| Notes |
- http://www.mhs.mb.ca/docs/people/cuntz_c.shtml
CHAPTER IManitoba ?79-ers? One afternoon in April, 1879, the train was arriving in St. Boniface from the South, over the railway that Jim Hill, as he was familiarly known in the West, had completed only six months before. Now the engine, that steamed up to the station was no mere machine with a number painted on its side, but it was a throbbing personality bearing the name of ?Sitting Bull?. The train that left this station a few hours earlier in the day and had traveled south, was drawn by the George McKay engine. The train load that ?Sitting Bull? drew in that day consisted for the most part of new settlers from Ontario, who had traveled by the all-rail route, via Chicago and St. Paul. The Canadian Pacific had not yet been built from the East and beyond St. Boniface over all the thousands of miles to the North and West, not one mile of steel had been laid. Nor was there even a bridge over the Red River into the newly incorporated city of Winnipeg. A ferry transported freight, livestock, and passengers. Among the passengers that day were a group of men, the three Findlay brothers, Robert, James, and Charles, John Simpson and Henry Eby. While awaiting their turn to cross in the ferry they saw one of the Red River Steamers from the South draw up to the wharf. It was loaded with settlers and freight. The men stayed in Winnipeg only long enough to purchase necessary equipment, wagons, oxen, etc., and then set out on the trail, known as the Edmonton Trail. The Trail wound in and out seeking the driest and smoothest parts of the prairies. Between the hills, the trail was comparatively narrow with only a few well worn ruts, while on the level plain it widened to great distances. In muddy weather the oxen preferred traveling on grass and thus new ruts were added continually. The Red River carts made entirely of wood and their axles guiltless of grease, squeaked and squealed their way over these trails. North westward over the Portage Plains and Beautiful Plains the travelers continued their course, camping and grazing their oxen by the side of the road. When camp would be made, Henry Eby was the member of the party with the ability to cook the meals. The others always admired the skill with which he could flip and turn bannock and catch it in the frying pan again. After crossing the Little Saskatchewan at Tanner?s Crossing, they continued on the Edmonton Trail till in a few days they came to Shoal Lake, where at the South end of the lake the trail to Fort Pelly and Swan River branched off from the Edmonton Trail. They camped there over night and became acquainted with the North West Mounted Police who had a garrison there. Although this garrison was in Manitoba, it was chosen as Police Headquarters, because it was near the boundary of the North West Territories. It was an advantageous point to intercept any attempt at liquor being smuggled to the Indians. Also being near the much traveled trail was an advantage in other ways. As the newcomers made camp that night, the record, as kept by Mr. Charles Findlay in his diary read: ?May 7 - Arrived at Shoal Lake at the south end. We were very tired and hungry.? According to his diary, the search for suitable land had begun two days previously; due no doubt to the wooded character of the land appealing to them more than did the level plain. Anyone who has seen the picturesque lake with dawn and the rising sun spreading its glory over it will understand how these men felt that morning as they broke camp and hurried on their way in the early hours of that eventful day of May 8, 1879. One will understand too, how eagerly the men spaded up samples of soil along the way and how their eyes wandered over clumps of trees and open spaces that reminded so much of their Ontario homes near the Grand River. That night the diary record: ?May 8 - started off early this morning in pursuit of a home. We traveled up the East side of the lake and crossed Oak River - went up the river, very good land on both sides. Stayed for the night at Wilson?s.? ?May 9 - went due North and saw some good land which I think will be my home.? Thus these pioneers reached the end of the long trail and at the same time the beginning of a life in Edge Hill district near Shoal Lake. Looking over the virgin soil it was truly a beginning of civilized life. No sod had been turned there, no buildings erected, not even a survey of the land made, beyond the south end of the lake, over six miles away. These men chose their quarter sections and then set about to run up a survey line from the last stake at the south end and put up their section stakes. Four days, May 10 to 14, they worked and their work was so well done that when the government survey did their work the following spring they found the previous survey almost accurate. The four days? work gave Mr. Charles Findlay two privileges. It gave him a hill which on sight he greatly desired and which he named Crocus Hill because of the wealth of crocuses growing upon it when he first saw it and it also gave him the privilege, under squatters rights, of owning Section 13, as only even numbered sections were open to homesteaders after the land was surveyed. Busy days followed, logs were felled, houses were raised; all hands working together; potatoes were planted and preparation made for the families who were soon to leave Salem for the West. A trip to Winnipeg to meet the families and return occupied the greater part of two months. One of the experiences on the trail leading from Winnipeg back to their little settlement was when they lost their oxen for nearly three weeks. The mosquitoes had been terrible for days and the camp smudge was a welcome treat to humans and cattle alike but one night the fire or smudge burned out and at daybreak there was no sign of the oxen. To be stranded on the prairie with women and small children, was indeed a predicament. As days passed and still no oxen could be found matters looked very grave indeed. One evening some Indians made their camp near our Edge Hill group and on learning of the situation they offered to search for the stray oxen next morning. It had been a very dry summer and streams and watering places were few