The following account was written in 1925 by my grandfather, John Graham
Boulton, who homesteaded in Southern Manitoba near Beaconsfield in 1879.
From Beaconsfield to Russell
I have been asked by the authoress of this book to write an account of the
events which led to my leaving my home in Southern Manitoba for a new one,
in the north west of the same province.
Under ordinary circumstances, a request for an account of one's
actions at a period nearly half a century remote, to be exact, it is
forty three years, would be almost unwarrantable; but the events
referred to happened during one of those extraordinary waves of
national hysteria, which have periodically swept over this northern
continent during, and owing to, its rapid and spectacular development.
The 'Winnipeg Boom' of 1882 cannot be forgotten easily by those
who in any way witnessed, or took part in it. For intense and wide
spread excitement, rapid development, and sudden collapse, the history
of western settlement does not find its equal. In 1879 the extension of
the Northern Pacific to Winnipeg, together with the practical assurance
that the Canadian Pacific would throw its band of steel across the new
formed Dominion, resulted in the beginning of a huge immigration to the
Western prairies. So rich was the soil, so easy of cultivation, and so
phenomenal the yields, that it is small wonder the nation should lose
its head in contemplating the prospect. There were two things,
however, that it did not take into consideration, the first was the
almost unlimited supply of land, the second, the possibility of crop
failure.
By l882,the patents on the homesteads of 1879 fell due. Hundreds
of men who had never owned property of any kind, other hundreds who saw
the possibility of a second homestead, with sufficient capital to start
again in comfort, were eager to turn their new made farms into cash. The
extensive advertising of the Government and the Canadian Pacific Ry.,
had turned the attention of Eastern Capitalists and England to the
speculative possibilities of this new El Dorado. Surveyors had been busy
locating future townsites and contemplated railways; there were rumors
of fortunes made in Winnipeg city lots, that today were sold for a
thousand dollars, tomorrow brought five, and the next day ten; the
popular price at the peak of the excitement, was thirty thousand for
ordinary business lots, that is, anticipated business lots. Windows of
real estate offices were forced in by the crowds who wanted to buy;
titles were hardly looked at, whilst lots in swamps and duck ponds, miles
away, were eagerly grabbed up. Every one had money and seemingly spent
it. The saloons were filled to overflowing, and joy was unconfined.
It was about this time, midwinter 1881-2, that the boom
reached us, in Tp. 6. R. 9W. I had made a trip into Holland, for
supplies, when I met Dr. Pennefather, of Holland, who, having just
returned from Winnipeg, was getting options on what homesteads he could
find for sale, at ten dollars an acre. This would give, for the
ordinary homestead and preemption of 320 acres, after deducting one
dollar an acre for the cost of preemption, about three thousand
dollars, which, it must be remembered, had a much higher relative value,
than today.
Three thousand dollars, to young men who had never owned that
many hundred, many of them mere boys, was a fortune seemingly unlimited.
Dr. Pennefather told me privately, that he had been promised eleven
dollars for all that he could secure.
On the strength of this information, and as, at this season,
there was little to do, also being excited by his stories of Winnipeg
fortunes, I promised to meet him in the city a few days later.
Now Winnipeg was less than 150 miles by trail, but the trails
were heavy, much snow having fallen, the stopping places primitive, and
farm teams were not automobiles.
I had already secured 640 acres of choice land, well adapted to
stock raising, and had a good start in young Durham cattle, I had also
sufficient farm buildings, a comfortable log house, and land ready for
spring crops. In fact I had no reason for selling whatever, but I was
young, and excited by the spirit of adventure. I wanted more land, much
more, and more stock. From all accounts, the Beaver Hill country, some
hundreds of miles northwest was a distant field, much to be desired.
William Ffoulkes, the young Englishman who lived with us, agreed
to buy my stock, should I sell, and I started for Winnipeg.
Upon reaching the city, I put up with a Mr. Poyntz, who kept a
restaurant and boarding house. His wife was a very pleasant woman, and
the Beaconsfield crowd liked to stay there. Her son had just patented
the Rotary Snow Plow, which I understand is still in general use.
