But our chief excitement during the week was the arrival of the mail. Our first thought every Thursday morning was, "This is mail-day," and Joe's white canoe was eagerly watched for—often in vain, as storms on the Lake of the Woods, when the canoes could not venture out, delayed its coming until Friday.
Strange as it seems, very few Indians can swim, probably from their fear that they shall drown while learning. They believe that, if drowned, their spirits wander for ever in a vain search for the happy hunting-grounds, and no Indian will marry the daughter of one who has met his death in that way, lest the curse should descend to him. Yet they have such faith in their canoes and their own skill in their management of them, that they will go out fearlessly in storms that a white man would never face.
On mail-day our field-glasses were in constant requisition, and whoever was lucky enough to announce the appearance of Joe felt the hero of the hour. There were other canoes as white as Joe's, so after several disappointments I studied the trimming on his hat, and never made a mistake afterwards. Joe was such an important person that I must describe him. He was a short, slight, though broad-shouldered Indian, wearing a grey flannel shirt, striped cloth trousers, alpaca coat, prunella boots, and black felt hat, with several folds of pink and white net twisted round it. He always had a broad grin on his face, and a hearty "Bon jour, nitchee," for every one. The dress of his companion or partner differed from Joe's only in the absence of boots and hat, and wearing the hair braided in two long tails, instead of being cut short.
How we appreciated our letters no one who has not been in the woods, with a mail only once a week, can understand. I remember one day after our mail had arrived, a lad coming in from the shanty to ask if there was anything for him. His sad face, as he turned away on being told that our mail-carrier was no longer allowed to bring mails for the contractors' men, haunted me for days. Poor home-sick boy! he had not heard from his people for months. I often thought of him afterwards, when, the contractor having made arrangements for a mail-carrier independent of the Government, I saw the huge bag brought in every week, and watched the eager crowd of faces waiting for its contents to be distributed.
We had another source of entertainment in the telegraphic communication between Winnipeg and all the houses on the line, one of the staff in the office good-naturedly keeping us posted in current events. Talking to others along the wire always had a strange significance to me, like having an invisible guest talking to us, who could only hear what we chose to repeat. When anything amusing was said, one involuntarily listened for the invisible laughter. This telegraphic conversation was a nuisance in one way, for often in the middle of dinner Mr. C—— would exclaim, "There's D—— calling!" and away he would go, and probably not come back till dinner was cold, the cook cross, and the confusion general.
We were not without visitors, for the doctor, contractors, and engineers were coming and going continually. About the middle of July, 1878, the contractors' head-quarters at Darlington Bay being finished, and more work going on at that end of the line, his officials moved there, and we were left with only a gang of forty men in a shanty near. Our fat cook also went to Bear Lake, about a mile west of the house, which by that time had received the name of Inver Lodge.
One day towards the end of August a rumour reached us that the woods were on fire on the other side of the west hill, and that the flames were travelling towards us. I put on my hat and went up to see if the report were true, and found flames curling along over the moss and underbrush near a sand embankment where two or three men were working. The fire did not look very formidable to me, and on asking the men if there was any danger of its reaching the house, one put down his barrow, and while he slowly wetted the palms of his hands, and rubbed them together, said, "Na fear, me leddie; a barrowfu' o' sand noo an' then wul keep it fra' gangin' any further." So I went back reassured. But as night came on, the blaze increased so much that it became alarming. Mr. C—— and the men were away at Kuwatin, some fifteen miles from us, and could not be back before daylight. A kindly old Irishman, Michael Cahill, who for a drink of butter-milk came in the evenings to work in the garden, offered his services to sit up and watch the fire.
"Not that he thought there was a ha'porth of danger, but, Lord bless them! the misthress and the childre 'ud be frightened." Poor old man! he had a true Irish heart, with an air of better days long vanished, and a deep loyalty to "thim of the ould stock;" and his boasts of grandeur and valiant deeds were mingled with childlike credulity.
The fire was at its height about midnight, and had reached a large tree in a line with our house, when the wind from the lake caught and drove it back. The underbrush soon burnt out, but the trees were like pillars of flame, crackling and roaring in the silent night, till they fell with a crash to the ground. Half roused by the noise, old Cahill would mutter something about keeping watch until the master came home. The old fellow had wrapped himself in his great-coat, and was sitting on a chair in the yard sound asleep. Fearing that he might catch cold, I woke him. But he treated the insinuation that he had slept a wink with such indignant contempt that I had to leave him to take his chance. The fire burnt itself out before daylight, and we felt as if we had made more fuss than was necessary, when Mr. C—— and the men arrived after four hours' hard paddling. About Ingolf the fires raged so fiercely that the engineers there moved all their valuable instruments and papers into the canoes, and left the shanty to its fate; a change in the wind, however, saved it, driving the flames back when the walls were scorching.