and scattered. Besides knowing the location of the water supply, the Indians knew the habits of mosquito driven animals and before night they drove into camp with the stray oxen. After the families arrived and moved into their respective homes, the covers of the prairie schooners were taken off and used for curtain partitions and other uses in the homes, but never again used on the wagons. These people had come to stay. This was now their home. Others who came to the Edge Hill District that year were Walter and Arthur Lawrence, George Thompson, John and Maurice Wilton. These were all bachelors, though some married shortly after. Another resident was Capt. McLean, who with his wife and family came from the Isle of Tiree, Scotland, about the same time that the others came from Ontario. The year before, several families had settled on the homesteads adjoining Edge Hill to the East; they were Jenkins, Eastcotts, Doakes, and English. Preparation was now made by the Edge Hill settlers for their first winter. Game was plentiful that fall, in fact, it was the custom to serve a whole duck on each plate. The provisions that the families had brought with them, added to potatoes, fish, prairie chicken, and flour were sufficient for the winter. The only hardship was the lack of salt. How they craved for it until finally becoming so weak that to do their work was difficult. As soon as the roads were passable Mr. Charles Findlay drove to Gladstone (or as it was called in those day - Palestine) and purchased a supply of salt that had been unprocurable nearer to home. On his return, the neighbours came to Findlay for their salt and so great was their craving for it that they ate it from the sacks. Early in the spring of ?80, two new arrivals came. They were William Brydon and Charles Cuntz. William Brydon had been a miller and Charles Cuntz a cooper in Conestoga, Ontario. These two men located on Section 14, just west of Charles Findlay, but built only one house before returning for their families. Mr. Brydon went to Conestoga, returning with Mrs. Brydon and family, also Mrs. Cuntz and baby. Mr. Cuntz met them in Winnipeg. The fall of ?80 unlike ?79 was very wet. Day after day the rain poured down and penetrated its dampness even under the covers of the prairie schooners. One night they chanced to come to a stopping place and decided to take refuge from the rain. The stopping house seemed well filled when they all got inside, but as the evening advanced more newcomers came in from time to time, until, to relieve the congestion, the women and children were escorted upstairs. At bedtime, floor space was at a premium, but each one managed to roll up somewhere to sleep. The next morning our Edge Hill folks held a conference. It was decided that Mr. Brydon, who owned the only team of horses, should take the women and small children in his wagon. The others were to follow with the freight drawn by the oxen. Also, Snider?s eldest five children traveled their father in the latter group. The prairie schooner with Mr. Brydon in charge, was occupied by Mrs. Brydon, four Brydon children, Mrs. Cuntz and baby Ida, Mrs. John Chambers and two children, and all the provisions that could be packed into corners and crevices. This was the load that drove away from the stopping house on the White Horse Plains, that September morning. One little boy, Charlie Brydon, went away without a cap on his head, but carried a recollection of having slept on the floor beside his father while on the other side was a big dark half-breed. When blankets were rolled up in the morning, Charlie?s cap disappeared. This would, of course, be accidental. Theft among these early settlers was almost unknown. Locks were never used, yet, Indians and Whites alike respected property rights. On September 30, the party came up within sight of the Edge Hill homesteads. Childhood memories, recalled after fifty years, picture the scene as thus; the afternoon sun shining in the back of the wagon canopy, the houses in the distance and sight of Aggie and Jabe Findlay running down the slope of the Crocus Hill to meet the approaching wagon. Memories recalled by the elders of the party were mostly attending to tiny babies and keeping small children happy. Mrs. Cuntz recalls how the children would clamber out of the wagon, run on ahead for a little diversion, and Charlie Brydon would swing along on his little crutch singing ?Over the hills and far away?. Two memories stand out clearly; one, the days of rain, and the other, the happy arrival of the party at the home of Charlie Findlay. The other division of the party patiently drove their oxen through mud, sloughs, and clouds of hungry mosquitoes, and yet made camp at night, laughing and joking and on the whole, thoroughly enjoying the adventure. One morning Henry Chambers found that the fire had done more than merely dry his clothes, as he had intended it should. Locating his clothes on the line placed near the fire the night before, he discovered his trousers burnt off to the knees. Even this disaster had it compensations for during the day everyone had the tonic of a hearty laugh whenever they cast their eyes on Henry and his knee trousers. After three weeks this party too, arrived at their destination. The Cuntz family of three lived with the Brydons that first winter. The log house was well built and a comfortable home. The roof was laid with poles and thatched with prairie grass, the heavy coarse variety that grew in sloughs. The chimney was made of wood, filled with clay and a hole made in which a stove pipe was fitted. Mr. Brydon had been able to secure lumber for floors from the sawmill at ?The Bend?, but the Findlays, the previous year, had been obliged to saw their floor by hand, using a trestle saw. A pit had been dug and a trestle made to hold the logs in place. While one man stood in the pit and other on the ground they sawed the logs into boards which when laid as a floor were excellent - between the cracks. The furniture in the homes was mostly home-made, though a few pieces had been brought from Ontario. Mr. Cuntz was proud of one stool made or, more correctly speaking, found. It was part of a tree trunk which forked into three branches, sawn off it did make a very