THE old cart stood in the dust of an out-house, looking rather like an antiquated old cage. It was made entirely of wood, its large wheels wooden-pinned to the axles, and its thongs of shaganippi, tough as sun-burned hide can be.
Beside the cart, a man stood talking—a stalwart figure, tall, spare and erect, bearing his eighty years with a careless zest. He said: “I had this constructed by the last remaining builder of the Red River carts. In my youth, one like it was an important factor in my life. I have lived and slept in it for days and nights. We used to watch these carts come crawling like snakes over the prairie. They and the ponies were our sole means of transportation of supplies and news. Our world was a vast wilderness, yet it was smaller than the world of to-day. You could address a letter in England to John Jones, Red River Settlement, British North America, and it would find him. It never failed. Imagine addressing John Jones, Winnipeg, now!”
This man, the Honourable Colin Inkster, was President of the old Legislative Assembly of Manitoba, and has been the sheriff of Winnipeg since [page 191] 1876. His grandfather, William Sinclair, was for many years Governor at York Factory, where he died in 1818. William Sinclair was said to be of the family of the Earldom of Orkney.
The Honourable Colin Inkster spoke even more proudly of his father, who had been “merely an agent” of the Hudson’s Bay Company, at £15 a year. He was a stone mason, and built the foundation of his own house, the oldest habitable house in Manitoba.
Sheriff Inkster’s present home is near the site of the battle of Seven Oaks. We walked across a bit [page 192] of original prairie grass to reach the older house, still standing in good repair. It is made of hewed logs. The interior is well planned and roomy. There are thin, wood-panelled ceilings and walls, fireplaces of red brick, and the usual shallow verandah of the day.
The little post office and store closely adjoining it dates also to ’51. To its doors, out of the illimitable prairies surrounding what was then scarcely even a settlement, came the carts, with settlers eager for letters and supplies, and with traders and merchants coming up from St. Paul and other centres, to sell their wares, and to buy skins.
“After all, those were happy days,” said our friend. “This house which I seem to have deserted [page 193] in my old age, for we have given it and the grounds about it to the city, is still home to me. There were many unforgettable occasions within its walls, though I suppose that it, like my Red River cart, is just a curiosity now. Perhaps we have all three had our day!”
The Three Pioneers!
Untracked plains, over which the springless carts came trecking patiently; candle set in these small windows to send their tiny spears of light upon uncharted seas of grass or snow; and this one among the few—how few—who can still remember those extraordinary days! [page 194]
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