had been granted some timber lands 70 miles north of Russell. His idea now was that he and Graham should have a sawmill in partnership, and utilize these lands.
Meantime Graham was delighted with the country and took up his second homestead there. I still expected to join him in the autumn and keep house for both boys during the winter, but my plans were frustrated as plans so often are. I have not mentioned what perhaps interested me more than anything else during my summer at home. To go back a few years, when I was living at Mrs. Cayley’s on Beverley Street, I constantly passed up and down a very poor street called Center Street. I used to go down this street purposely; I was so interested in the poor people who lived there and especially the children. On one or two occasions I gave a tract away, and I used to long to get the children together and talk to them, but I was too much of a coward.
About two months before I returned to the west, one Sunday afternoon, Miss Grace Leslie, who was engaged to a Mr. Harding, came over and told me they were beginning a Sunday School on Center Street that afternoon and would I come and help. Would I? I was only too delighted and I felt it was the answer to many prayers. They had secured a sort of little Mission Hall, most suitable for the purpose. We had no pupils, but we all three went in different directions inviting the children to come. Nineteen followed us back to the hall. We divided them into three classes and our school began. After this it grew and increased, and I was very sorry to have to leave it. The children were very rough and rude, but seemed to like to come. Alice Miller had a class of big boys for a long time, and when the Mission Hall was taken from them, the boys used to walk over to her house.
In September I received a letter from. Graham saying that he would be in the woods all the winter, but suggesting that I should come and live with the Boultons and help with the children, who were now of an age to need teaching. They had a servant, so there would be nothing for me to do in the house. Mrs. Boulton also wrote very kindly, begging me to come and offering the same remuneration I had received before. After considering the question for some time, we decided in family conclave that I should go. Alf wrote that he was passing through Emerson early in October, on his way back to Beaconsfield, and begged me to meet him there, so the long and short of it was I started off once more, on October 3rd, intending to remain with my good friend Mrs. Scott until Graham sent for me.
I knew a good deal better this time what I needed, and my outfit was comfortable and suitable. It included a fur coat made of buffalo calf, down to my feet and very warmly lined, and also a pair of snow shoes, given me by Hugh Cayley. These would not go into any trunk, so I had to carry them in my bundle of rugs. The last day had come and we were sitting in the drawing room trying to “put in that last hour”, always so uncomfortable, before starting, when who should walk in but Mrs. Scott herself. She had come down for a visit and hoped to catch me before I left. She said her house was being cared for by a Mr. and Mrs. Harding, who would be glad to see me. This Mr. Harding was the brother of the one to whom Grace Leslie was engaged. Mrs. Scott advised me to go to the Sparrow’s, who would give me a good welcome. “Do not forget,” she said, “that they have moved.” “But where to?” I inquired. She said I must ask and with that we parted. I never saw her again except once, nearly twenty years afterwards, when I met her in the street in Napanee. She was very old and feeble but had a kindly remembrance of me.