<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</h2></div>
<div class="blockquot inhead short">
<p>Fort Garry under new aspects.—Social Societies.—An Old
Friend.—“Pony” the perverse.</p>
</div>
<p class="in0"><span class="firstword">The</span> long, hot, dusty American summer was
drawing to a close. The sand-fly had had his
time, the black-fly had run his round, the mosquito
had nearly bitten himself to death, and during
that operation had rendered existence unbearable
to several millions of the human race. The quiet
tranquil fall-time had followed the fierce wasting
summer, and all nature seemed to rest and bask
in the mellow radiance of September.</p>
<p>It was late in the month of September, 1872,
when, after a summer of travel in Canada and the
United States, I drew near the banks of the Red
River of the North. Two years had worked many
changes in scene and society; a railroad had
reached the river; a “city” stood on the spot
where, during a former visit, a midnight storm had
burst upon me in the then untenanted prairie.
Three steamboats rolled the muddy tide of the
winding river before their bluff, ill-shapen bows.
Gambling-houses and drinking-saloons, made of
boards and brown paper, crowded the black, mud-soaked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span>
streets. A stage-coach ran north to Fort
Garry 250 miles, and along the track rowdyism
was rampant. Horse-stealing was prevalent, and
in the “city” just alluded to two murderers
walked quietly at large. In fine, the land which
borders the Red River, Minnesota, and Dakota,
had been thoroughly <em>civilized</em>.</p>
<p>But civilization had worked its way even deeper
into the North-west. The place formerly known
as Fort Garry had civilized into the shorter denomination
of “Garry;” the prairie around the Fort
had corner lots which sold for more hundreds of
dollars than they possessed frontage-feet; and
society was divided in opinion as to whether the
sale which called forth these prices was a “bogus”
one or not.</p>
<p>Representative institutions had been established
in the new province of Manitoba, and an election
for members of Parliament had just been concluded.
Of this triumph of modern liberty over
primeval savagery, it is sufficient to say, that the
great principle of freedom of election had been
fully vindicated by a large body of upright
citizens, who, in the freest and most independent
manner, had forcibly possessed themselves of the
poll-books, and then fired a volley from revolvers,
or, in the language of the land, “emptied their
shooting-irons” into another body of equally upright<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span>
citizens, who had the temerity to differ with
them as to the choice of a political representative.</p>
<p>Civilization had also developed itself in other
ways. Several national societies had been founded,
and were doing prosperously. There was a St.
George’s Society and a St. Andrew’s Society,
and, I think, also a St. Patrick’s Society. Indeed
the memory of these saints appears to
be held in considerable reputation in the New
World. According to the prospectus and programme
of these societies, charity appears to
be the vital principle of each association: sick
Scotchmen, emigrating English, and indigent
Irish, were all requested to come forward and
claim relief at the hands of the wealthier sons of
St. Andrew, St. George, and St. Patrick. Charity,
which is said to begin at home, and which, alas!
too frequently ends there also, having thus had
its commencement in the home circle, seemed determined
to observe all home-like institutions;
and the annual dinner was of necessity a very
important item in the transactions of each society.</p>
<p>Amidst all these changes of scene and society
there was one thing still unchanged on the confines
of the Red River. Close to the stream, at the
place known as the Point of Frogs, an old friend
met me with many tokens of recognition. A tried
companion was he through many long days of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span>
wintry travel. There, as fresh and hearty as
when I had parted from him two years before,
stood Cerf-vola, the Esquimaux dog who had
led my train from Cumberland, on the Lower
Saskatchewan, across the ice of the great Lakes.