Meeting Dr. Pennefather at the Queen's hotel, that evening, he
informed me that the best offer he could get was eight dollars per acre;
having an idea that he was looking for a larger profit, I refused to
accept his offer, though later, I found out that he was not even making
a commission, prices having dropped owing to the large offerings.
Early next morning I was on the street, when who should I run
into but Charley Heath, whom I had last met in Toronto, the preceding
winter. He told me that he was acting as agent for Boyle Bros., two
young Irishmen who had come out, hoping to secure a slice of the
general prosperity. The Mr. Boyle to whom I was introduced, told me
that only the evening before, Mr. Pentland, from Holland, had offered
him a quantity of land in our neighborhood at ten dollars, but that not
knowing the quality of the land, he had refused to buy, and that
Pentland had started for home. He told me that if I could reach
Pentland, and secure the land before the options expired, he would buy
all that I could recommend. When I had recommended practically all the
land Pentland had listed, he seemed dubious as to my reliability, and I
had to explain that these homesteads had been the first selected out
of a virgin country, and naturally the best had been picked. Having
satisfied himself as to the value of the land, he gave me a note to
Pentland agreeing to take what I had recommended at ten dollars per
acre, and to pay me a small commission for my trouble, but he suggested
that I should look for a more substantial remuneration from Pentland.
Having made up my mind to a change, I still wished to sell my
section but felt reticent about offering it to Boyle on my own
recommendation, especially as he had not seemed too anxious to take the
whole of Pentland's, so I said nothing to him, thinking I could easily
sell it elsewhere. As it turned out, however, that was the highest
price paid, and before Pentland returned to Winnipeg, only his signed
offer held Boyle to his price.
I had now a race against time and weather, and both were against
me. The options were nearly expired, and an unusually heavy snow fall
was being complemented by signs of another storm. I drove all that
afternoon having spent only one night in the city. The snow held off
the next day and I made good time, expecting to reach home the third
day. With the morning, however, came snow, which grew so deep that to
travel faster than a walk was impossible. Realizing that with the
packing of the snow, the trails would be impassable for horses, I kept
moving and reached home late at night. The next morning, as I expected,
the only mode of locomotion was the snowshoe, and I lost no time getting
to see Pentland.
Having made satisfactory arrangements, which, by the way, gave
me a most unsatisfactory time in the final settlement, I saw Pentland
on his way, and returned home, having made one of the best sales, of
that class of land, made during the boom but having failed to sell my
own.
The question now arose, whether to quietly stay and continue my
present life or, once more go forth into the wilderness. I decided to
go, the fever had got into my blood and it was my destiny to go.
Since it was not possible to travel until the grass was green,
about the first of June, I had plenty of time to make arrangements. I
took out a set of logs for an additional stable, cut a supply of
firewood, and with the spring thaw, got in a field of oats and another
of wheat. Arranging with Ffoulkes to rent the place and buy the horses
and implements, I sold my yearling heifers and other stock, and bought
two yoke of oxen, one to draw a red river cart and the other an ordinary
wagon. I also persuaded a neighbor by name of Woods, a young man of
exceptional character and ability, to hire with me for the summer. My
sister having returned to Ontario, I set forth to find what fortune
might offer.
We traveled slowly, going north across the Tiger Hills, turning
west before reaching the Assiniboine, which we followed to its junction
with the Souris River. Generally speaking, the Souris was but a small
stream, but when we reached it, the water was raging in a furious
torrent. A small grist mill recently established, had been flooded out,
hundreds of sacks of flour being carried into the river, where they sank
to the bottom. The owner offered all that could be salvaged for fifty
cents a sack, and a few days later practically all of it was fished up
with only a coating of hardened paste on the outside, much to the
surprise of the miller and delight of the rescuers.
Being now stopped by unfordable rivers on the north and west,
we pitched our camp, hobbled our oxen and waited the good pleasure of
the flood. I traded one yoke of oxen with a homesteader near-by, and
incidentally won five dollars from him by walking a mile in five
minutes. I had plenty of practise in walking those days. I also traded
a pony that we had brought with us, for a long legged Canadian saddle
horse, pretty thin from lack of oats. It was a good trade, in actual
value, but the tough Indian pony was of more service to the homeseeker
than the unacclimatized horse which probably would have died with its
original owner. A few days later, I traded the horse for a four year
old black pony, one of the best I ever owned, and a cart mare, which
later on I sold.
Since the water showed little signs of subsiding, I left Woods
with the outfit, and walked to Portage la Prairie, where I took the
train for Winnipeg. Now, when the train neared Winnipeg, which is at
the forks of the Red and Assiniboine, I found the water altogether out
of bounds. The whole country was flooded for miles, houses, stables,
haystacks and trees were floating over an immense lake. The river
steamers were taking short cuts over wheat fields and Winnipeg was -
Ah, poor Winnipeg, the boom had come to an end. The streets were
covered with water, the boardwalks were floating; in some cases boats
were taking people from second story windows. The Mayor was doing his
best, giving advice and instructions from a boat, when I happened to see
him plunge headlong into the water. He was speedily fished out, but
seemed very wet.
Back from the river where the ground was higher, people
congregated but I saw no buying and selling of lots, and a great many
foundations of prospective buildings remained for years without a
change. The boom like all booms was bound to collapse, but the Winnipeg
flood, caused by unusually heavy snows, warm rains, and finally an
enormous ice jam, brought it suddenly to an untimely and direful ending.
A few lucky ones, as usual, had made fortunes, but great sums were lost
and much money was squandered. A few months before I had witnessed men
quarreling for the privilege of paying for amusements, now there were
many quarreling with the hotelkeeper as to board bills.
Amongst the crowd was Arthur L-- from Swan Lake, a young
Englishman, one of that class commonly known as remittance men. He, with
a companion, had spent the winter in Winnipeg, where, like two prodigals,
they had wasted their substance. The ordinary means of persuasion
having failed to extract any additional sums from home, L-- had
suggested that his companion write to his family informing them that
L-- was suffering from lack of proper nourishment; this ruse had the
desired effect, and sufficient for present nourishment had been duly
forwarded. Having consumed the nourishment, in desperation they finally
decided that L-- should die and his companion write for funeral expenses.
To me, this seemed not only heartless, but a foolish trick, since all
later remittances must be jeopardized. The requested funeral expenses
had been sent, though the accompanying letter did not express the sorrow
that might have been expected from an unsophisticated parent; and later,
to a repentant and apologetic epistle, a brief reply stated that he,
being dead and buried, must not expect any recognition before the
resurrection day. L-- was even then setting out to work for a
neighboring farmer.
Many amusing incidents were told concerning the remittance men:
I remember accompanying a neighbor, Wm. Christie, on a trip from
Emerson, he was bringing out a young Englishman as pupil; his team was
light and his load heavy, not a small part of which consisted of R--'s
baggage.. The trails were at their worst, mud hole succeeding mud hole
and the mosquitoes were terrible. Christie and I were covered with mud
and soaked with sweat, in our repeated efforts to pry the wagon from the
sloughs. R-- sat on the load amusedly watching us, making occasional
comments and humming to himself, presently, however, just as our
patience was exhausted, the team bogged down, and no recourse but to
unload and carry out our stuff, R--, nervously rubbing his face, said,
"I say Christie, I do believe I have a boil coming on my nose". Christie's
actions and remarks may not be written here, but I have never seen an
angrier man. The same young man was helping me bring home a cart he had
borrowed, not having a pony handy, we were pulling it by hand, or
rather, he was supposed to be pushing; presently, thinking the cart
was excessively heavy I turned, and found R-- contentedly riding on the
back.
But they brought good blood into the Province, did these young
Englishmen, and their descendants have made the most desirable citizens.
Before I had been in Winnipeg many hours, an acquaintance told
me that my cousin, Major Boulton, who had been active in the first Riel
rebellion, was in town, and shortly afterwards I met him at one of the
clubs; I remember that he had on a red smoking cap at the time, and made
himself very agreeable. After some conversation he urged me to visit him
in Russell, explaining that the Beaver Hills were as easily reached that
way as by Qu'Appelle, the route we had chosen. To this I agreed; in such
slight ways are our lives influenced. If I had not met Pennefather in
Holland, if I had not met the Major in Winnipeg, if it had not been for
the spring floods, my whole life would have been changed. I would
probably never have met one who has uncomplainingly shared with me the
cares and vicissitudes of a long and eventful life. May we not believe
that the above trivial events were for the express purpose of bringing
us together?