good three-legged stool. Thus the community began life as one large family. The men helped each other with farm work. The women went here and there as household duties or sickness called them to neighbourly service.CHAPTER II?Neighbours? The Edge Hill contact with the Indians was chiefly the passing contact on the trails. A group of Indians would stop at a settler?s house, partake of whatever food was offered them and after grunting their thanks, they passed on along the trail again. Even during the days of the Rebellion, there were no unfriendly Indians in the District. The nearest reserve was occupied by Sioux Indians, who had no share in the real or pretended grievances of the Plain Crees. One of these Indians ?Sioux Ben? was a very familiar figure in the Edge Hill District. He stood six foot four and a half inches tall in his moccasin feet. When riding on an Indian pony he was accustomed to riding ?lady fashion? as his long legs hung too near the ground if he rode astride. His face was rugged with prominent bones at the jaw and cheek. Adults found him very interesting, but the children invariably sought the shadowy corners when the big Sioux was in the house. They had heard that this great chief had taken part in the 1863 massacre in Minnesota. He had, with many others, migrated soon after, to the safer regions of the Canadian Northwest. The children always tried to get a glimpse of Sioux Ben?s great feet, for even in his moccasins they could see that most of his toes were missing. This had happened one cold winter day when the chief had fallen into a badger hole. Before he could dig out with his hands sufficient frozen earth to release himself, his toes and part of his feet were badly frost bitten. One day a group of Indians, traveling through the settlement on the Rossburn Trail decided that this particular bit of trail was a fitting place to break in a colt. Hitching the colt up in a Red River cart and fastening the broken bits of harness with shaganappy (strips of raw buffalo hide) two of the squaws took their places, squatting in the cart. This preparation was made with much laughter on the part of both squaws and bucks, but when the colt was given its head, it dashed wildly down the trail. Matters looked serious for the squaws - but not so for the bucks, for they stood there on the trail and shouted with laughter. Over these trails the traders went with their wares to the Indian reserves. Robert Scott was a familiar figure in the early days. At the time of the year that the Indians received their treaty money, Mr. Scott?s carts passed along with trader?s supplies. The Indians had been given credit during the year and now at treaty time they paid their debts and then bought again on the following year?s credit. Mr. Scott opened the pioneer store in the town of Shoal Lake and in those early years he extended to all the white settlers the same credit privileges he had given the Indians. In those good old days no one ever paid their store bill till after threshing and even not then if his crop failed. Bob Scott rated with them as the best friend and neighbour of all. Other neighbours of the Edge Hill settlement were the various millers. The mills at The Bend received the Edge Hill grists over a long period of years. ?The Bend? was the district north of Strathclair, and was named because of a bend in the Saskatchewan River. There were two mills there about four miles apart. Before these mills were built the Edge Hill setters traveled farther afield for their flour. During the Fall of ?79 Charlie Findlay bought some wheat from Pappy McMillan and then took it all the way to Palestine (later known as Gladstone) to have it ground into flour. The following year Robert and Charlie Findlay traveled with their grist to Assisippi. The valley of the Bird Trail and the scenery along the Assinaboine and Shell River appealed greatly to these men. Assisippi mill was operated by water power on the Shell River. The wheat was ground in those days between great buhr stones. This method was the cause of much delay in the getting of loads and sometimes men had to stay for many days awaiting their turns. There was a large shed near the mill that was sometimes occupied by as many as twenty teams, mostly oxen, food for both men and teams having been brought with them. The district served by this mill reached beyond Dauphin to the East and Yorkton to the west. To add to the delay of these men who had to be on the trail so long, the miller had to stop his mill periodically and clean the mill stones with a steel pick. When the Findlays took their loads of flour from the mill and continued their way homeward, they took up to small spruce trees and Charlie Findlay transplanted them into the bluff near Crocus Hill at his home. Every man, woman and child of Edge Hill District has a memory of those trees, for in their shade, years late, were laid to rest the earthly remains of Aggie Findlay and her uncle Henry Eby. In the ?nineties? the Birtle mill served the settlers and became the friend and neighbour to a smaller area but to quite as many patrons, as the land was becoming more and more taken up by homesteaders. In the early ?eighties? our Edge Hill pioneers had a few neighbours to the north, but their natural line of communication was southward. It was to the store at the south end of the lake that they went to purchase a few of the necessities of life. It was there too, that the N.W.M. Police Barracks made a centre for the surrounding country. There too was the only contact with the outside world in the form of stage coaches, freight, wagons and what was most important of all, the mail stage arrived every third week. The man who happened to go to the post office during the week in which the mail arrived would take it back to all the neighbours. If the Narrows at the south end could have recorded human events as they happened from day to day, since the first path had been made by buffalo and Indian, the record would have been one of keen interest and with not a few flashes of comedy and tragedy. Long before the white man came, the Narrows had known the passing of many Indian feet in tribal warfare and buffalo hunting. Later when the fur companies had established Trading Posts at Brandon House, Fort Ellice and westward points, this trail knew the passing of loads of furs to these forts. When the Selkirk settlers had come in by the northern passage - The Hudson?s Bay - and settled in the Red River Valley, and other settlers came in by the eastern passage - The Great Lakes - they too joined the Indians in their journey to the great Buffalo Plains. What a picturesque scene! Men and boys loped ahead and abreast, riding bareback on sinewy ponies that were trained to ride after the buffalo and to drive them into a central herd. Behind the ponies creaked the two wheeled carts made without bolt or iron, and Indian squaws with their families squatted in the crib-like structure of the carts. A party of a hundred or more carts would wind on the westward trail. Still more joyfully they returned weeks later with carts piled high with buffalo robes and pemmican. The men killed the animals and the squaws skinned them and dried the meat into pemmican. One day in June, 1862, the Narrows saw a line of ox carts that were driven by neither Indians nor freighters. They were driven by eastern men who were on their way to the gold mines in the Caribou District in what was later known as British Columbia. Since 1858 men had been lured by stories of gold mines and had entered in large numbers from the Western Coast, but now came a band of men from the Eastern Coast with nearly a hundred ox carts, facing the danger of the plains and the greater dangers of the Rocky Mountains. When the N.W.M. Police were organized in 1870, the various detachments of scarlet coated officers of the law passed over this trail westward. A force was stationed here at the Narrows, being near the boundary of the country known at that time as the Northwest Territory. But the Narrows recorded none of these interesting scenes, nor did it record that one day in ?79 it became a part of the homestead of one of the Templeton boys. The three boys homesteaded on adjoining quarters and being unmarried, they were known by everyone as the Templeton boys until their death forty and forty-five years later. At the opposite end of the lake at its northern extremity was situated Mat Thompson?s homestead. To secure it he had resorted to strategy in order to frighten away a rival applicant. With a horse collar around his neck he feigned insanity. The rival departed and the coveted quarter became a homestead. One of the homesteads on the west shore was owned by the Ryan family, Mr. and Mrs. Ryan, Neil, a young man of twenty, and Elizabeth, an attractive girl of eighteen. Being on of the few marriageable young women, she was much sought after by the bachelor neighbours, but she looked with favour upon young Ted Wainwright only, whose homestead was on the eastern shore of the lake directly opposite the Ryans. Ted?s frequent excursions to Ryans were much facilitated by his skill in swimming. Instead of walking five miles around the head of the lake, he swam the three quarters of a mile across, carrying in his mouth a covered pail containing his clothes. The wooded shores afforded the necessary dressing room. One day, to the joy of the young people, Mr. Ryan and a neighbour made a boat. One of the first flat bottomed boats to be rowed on the lake. Neil Ryan and Ted Wainwright smeared it with pitch as they had seen the Indians do with their canoes. The boat moored as often on the east shore as on the west and this gave a very plausible excuse for a code of signals between the lovers. On a point jutting into the lake from the western shore near her home Elizabeth spent many happy moments arranging her signals and it was on this point of land she often awaited Ted?s arrival in the boat. Sunday was always a welcome relief from the weeks of loneliness for the young bachelor homesteaders in the district. If any were found at home on that day they were not alone. It was the day to sally forth and hear ones own voice in more human and cheerful conversation than that that addressed to the oxen during the week. One Sunday afternoon, Walter Lawrence and George Thompson, were visiting Mat Thompson. Although they had the same name, they were not related. From the hill where Mat?s shack stood the young men looked down upon the rippling surface of the lake. As they sat on the hill slope the wind blew over the lake in fitful gusts and a few white caps began to appear. The air became uncomfortably chilly and the three friends went indoors. Suddenly they were aware of somebody shouting, and hurrying out they saw a figure on the road by the lake, who, by his hands being used as a megaphone, shout to them - ?Neil Ryan and Ted Wainwright are drowned?. Rushing down the hill at full speed the same thought flashed through each mind: ?Someone has been drowned, but not those two good swimmers, there is some mistake.? But running down the west shore they came into view of a group of agitated people, busily searching the water with grappling irons. A passer-by had noticed some distance out a capsized boat with someone clinging to it. He immediately rescued him. It was George Greta, who told his rescuer that his two companions, Neil and Ted, had gone down while attempting to swim to shore. A few hours later both bodies were recovered, Ted with one boot drawn off his foot and Neil with one shoe unlaced. Their clothing and heavy shoes had hampered their swimming. In the mind of each member of the sorrowful group was the thought of the stricken girl, who had fled from the scene to her home a few rods away. Two white tombstones on that point of memories on the west shore of the lake record for posterity the first tragedies of the Shoal Lake District.CHAPTER III?Church and School? It is characteristic of pioneer communities that the church and school are established early in its history. In Edge Hill District, Rev. D. Copeland began in 1879 to hold services in the homes once a month. The first one was held in Simpson?s home. Later he went to New York to enter Y.M.C.A. work and Rev. Hodnut took up his itinerary. According to the records of the Manitoba Department of Education, Edge Hill S.D. No.130 was organized in December 1881, and according to the records of the Minute Book of the District: ?A public meeting of the free holders