A Trip to Manitoba | Page 9

faces, where the colour had been uniform before.
We were on the Prairie--the great rolling prairie, at last; and I was disappointed--nothing but grass and sky, desolate and lonely. These, however, were my first impressions. How fond I grew of the prairie I know now that I am away from it; perhaps for ever. Towards night, black clouds gathered in the sky, and distant thunder heralded the coming of one of those great storms for which the prairie is so famous. The air was so charged with electricity that the train had to be stopped several times, and the wheels of the cars drenched with water to prevent their taking fire. As night closed in, incessant flashes of white sheet lightning almost blinded us. Each white flash was riven by red forks of flame, until, with the horizon one constant blaze, the plain seemed a vast sea of fire. Over our heads, in great zigzag lines, shot the fire fluid, as the thunder rattled, roared, crashed, and broke around us; then, in a momentary lull, came torrents of rain, rushing madly across the sward, and drowning the noise of the fast-flying train, as if some fiend upon a diabolical errand were borne through the warring elements. It seemed as though two or three storms had met, to contend for mastery; flashes of white, yellow, and red lightning outdid each other in brilliancy, and peals of thunder, near and distant, reverberated in quick succession. No one who has not encountered a rain-storm on the prairie can form an idea of its grandeur and force.
During a short lull in the storm, we stopped at a place called Crookstown for tea, following a touter for the "_Ho_-tel" there--or rather a railway lantern, as the darkness completely hid the man--through mud and water up to our ankles; over stumps and sticks; through a dilapidated gateway, stoup, and wash-house, to a long, low room, where the table was laid for tea. Seated round it on benches, chairs, three-legged stools--in fact, on anything they could get hold of--were the engine-driver, conductor, express-man, and other officials. The meal consisted of bread and butter, potatoes boiled in their jackets, fried bacon swimming in fat, and scalding tea in handleless cups. Asking for eggs, we were told there was not one to be had in the "town." Query, what is a town? Crookstown could not boast of half a dozen houses besides the station.
Another hour's journey brought us to Fisher's Landing, on Red Lake River, where we were to remain until next morning. Although the boat was at the landing, we were not allowed to go on board until all the freight was shipped. This intelligence was given us by a rakish-looking Yankee, who added that his "_Ho_-tel" was the best in the place, and if we would come "right along" he would give us rooms for the night. Gathering up our traps, and thinking we could not do much worse than remain in the crowded car all night, we followed, paddling through the mud to the much-boasted "_Ho_-tel." This was a house built of boards, the entrance room or office having a high desk or counter across one corner; a recess under the stairs in the other containing a bench, on which were ranged two or three pails and a basin, while on the wall hung the general towel, looking rather the worse for wear. A room opening from the recess had a table set like the one at Crookstown, apparently for breakfast; the floors were literally covered with mud. What, we surmised, can the bedrooms be like in such a place? Our question was only too soon answered. Presently a shaggy-headed, untidy woman made her appearance, hastily fastening her clothes. She was very cross, and grumbled that there were only two rooms, but that she would take one of us in with her (an offer which was politely declined), and snappishly ordered a man to show the way upstairs. Clambering up a steep flight of steps after our conductor and his lantern, we were ushered into a room containing a bed--which had all the appearance of having been slept in for a week--a rocking-chair, and a bureau; a smaller room opening out of it also contained a very-much-slept-in bed. Throwing open the door of the latter room with a flourish that would have been creditable in a professional showman, he introduced us.
"This, ladies, you can have. Two can sleep here nicely. True, the bed has not been made, but I can soon settle that!" and putting his lantern on the floor, he gave the bed a poke or two, and tried to smooth the frowsy-looking coverlet.
"Oh, that's the express-man's bed!" he said, in answer to our inquiry as to who was to occupy the outer room. "Must have