Leaving Major Boulton in Winnipeg, I took the train west and
found everything in good shape, the flood had subsided, the river was
fordable and Woods was anxiously waiting my return. The grass was now
good and the cattle in fine shape, so we made good time, crossed the
Assiniboine at Fort Ellice and reached Russell only a day or so behind
the Major.
Russell was the Major's townsite; he had come to Manitoba a year
later than I and had settled on the proposed line of the C.P.R. Since
the main line had been deflected farther south, he, with some others was
making every effort to have a branch line built on the original survey.
This was accomplished two years later.
At this time Russell consisted of two stores, one owned by
Denmark and Brown, the other by the H. B. Co. and operated by J. C.
Audy, who had an adjoining homestead where he lived with his wife and
three children. The schoolmaster, Mr. Butcher, had built a log house and
lived there with his family; a blacksmith had also set up his forge,
Edward Field had, I think, a stopping place, though it was not long
before Alfred Clee built an hotel; Harry Du Pre', an Oxford man, who, I
believe is now in California with a daughter, was a neighbor and one of
the most congenial men it has been my luck to meet. A family of
Whitfords lived with or near the Fields and John McIvor had taken up an
adjoining homestead, which later he abandoned and I took up for a second
homestead. The Major and his family lived with his sister in law, Mrs.
Gilly, a lady of great amiability and intelligence. Her homestead
adjoined the townsite. Shortly before my coming to Russell another
cousin, Willie Heath, with his friend, Sidney Fisher, had joined the
Major. This so far as my memory serves, comprised the town of Russell
when I first made its acquaintance. It was pleasantly situated. The
Riding Mts., in the municipality of Boulton, lay to the north and
furnished wood and logs to the settlers. The Assiniboine was not far
away on the west and the Silver Creek settlement, a fine farming
district, extended to the Birdtail Creek on the east. Small groves of
trees were scattered over the surrounding country, giving a parklike
appearance to the neighborhood, and a number of small lakes, since
drained, furnished nesting ground for numbers of wild ducks. Fort
Ellice was the nearest H.B.C. post to the south, and Fort Pelly, near
the Swan River was ninety miles to the north.
I received a cordial welcome from Mrs.Gilly and Mrs. Boulton,
and decided to remain a few days and look around.
Prior to the time when Major Boulton had located at Russell an
order in council had been passed by the Dominion Govt. locating the main
line of the C.P.R. on a survey running through the village and crossing
the Assiniboine some ten miles to the north west near the junction of
that river with the Shell. The odd section of land had been reserved
for a land grant to that railroad, and upon deflection to the south this
land had been held for a grant to a branch line to run on this original
survey, He, now, advised me to settle on one of these odd sections,
with the intention of claiming squatter's rights, when the road was
finally decided upon. I accordingly pitched my camp on one of the
finest sections that I had yet passed through, and commenced breaking
land with both teams.
This practically completes the story that I have been asked to
write, a story of the circumstances which led to my leaving Beaconsfield
and making my abode in Russell.
Some reference, moreover, is due to the sister, who leaving the
comforts of eastern civilization, undertook to make my pioneer life a
home, rather than a primitive existence. Her life was then, as it has
been since, devoted to helping others, her pleasure was to see others
pleased , and there must be still many of the younger members of that
early colony who remember her with esteem and gratitude.
Once I had definitely made up my mind to settle in Russell she
agreed to return to Manitoba and reside with the Major's family until
such time as I set up housekeeping. Circumstances arose from time to
time to prevent this, and she returned to Toronto long before I settled
down to domestic life. Before leaving Beaconsfield my mother had spent
a winter with us, and with Wm. Ffoulkes, of whom I have already spoken,
we formed a happy party. Later on she again visited Manitoba and kept
house for me until my marriage in 1888, my sister having been married
previously to Mr. Willis of Toronto.
Looking backward to this period of my life, a few persons and
circumstances impress themselves so indelibly upon my memory that it
will be a certain satisfaction to myself to write them down, leaving the
option of publication with the authoress.
I have already mentioned the village blacksmith, his name I can
not remember, but he turned out a notorious thief. One day I was looking
out of an upstairs window, over the store, when I noticed a customer
bring out a parcel and put it on the seat of his buggy, a minute later
the blacksmith came by, saw the parcel, slipped it under the store porch
and went away. I immediately ran down, secured the parcel and put it
back under the buggy cushion. In a few moments the customer drove away,
the blacksmith came back, felt under the porch, stooped down and
examined carefully and not finding it he began pouring out a torrent of
abuse against the whole community, declaring that he had never lived in
such a rascally neighborhood of thieves. Why, he said, a man cannot lay
a parcel down for a moment without someone stealing it. Later he stole
a goose from Mrs. Gilly, who had just prepared it for Sunday dinner.
He eventually found it best to leave the settlement. To me it
appeared as a glimpse at some hidden page of destiny.
George Smellie was early established as manager of a Scottish
land company. They owned most of the land due south of Russell, and kept
a large herd of pure bred shorthorns. L. A. Struthers was manager for
the Barnardo Home for Young Men, and was a welcome addition to the
colony. Mitchell and Bucknall were also prominent in the early days,
and gave employment to a great many needy settlers, in their lumbering
operations. Joe Henderson was a well known character, full of humor and
hard work. His death was one of the first, if not the first, in the
village. Peter McRostie, Peter Hyde, David Dunn, the Rae Bros. and
Keatings were amongst those who bore the hardships and secured the
welfare of this new land.
In the Riding Mts. to the north there were a good many Indians,
they were still practically free from white influence,and I became well
acquainted with several, later on when lumbering. The chief,
Ka-Ka-Kwas or Soaring-Hawk, was a man of unusual intelligence, and
through him I had considerable insight into Indian character and mental
attitude. I found them all to be more or less influenced by what the
white man calls religious fervor. They all had a strong sense of
supernatural interference. The more serious would always pray to the Great
Spirit, or Manitou, for success in hunting but unlike too many whites, they
never forgot to acknowledge and give thanks for success. Into a
thick cluster of spruce they would bring the nose of a bear or bits of
ribbon, a spoonful of flour or small piece of print. These, as I
understood, were merely acknowledgments to God, that they recognized
his special interference in their behalf. Upon a stump, hidden by the
trees, they kept a short stick, sometimes rudely carved, sometimes
merely smoothed. This stick they called Metick, or Wood, and as
Ka-Ka-Kwas explained to me, it was a symbol of God. The greatest and
best gift from The Creator, was wood, he informed me. It was with wood
they built their winter cabins, made their fires, made their sleds; in
the woods they trapped, and hunted, and found shelter from the storms.
In fact, without wood they would all perish. Therefore, he explained,
wood was the most fitting representation of The Good Spirit. He
particularly emphasized the point that this piece of wood was no better
or different from any other stick, but that it represented wood, the
best gift of God, and therefore chosen to represent God.
Later, the Episcopal Church sent a missionary to them, who
assisted them to build a small log church, surmounted by a cross, and
with a cross on the altar. The same trees, in the shelter of which they
had laid their thank offerings and said their prayers, were used in
the construction of the new church and of the crosses.
"Now", said my friend, Ka-Ka-Kwas - I do not use his broken
speech but there was no question of his distinct meaning, "How is it
that the Metick of the Indian is so bad, so terribly wicked, a bad
idol, when there is only one piece, but when I put two pieces together
it becomes very good. How is it that it is so bad to represent The Great
Manitou with one stick, but so good to represent him with two sticks."
The White Man, he explained, was very uncertain and very funny. He often
seemed puzzled over the various groups of Christians: The H.B.C
(Hudson's Bay Company), The Mounted Police, The Trader, The Govt.
Officials and the various missionaries.
I had some considerable assistance in these discussions
from Mrs. John Norquay, a native and cousin to Hon. John Norquay, one
time premier of Manitoba.
Link to Russell, Manitoba web site
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