and householders of Edge Hill School District was held by order of the Protestant Section of the Board of Education. At this meeting which was held at the home of Charlie Findlay the usual business was transacted and trustees elected were: Charles Cuntz, James Snider and Wm. Doakes.? Names on the Minute Book revealed the large extent of territory included in the district, this being the only school within many miles. William Doakes, at the eastern boundary of the district, was nine miles from Mat Wells at the western boundary. Before that date, however, there was a school in the Edge Hill District of which no record is kept, other than that recorded in the Book of Life, to the credit of Mrs. Bob Findlay. Having had two years? experience as a teacher in Salem, she gathered the district?s children into her little log house and taught them. In this same log house the children and adults met on Sundays for Sunday School. The first public school teacher, Miss Mckay, began her duties September 1st in a new school, at a salary of $250.00 per annum, which was raised the following year to $300.00. The school was a frame building and was considered quite pretentious in a district where log buildings were the usual order. To the trustees, who had spent their school days on wooden benches and learned their ABC?s off shingles, this school seemed very well equipped indeed. A great box stove stood in the middle of the room and home-made seats formed two rows, one occupied by the girls and the other by the boys. The blackboard was part of the front wall where the boards had been planed a bit and given a coat of black paint. The three windows on the east side and the three on the west had tiny panes of glass and no blinds to moderate the sun?s glare. The children seemed happy. and judging from the volume of screeching sounds arising from their slate pencils, they seemed busy too. At noon and recesses the children played in bluffs and up on Crocus Hill, or waded in the sloughs in summer, playing shinny on them in the winter. No school fence hampered their activities and volumes of interesting experiences could be written. Anyone who had nieces and nephew attending the school were Uncle and Aunt to the entire school population. Thus, Findlays were Uncle Bob and Aunt Jennie, Uncle Jim and Aunt Emma, Uncle Charlie and Aunt Elena. Brydons were Uncle William and Aunt Dinah. But, although Captain McLean had nieces and nephews at school, he was always addressed by them and the others as ?the Captain?. His own children spoke of their parents as Pa and Ma. A few years later there began a gradual change in nomenclature. During the first years the common usage of the Christian name was the natural thing. The early pioneers were like one family and ?Mr.? was scarcely heard, but as contact with others widened, the men fell into the habit of speaking of their neighbours in a more dignified manner, although to each other they remain Bob, Bill, etc., to the end of the chapter. A change was also noted in the children. They began to distinguish between those who were really their Uncle or Aunt and those that they named thus because they heard some other child doing so. Also the more dignified title of Father and Mother surplanted that of Pa and Ma. After Miss McKay had taught a few months in the Edge Hill District school, it burned down one night. With true pioneer spirit, school was then continued in Charlie Findlays? log granary until Jack Simpson erected a new school similar to the other, but with this difference - he obtained a fire insurance policy. After a period of nearly fifty years the building and system stand unchanged. The teachers, however, changed often, for although teachers were in great demand in those days of rapid development, the matrimonial bureau offered more positions than the Educational bureau. Thus, when Miss McKay became the wife of Alex Sutherland, Edge Hill District engaged as teacher, Miss Templeton who lived at the south end with her brothers. One Monday morning while walking to the school from her home she lost her way and coming to the Cuntz?s house, was directed on to the school. She missed the way again and found herself near Captain McLean?s place, where she met Captain McLean. He escorted her to the school and began a romance that ended in Miss Templeton becoming the third wife of Captain McLean; and so Edge Hill advertised in the Free Press for another teacher. Miss Milne accepted the position and added some more pleasant school memories to the children of those days, who narrated them years later. But, Miss Milne accepted a matrimonial position as wife of Richard Evans. Sunday School continued in the Bob Findlays? home until 1887, when he and his family moved to Sudbury. The district?s farewell to them took the form of a Sunday School picnic. Over forty years after this event those who were boys and girls at the time, recalled Mrs. Findlay?s pleasant smiles and kindly attentions to them. Sunday School in that little log house is a cherished memory to all of these men and women today. During some of the following years Edge Hill attended the Shoal Lake Presbyterian Sunday School. Mr. John Brodie was the superintendent. At other times Sunday School and Church Services were held in the Edge Hill School. Among the most faithful helpers was Miss Maggie Findlay. She was always there to lead the singing. There was no musical instrument in the school, but Miss Findlay gathered the children to her home before each Christmas to train them for one of the great events of the Sunday school - the Christmas Tree. The other great event of each year was a picnic in July on Crocus Hill.CHAPTER IV?Prairie Fires? The prairie grass grew high, bore seed, dried down and grew again, unpastured, year after year, except by a few Indian ponies and a few head of cattle belonging to the scatted settlements. The prairie grass swept by alternating clouds and shadow and sunshine, looked like a great billowy ocean. One afternoon, Mrs. Cuntz was attending to her household duties in the little log house while Mr. Cuntz was busy chinking and plastering an addition to his log stable. Little Ida, a tot of nearly three years, was happily playing about, sometimes with her father at the stable and sometimes at the house. The afternoon wore away and Mr. Cuntz came up to the house. ?Where is Ida?? asked her mother. ?Why I thought she was with you? was the reply. ?She has not been with me for over an hour?.A hurried search of the house and yard was made, followed by another and another more frantic ones; and no answer to their many calls. The parents stood by the house that was built on a knoll and they searched carefully every space in all directions, ever widening and widening their circle of vision. ?See? the mother pointed into the distance. ?I see a speck of red. I think it is her dress.? Looking where she pointed, the father said, ?I see nothing.? ?No, I don?t either now, the glimpse of red has just disappeared in the grass.? While the mother stood with her eyes fixed on the spot, tensely anxious not to lose for an instant the location in that sea of grass, the father hurried in the direction she indicated. At last, when more than half a mile away from the house he came to the little girl fast asleep. There were two thankful hearts in that little home that night. One moment later and without that disappearing flash of red dress, who can tell what the outcome would have been. The tall prairie grass had one enemy - the prairie fire. In spring and fall after a continued spell of dry weather, a fire would rage, checked only by some natural barrier, such as stream or lake. Although fire guards were ploughed around buildings and stacks, there was always a period of anxiety if the weather was dry and windy. In Mr. Charlie Findlay?s diary the first fire was recorded thus: October 21, 1879 - a great prairie fire is raging. All the neighbours have come to our place. Very high winds. October 22 - have been fighting fire all day. October 23 - fire has passed by. We are thankful. October 24 - very smoky, fire is east of us. October 25 - we hear of much damage from fire. It is not out yet. One day in the Fall of ?86 a high wind was blowing from the northwest. In every home that day anxious men and women scanned the horizon for sight of possible smoke clouds. A long period of dry weather in combination with this high wind mad a stray spark from smudge or camp fire extremely dangerous over an area of hundreds of miles. On one of her trips of anxious investigation to the door Mrs. Charlie Findlay detected a faint odour of smoke. She walked around the bluff west of the house until she glimpsed the western open prairie, where at the sky line hazy smoke clouds were slowly rising into view. Mr. Findlay came in from the field as anxious as Mrs. Findlay. Owing to two large bluffs it had been difficult to plough an adequate fire guard. Under ordinary circumstances the creek sufficed, but today its shallow grassiness offered no ray of hope. To back fire in the face of that gale was too dangerous to attempt. They watched the clouds of smoke roll up nearer and nearer. Now they could hear the fire?s dreadful roar. They had not been idle while watching the approach of the fire, but every available barrel, pail and kitchen utensil was full of water and grain sacks were soaked in water ready for the coming battle with the flames.With strenuous beating of the wet sacks they checked the fire in the open space between the bluff. The roar and crackle of the flames, the choking volume of smoke and now the intense heat drove the fire fighters back to the bluff. Their hope now was that the green poplars would not prove to be fuel for the flames. Alas, the greedy flames leaped from tree to tree, feeding on leaves and small branches. Water soaked sacks and vessels filled with water were assembled near the house for one last struggle to save their home. While the fire monster roared through the trees the furniture of the house was hastily carried out and deposited on a piece of freshly ploughed breaking near by. The children were told to stay there too, quite out of harm?s way, and then the parents, with no thought of themselves, turned for one more battle with the dread enemy. Keeping close watch that the thatch on the roof was not ignited by the flames in the grass and underbrush, they dashed back and forth from flames to water to dip their sacks, until the last drop was gone. Not giving up, however, they rushed down the slope to a slough near by for a fresh supply. They madly beat out the flames only to see them burst out somewhere else along the line that was creeping closer and closer to the house. Then all of a sudden they felt a breath of fresh air in their faces, and the smoke changed and blew away from them. The wind had changed and now became their ally, bringing victory to Findlays and defeat to the prairie fire. There was one boy who was known by everyone in the settlement. No one ever knew or even inquired his given name for his nickname ?Dodge? suited him so well. His life was a continuous dodging. His step-father when drunk was one person to dodge from, and when the boy would suddenly appear at some home in the settlement he would be kept until such time as his step-father came for him. Poor little Dodge had no Child Welfare Laws to protect him. One afternoon he dodged in unexpectedly to Cuntz?s place. The children in the home always envied Dodge because of his ability to travel about alone and to stay away over night without being homesick. Mr. Cuntz told him he could stay and take on the job of herding cows, but next morning the boy?s bed was empty - he had dodged again. The boys who had experience herding cows looked knowingly at each other and blamed Dodge not at all for dodging that job. The summer of ?96 was hot and dry and much of the marsh, which in ordinary years was covered with water, had been this summer cut for hay. Mr. Brydon and his boys cut and stacked one hundred and fifty loads. Now, in the Fall, when threshing was being done, the stubble fields were as dry as the prairie. They needed only a spark to make a fierce fire that would, again, without warning, sweep all before it.The necessary spark was supplied by a threshing engine near Birtle and western winds again brought the prairie fire swiftly over intervening miles to Cuntz?s farm. He had seen it coming miles away and hurriedly raked off of the fire guards whatever straw, etc., that the wind had blown on. He was reasonably sure of the buildings being safe, but he feared for his grain stacks. In the midst of the battle with the flames Mr. Charlie Findlay galloped up on a horse. He had been riding from Kelloe and noting the direction of the fire, arrived just in time to help Mr. Cuntz save his year?s crop. The two men then hurried down to the marsh, but were unable to check the fierce blaze and Mr. Brydon lost all his hay. Andrew and Charlie Brydon well remember this episode because of the extra work that fell on their young shoulders that winter. When threshing was being done on the Brydon farm a few days before the date of the fire, no straw was stacked. Depending on the large amount of hay for feed, the straw had been bucked; that is, a man and team hauled the straw as it came from the threshing machine an deposited it in bucks or small piles, thus saving the wages of several men to stack the straw. During the winter, even at 40 deg. below zero, it was one of the chores for the boys to dig out of the deep snow those bucks and haul them home for feed. The fire that fall day swept across the marsh, leaving in its wake, blackened wastes. Its course lay towards the south end. Little Dodge happened to be on one of his dodging excursions, and when he noticed the fire in the distance, he, being a lad of the prairie, realized very well its possible danger. He saw the Narrows in the distance and started off at full speed in that direction. The high wind was driving the flames swiftly towards him and he began to fear he would be overtaken before reaching safety. He sped on and from a knoll he saw a slough a few rods to his right. He must try to reach it, so dodging at right angles, he battled through the choking smoke and blinding heat until he felt the water at his feet, and utterly exhausted he threw himself down into the slough, thinking himself safe. Alas, the tall grass, though rooted in water, was dry fuel above upon which the flames leaped on its devastating way, leaving the boy?s body as scorched and blackened as the prairie around him. How long he lay there he could not tell, but finally, crawling and walking, he arrived at a house near the lake. Kind hands ministered to him, but a few hours later Dodge slipped quietly away to a region where no more need he dodge a cruel prairie fire or a more cruel step-father.CHAPTER V?Mechanical Progress? It is a far cry from the old-fashioned cradle and reaper of 1879 to the harvesting combine of 1929, from the Red River carts of fifty years ago to the modern cars and aeroplanes. The crops of ?80 and ?81 were cut with a cradle and the men took great pride in laying a good row that could easily be gathered up and bound by hand. Then Mr. Brydon bought a reaper and Mr. Cuntz a mower and rake. For a year or so, Mr. Brydon cut the crops in the district and the other men followed him and bound the sheaves by hand with stalks of grain. They thus worked as a group until all the grain of the district was cut and stooked. Then, when the stacking was done, they worked in a group doing the threshing. One man tell how he threshed thirty days one fall to pay back to his neighbours the help he received for his own threshing of half a day. The first thresher was a horse-power machine and was operated the first year by one team of horses, one team of mules and five yoke of oxen. The first self-binder was purchased by Mr. Brydon in Brandon and about the same time the horse-power threshing machine gave place to the steam thresher. Not having the modern devices on the threshing separator, the threshing gang consisted of: four pitchers, two band cutters, two feeders, one bagger - to weigh and bag the grain, several men to stack the straw and several men to haul grain away from the machine to the granary. These, with the engineer, fireman and tank man number together about twenty-five or thirty men. Threshing was hard work for the women too, who not only had to feed all these men, but had to provide sleeping accommodation - usually floor space. Even at that, these pioneer women managed to make threshing time pleasant by helping each other, forgetting the drudgery and long hours in pleasant social intercourse. Some of the Edge Hill farmers joined in buying what was termed the ?Syndicate Threshing Machine?. By this time each settler had a larger acreage. Threshing began when the farmers had their grain stacked, fir guards ploughed and all fall work done that could not be left for the young boys to do, and usually ended in the bitter cold of the end of January or beginning of February. Years later, the stories told of sleeping in hay stacks and barns and of suffering in 40 deg. below zero weather and of long hauls in deep snow banks were always told with laughing amusement and never as any narration of hardship. One Fall morning, Mr. Jim Findlay arrived at the threshing machine in a new democrat. Although steam was up and all was in readiness to begin, the men left the machine and gathered to inspect the new vehicle. For sometime the settlers had traveled in comfort in wagons with spring seats which had been a decided improvement over the board laid on the box. Mr. Dyler even owned a gig and Mr. Cuntz a buckboard, but now when Mr. Findlay arrived in a new democrat, the men shook their heads and expressed the opinion that ?Jim was going too fast?. In the early days woven wire or barb wire had not yet been invented and the first fences were made of rails, like Ontario fences. One day Mr. and Mrs. Maurice Wilton stopped at Brydons? door on their way from the south end. They were seated in a Red River cart drawn by an ox. Being early summer there were myriad of mosquitoes that kept the ox switching his tail and stamping restlessly. A pile of logs had been drawn from the bush during the previous winter and lay on the hill slope near the house. The ox, enduring the torturing mosquitoes no longer, took matters in had and started homeward. Straight over those logs he went and over the logs followed the Red River cart and its occupants. Down the hillside and through the bars of the fence went the ox until he reached the peace of his own home smudge. A few years later, barb wire was manufactured. The first wire had barbs made of sharp pieces of zinc. If an animal happened to run against these, they received great gashes in their flesh. Later, the use of wire barbs lessened this danger. When the settlers arrived in ?79, the Canadian Pacific Railway survey for the ocean to ocean railway lay north-westerly, from Winnipeg through the Narrows at Shoal Lake, through the Edge Hill District on to Prince Albert and the Northern passes in the Rockies. This railway survey had been one reason for the settlers of ?79 and ?80 choosing this particular locality. They were, however, disappointed, for the C.P.R. changed their route to the south via Brandon and thus the Shoal Lake District had no railway until the Manitoba and North Western Railway was built in 1886. The building of the railway was such an important event that local history dated ?Before or after the railway came through?. Those who were children at that time related the details of surveyors, construction gangs, and visits of railway officials, etc., but young and old alike recollect clearly the first engine to pass along. Men, women and children congregated that day on Brydon?s Hill and extended hearty welcome to the Manitoba and Northwestern Railway which was built that year as far as Solsgirth. The next year it continued westward, making a detour to Birtle because the municipality gave the railway company a grant of forty thousand dollars. That was a customary proceeding in those days, as the railways were the greatest inducement in bring new settlers to the municipalities. When the railway was built in 1886, the town of Shoal Lake was moved to the north end of the lake where the station was built. During the winter the Marshal house was cut into sections and hauled on sleds over the ice and built on it present sire. In the early days much of the machinery was home-made. Mr. Cuntz, being a cooper, made barrels, cheese presses, and dasher churns. Mr. Simpson, a wagon maker and carpenter, was a great help to the community. Crude home-made vehicles were used at first. Stone boats were common for farm work and some used a cow hide in the barn yard. Sleighs were home-made. Mr. C. Findlay mentions in his diary, his search for sleigh crooks.One day the Findlay families, along with the Simpsons started out to attend a dance at the barracks. It was in December and their vehicle was a stone boat drawn by oxen. A tub turned upside down supplied seats for all. However, the oxen tired and the merry makers returned home. After this event the search for sleigh crooks was more persistent until successful, and a new sleigh was made. Later, manufactured sleighs were purchased and many long trips were made. Trips were made to the mills, to the markets with grain, to the Riding Mountains for wood and logs. When hauling wood from ?the bush? preparation was made the night before. The sleigh was doubled up and hay and oats for the horses tied securely in place. In the small hours of the morning the man tucked the horse blankets about his feet and started off on his long day?s journey, arriving early so as to cut his load and return the same night. Even these arduous tasks were made pleasant by neighbours traveling together. Walter Lawrence and George Thompson went to the bush together. George went to Walter?s the night before in order, not only to get an early start, but to get some sleep. He learned this lesson by experience. He and Walter Lawrence had planned to go to the bush together, each to leave home at four o?clock and meet on the road. George prepared his sleigh for the trip and then fearful lest he should not waken early enough he decided not to go to sleep at all. He passed a couple of hours away. Then feeling drowsy began to make his breakfast. That done, he went out and harnessed his horses. There still lacked an hour of the time to go so, with his coffee and porridge warming on the stove, he sat down on his bed and played his violin. When he wakened shivering with cold, it was nearly noon, the fire was out and his horses standing in the stable with the harness on. After that experience he went over to sleep with Walter Lawrence when he wanted to rise early. Mr. E. Greenshaw of Shoal Lake owned a velocipede that never failed to draw interested spectators when it made its appearance. The first bicycles to appear in the community were owned by Major Newcombe (at that time known as Mr. Newcombe), teacher in Shoal Lake School, and Dr. Brothers. One Saturday, Mr. and Mrs. Cuntz prepared to drive Jock, the horse, to town, hitched up to the old buckboard that shone with a new coat of paint. Two of the smaller children had the privilege of sitting in the back with their bare feet dangling. They rode as far as Brydons and then, before walking home, they turned to proudly watch that buckboard shining in the evening sun. That shining splendour, however, was soon to be dimmed; for while winding in and out around bushes on the trail to Shoal Lake old Jock came suddenly face to face with two strange vehicles which he had never seen before. Up went his front feet and whirling sideways on his hind legs he deposited Mr. and Mrs. Cuntz in the bushes and dragged the buckboard through the scrub until it looked quite a wreck of its former shiny self. Fortunately Mr. and Mrs. Cuntz were uninjured and even the buckboard was only surface damaged. The young cyclists, although in no way to blame for the accident, caught the horse, helped to right matters again and saw the buckboard on its way. The next morning, the two young men cycled out to Cuntz?s farm to satisfy themselves that all was well after the accident. This happened on the first day of Dr. Brothers? life long service in Shoal Lake. In looking backward over a period of fifty years, the sun bathed hill tops are recalled most vividly, but it is in the shadowy valleys of life that souls are knit together. Men and women who lived side by side for fifty years, who toiled and struggled for their homes and families and have stood by in sickness and death, truly know the meaning of ?Friend?. However, in narration of fifty years these men and women recall principally the happy events and remember the humorous rather than the tragic events.THE END
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1855 - 1936 (81 years)