Of the four dogs he alone remained. Two years is
a long time in the life of any dog, but still a
longer period in that of a hauling-dog; and Cerf-vola’s
comrades of that date, Muskeymote, Cariboo,
and Tigre had gone the way of all earthly
things.</p>
<p>To become the owner of this old friend again,
and of his new companions Spanker and Pony,
was a work of necessity; and I quitted the
Point of Frogs by the steamboat “Selkirk” with
three hauling-dogs in my possession. Strong
and stout as of yore; clean-limbed, long-woolled,
deep-chested; with ears pointed forward and tail
close curled over his broad back, Cerf-vola still
stood the picture of an Esquimaux.</p>
<p>Of the other two dogs, Pony was a half-breed,
and Spanker, sharp, keen, and restless, was like
his leader, a pure Husky; but, unlike the older
dog, his nature was wild and fierce: some malignant
guardian of his youth had despoiled him of
the greater part of his tail, and by doing so had
not a little detracted from his personal appearance.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span></p>
<div id="i_016" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 26em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_016.jpg" width-obs="1615" height-obs="2581" alt="" />
<div class="caption">CERF-VOLA, THE ESQUIMAUX DOG.</div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span></p>
<p>As these three animals will be my constant
companions during many months, through many
long leagues of ice and snow, I have here sketched
their outward semblance with some care. Civilization
and a steamboat appeared to agree but
poorly with my new friends. Spanker, failing in
making his teeth emancipate his own neck, turned
all his attention towards freeing his companion, and
after a deal of toil he succeeded in gnawing
Pony loose. This notable instance of canine
abnegation (in which supporters of the Darwinian
theory will easily recognize the connecting link
between the Algerine captives assisting each other
to freedom, &c., &c., after the manner of the
Middle Ages), resulted in the absconding of the dog
Pony, who took advantage of the momentary
grounding of the steamer to jump on shore and
disappear into the neighbouring forest.</p>
<p>It was a wild, tempestuous night; the storm
swept the waters of the Red River until at length
the steamboat was forced to seek her moorings
against the tree-lined shore. Here was a chance of
recovering the lost dog. Unfortunately the boat
lay on the Dakota side, and the dog was at large
somewhere on the Minnesota shore, while between
the stormy water heaved in inky darkness. How
was the capture to be effected?</p>
<p>As I stood on the lower deck of the steamboat,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span>
pondering how to cross the dark river, a man
paddled a small skiff close to the boat’s side.
“Will you be good enough to put me across the
river?” I asked.</p>
<p>“I’ve no darned time to lose a night like this,”
he answered, “but if you want to cross jump in.”
The lantern which he carried showed the skiff to
be half-filled with water, but the chance was too
good to be lost. I sprang in, and we shot away
over the rough river. Kneeling in the bottom of
the boat I held the lantern aloft, while my gruff
comrade paddled hard. At last we touched the
shore; clambering up the wet, slippery bank, I held
the light amidst the forest; there, not twenty paces
distant, stood Pony.</p>
<p>“Pony, poor fellow, good dog, come, Pony, cess,
cess, poor old boy.” Alas! all the alluring dogisms
by which we usually attract the animal were
now utterly useless, and the more I cried “Here,
here,” the more the wretch went there, there.
Meanwhile my boating friend grew impatient; I
could hear him above the storm shouting and
cursing at me with great volubility: so I made my
way back to the shore, gave him his lantern, and
went back into the forest, while he shot out into
the darkness of the river.</p>
<p>Every now and again I heard the brute Pony
close to me in the brushwood. For some time I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span>
wandered on; suddenly a light glimmered through
the wet trees: approaching the light I found it to
issue from an Indian wigwam, and at my summons
two or three half-clad creatures came out. There
was a dog lost in the woods, would they get lights
and help me to catch him? a dollar would be the
reward. The dollar threw a new light upon the
matter. Burning brands were instantly brought
forth from the wigwam fire, but with little result;
the vagabond Pony, now utterly scared out of
all semblance of dog wit, sought safety in the
deepest recesses of the forest, from whence he
poured forth howls into the night. I returned to
the river, and with the aid of my wigwam
friends regained the steamboat. Half an hour
later the man on watch saw a dark object swimming
around the boat; it was the lost dog. Cerf-vola,
tied in the rain as a lure, had continued
to howl without intermission, and the vagrant
Pony had evidently come to the conclusion
that there were worse places on a wet autumnal
night than the warm deck of the steamboat
“Selkirk.”</p>
<p>In the earliest days of October all phases of
civilization were passed with little regret; and at
the Rat Creek, near the southern shore of Lake
Manitoba, I bid good-bye to society. The party
was a small one—a member of the Imperial Legislature,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span>
well known in Ireland, now <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">en route</i> to get
a glimpse of the great solitudes ere winter had
closed in, his servant, mine own, five horses, and
two carts.</p>
<hr />
<div id="toclink_21" class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />