All that night a dust storm raged, succeeded next morning by torrential rain. I went out to get milk and bread for breakfast, buying the latter from the Christian Chinaman, who inquired anxiously for Aylmer, and said, when I wished to pay for my purchase, "Eef it ees for de missionarees you need not pay." Then there was the problem of how to get the invalid to the station, as the shack was by this time surrounded with a sea of black mud which no car could traverse. But Nona found a man with a dray who promised to come if needed. The doctor's train was so late that there was only a quarter of an hour between his arrival and the departure of the return train. But he made a hasty examination, and said that though she was very weak it would be better to take her into Regina. It is so difficult to get nurses or medical attendance out on the prairie.[4]
I dressed her with difficulty, and she lay on the bed while we all combined to lift it bodily on to the dray. But the rain and wind were still so strong that Nona had to kneel beside the bed holding on fast to the rugs, while I held an umbrella over Aylmer's head. It was pathetic to see the people waving good-bye from their houses as she passed, for though they did not guess how ill she was, they knew that she was leaving them, perhaps for ever. Arrived at Regina, we took her to the Grey Nuns' hospital.
I had now only three days in which to complete our preparations if we were to start on the date fixed, which it was necessary to do if we were to fulfil our engagements. I went to see Aylmer as often as I could, and of course drove the caravan up to the hospital for her to see from her window. It grieved me very much (apart from my anxiety about her illness) to think that she could now take no part in this adventure, the idea of which was all her own. Indeed, this was to prove her only glimpse of our van, in the details of which she would have revelled, for before we returned from the prairie she had been ordered to British Columbia and then on to California. I never saw her again.
CHAPTER IX
SANDSTORMS AND SUNDAY SCHOOLS
We had arranged to start on Friday, May 21, and the day dawned beautifully fine. I fetched the caravan round to the parish hall, where our things were stored, and we loaded up. This was no easy task, for unless you did it very carefully you could not get everything in. The packages reached from floor to roof now that we were fully equipped. Whilst we were busily engaged in this task we did not notice that the weather had changed, but presently a great wind arose, and then an ominous darkness blotted out the sun. We knew that that horror of horrors, a fierce dust storm, was raging. It was a veritable blackness that might be felt; and when we went to say good-bye to some Regina friends they begged us not to start. One of them travelled for a firm, and he assured us that no commercial traveller would venture out in such a storm. It was bound to get worse and worse, he said, and he did his best to dissuade us. But I had arranged to get to Buffalo Lake by Sunday, and I had already been obliged to alter the date once owing to the delay in getting the caravan, so I felt that I could not put them off any more. If one delays for difficulties one will never do anything. So we started.
The wind whipped and whistled around the caravan, and blew the earth in great clouds over us, and formed huge drifts on the trail, which made the car skid as on loose sand. It was distressing to remember that this earth was full of newly-sown wheat. It was hard enough to see the way when we started, though Winifred held the map and directed me; but after sunset it was impossible to go on, as the headlights could not penetrate the dense clouds of dust. However, we had gone a good distance, and therefore decided to camp. Meanwhile our late host, at the urgent instigation of his wife, was searching the trail for our mangled remains.
The next morning was fine, and we started early; but quite soon we struck sand, and after the storm of the day before it lay in drifts. I tried to rush through at full speed, but with a tremendous skid the car lurched sideways and stuck fast in a drift. We got out, and tried to jack it up in order to wind rope round a wheel, as I had been told that Parsons' chains are useless in sand. To crown our misery the wind now began to blow hard, and we were almost blinded by the flying sand, which stung our eyes cruelly. In the dust-storm of the previous day we were spared this torture by the wind-screen and side-doors being kept shut. But help was at hand. One after another six men in all stopped their cars and came to our assistance. It was easier for them to get through the sand-drifts than for us because their cars were so much lighter, although a good deal of the caravan was made of a kind of stout beaver-boarding to save weight, but this was counteracted by our camping equipment, etc.
Our helpers pulled us out with great difficulty, and we continued on our way through Moose Jaw. Towards evening we sighted Buffalo Lake church and steered for it, expecting that the vicarage would be near by. But before we reached it, in trying to negotiate a mud hole, we stuck fast once more. A farmer ploughing near came to our aid, and fastened his team to our rope. One of the trials of a mud hole was that when you got out to adjust the rope, etc., your boots became thickly coated with sticky mud, so that you could scarcely work your gear pedal. It was also exceedingly difficult to drive the car close at the heels of restive horses. They hated the noise of the engine, and were all ready to kick; and when the car reached firm ground it rushed forward almost on to the horses, and was only stopped by jamming on the brakes.