THE FLU

In the beginning of October 1918 the epidemic called the "Flu" was already raging along the Canadian National Railway, forty miles from Fort St. James. Henry, a Stoney Creek Indian, brought a load of freight for the stores at Fort St. James. At five p.m. he was in my office standing by the stove and shivering. "Are you sick" I said. "Yes Father." "Where are you sleeping to-night?" "I don't know". "Alright you'll sleep and eat with me and to-morrow I'll give you heavier clothes to enable you to get home."

It was the first and the only time I ever saw Indians acting the way they did with Henry. They knew that the deadly sickness was killing people where he came from and they were afraid to come near him. But the scourge that finished Henry the day after he got home hit the Fort St. James people harder than the people of any other place in Central British Columbia. The morning that Henry went away I felt the sickness in me and stayed in bed the whole day. The next morning when my brother came from the school to see me lying in bed in the priest's house a hundred yards from the school [Fort St. James Indian School], he told me that all the boarders except two had remained in bed that morning, all of them struck with the dreadful disease. I took my brother's temperature [which] registered one hundred and two. I ordered him to bed in the room next to mine. I got up from the bed and went to the school. Three of the five Sisters felt sick and needed care. Two stayed on their feet and took care of the girls. Happily the Sister in charge of the kitchen was one of the two who remained on the job. She boiled large pieces of beef to provide broth for fifty. Two boys, nine and ten years old, were also spared. They were a great help to me in packing water from the lake to the kitchen and to the one dormitory of the boys and the two dormitories of the girls. Their other jobs were many. Pete promised to look after my brother. After a month of this hospital work on the 11th of November a phone call announced the end of the War. As I turned around from the phone I saw Sister Hieronyme and said, "Sister the war is finished." Her eyes filled with tears and she said "If we could only rejoice." Three of our big girls of fourteen years had just passed away. At the last hour one of them, Sophie, told Sister she wanted to see me. Before I left her she showed me the beads she had been using, saying "Already I said them twice." And as she was moaning Sister said to her "Courage child, Our Lord's agony lasted three hours on the Cross." "Yes", she said, "and mine only one hour Sister."

The dreaded disease fell upon the tows end villages of Mission, Keyechet, Pinchi and Tachi around the lake about the first of November. The long arm of the plague reached even all the hunters who had hurried away from their homes hoping for immunity in the woods.

Happily there were a few left on their feet. Their services were badly needed for fifty homes filled with sick people, fifty homes without wood, water and proper food, and hundreds of sick persons in need of medicine and the Sacraments as well as heat and food.

Divine Providence helped us and rewarded the natives' piety. The preceding Spring at my command fifty families had each cut one cord of wood for the Church and the Priest's house. I ordered three able bodied young men to haul a little pile of that wood to every house in need and to keep them supplied. I took one man, Leon, to visit the sick. I made him get a bucket of water and start a fire where there was no one capable of doing those things. I commanded Bunting, Manager of the Hudson Bay Co. to kill a steer and to distribute a piece of meat in every home saying "I'll O.K. the bill and the Indian Department will pay you."

But notwithstanding the care I tried to give to the sick, I soon saw the signs of death coming upon them. I had not delayed their confession and communion. Now it was time for Extreme Unction. Deaths soon followed and it kept Pete busy making coffins. One day he asked me if he could make a box two feet square to put three little babies in, two of them were premature born. The mothers had died soon after giving them birth but the frail creatures had lived long enough to be baptized. Pete used all the spare lumber and then I made him tear down the walls of the woodshed to make coffins.

Fort the first one that died at the Mission I recited the prayers of the Libera in the Church and at the grave. The others were brought in to the Church, two or three at once but I could not go to the graveyard with all of them. In fact several bodies were piled up in an empty cabin because I had no time to bury them and there were no graves ready for them.

When I was thus surrounded with the dead and the dying, the news reached me that [Pinchi], twelve miles from Mission, and Tachi were also struck with the epidemic. I had already wired to the doctor at Vanderhoof to come to my aid. He answered that he had more than he could do around him. I also called the Indian Agent at Fort Fraser on the pone. He answered me "I am down with the sickness. I just got up from my bed to answer your call." I had sent a message to Bishop Bunos in Rupert but he had gone to minister to the sick on the Islands of the Ocean. Father Coccola, who was also tending to many sick and dying, heard of my hard predicament and came to my rescue. Seeing how fast some poor souls were [dispatched] into Eternity I hurried to go to the rescue of [Pinchi] and Tachi people.

But my three grave diggers cared not to take a twenty-five mile trip in a canoe in November upon the waters of a lake that had its rough moments. I warned them that some of the sick men were not well enough to dig the necessary graves and that the three of them must get a canoe ready and come early the next morning with me to Tachi. The next morning after Mass I could not see my boat. I went to the graveyard. They were digging. I threatened to hit them on the head with the stick I carried if they did not come out of the grave at once and come with me to start right away for Tachi. Too late we were ready, too late we started, much too late we would have reached Tachi, for the boys, afraid on account of the waves splashing over the side of the canoe, wished to follow the shores even in the deep bays. I told them not to be afraid and to navigate in a straight line. Nevertheless darkness caught us before we reached our destination. We made a big fire on the shore at Caesar's Point, four miles from Tachi. Soon the Tachi people had a light on the shore to guide us the rest of the journey.

FLU IN TACHI

When our canoe hit the shore at Tachi I heard a woman crying aloud, her husband [Jerome?] had just passed away. In every one of the twenty odd homes in Tachi there was one or more sick. I gave everyone medicine and heard confessions from house to house of every sick adult in the camp. The next morning I said Mass and took Holy Communion to everybody, gave Extreme Unction to many and distributed medicine. The day was spent among the afflicted. I rested that night and the next morning after Mass and another general Communion I exhorted all to persevere in union with God. I only left them after giving to each the much needed consolations of Holy Mother Church.

FLU AT GRAND PRAIRIE

When I returned to Fort St. James I heard that two families, hunting at Grand Prairie fifteen miles from Fort St. James, were down with the sickness. I ordered the Indians to prepare a double sleigh covered with a large box filled with hay. After Mass, Antonin, who had sufficiently recuperated, drove before my door two fairly good horses hitched to the sleigh. I took several consecrated Hosts and we started. When we reached the summit of the mountain, nine miles from Mission, I saw a woman walking with difficulty up the trail. She had a two year old boy on her back. I went down to meet her. She looked at me with a tired, almost dying look, saying "Merci Yakosta", (Thank you O my God). "Father last night Isaac and his wife died. I took their children in the school as you told me to do and I took them with me in the woods. Have pity on me and my children, take them into the school, pretty soon I die. Before Isaac died he talked the same way. His wife wanted me to give her big boy to her sister. "No", said Isaac, "My boy will go to the school." "Where is your husband", I said to poor Emilie. "He is at the foot of the mountain with his poor horse. He is trying to haul a sleigh loaded with six sick children." I ordered Antonin to build a fire in the bush and told the women to go and sit down and warm herself. Poor delicate soul, who before she died the next day did not have the consolation to bring to light the hidden babe she was bearing. I ran down the mountain side and came to poor Benoit Yatie who was so sick that he could hardly breathe and who died the next day. With the help of the half starved horse I pulled the load of dying children up the hill. To perform this feat the strength resting on my breast had more to do, I believe, than that within me. I left Benoit and his wife by the fire, promising to send a team for them. I put all the children stretched out on the hay and covered them with blankets and hurried to the Mission. I gave Isaac's children to his relations and as the dying mother had begged of me, I took her sick children to the school. The Sisters objected, saying "You bring the sickness back into the house." I converted my little office into a private hospital. I laid the three tots on the floor and fed and took care of them. They were too far gone. I lost two and gave the last one to this grandmother. He also died later on.

FLU AT LAC PORTEUR ETC.

Several families were hunting around Lac Porteur [now Carrier Lake], twenty-five miles from Fort St. James. There the flu reached them. After one of them had died and been buried, all the others, most of them already sick, started in a hurry for the Mission. One woman, B. A'houl's wife, did not go far. She died on the trail and was buried by the wayside. Old Chief A'houl and his wife could not go any further than half way. The able-bodied men pitched up his tent and left him there with his wife. They were found a few days later, both of them dead, he sitting and bent over, his face resting in his mitten covered hands. They were buried on the spot. A man named Bernard and a woman of that group begged the few that were left with their health strength to hurry to the Mission as they wished to see the priest to confess their sins and receive Extreme Unction. what a satisfied look in the countenance of those good Samaritans when they saw me ministering Extreme Unction to Bernard's and Steven's wives who had breathed their last soon after their arrival.

Sam and Albert had both encouraged their big boy to run away from the school. Both of them died far away near the Nation River. "I broke the Priest's word, my boy Alec ran away from the school. I did not take him back. God gave me la penitence. I am going to die far away from the priest." Thus spoke Albert to his wife Fraza. Old Sam also met big la penitence. The dogs ate part of his body where he dropped dead in the woods. Albert and old Sam of Nation River, Benoit Yatie, and Isaac of Grand Prairie were not the only ones awakened by the Mighty Hand of God. Others had their eyes opened before the hour of death and understood the meaning of the command of Christ "Go and teach all nations, he that believeth shall be saved."

One night around ten o'clock, a messenger came to me and said; "Father, William Prince is dying and he wants you." William was in the house of his father, the head chief Joseph Prince. William and his wife lay on the floor surrounded by the chief and his other sons and their wives. "Father", said William, "when I strong I talked high tone. I say not the priest take care of my children, that's why I didn't put them into the school. Now I die and my wife too and I talk different. I say not my father, my brothers watch over my children, just you Father, please you watch my children." "Your word, William", I said, "I hear it and all your people hear it. And your children I will watch, all will be raised in the Catholic school and will learn to serve God and save their souls. You all hear", I said to his people. "Yes," they answered.

THE SHEPHERD NEARLY GAVE HIS LIFE

The reaping scourge after two months had snatched seventy-eight souls from a population of four hundred including the school pupils. In February Doctor Stone of Vanderhoof came to visit me "go to California" he said to me. When Bishop Bunoz hears of my condition he advised me to go and see him in Rupert. There Doctor Kergin gave me the same advice as Dr. Stone. I went to Victoria B.C. where Drs. Barrett and Fraser told me that I would not live much longer if I stayed on the Pacific Coast. I went to Montreal, and put myself under the care of Dr. Masson. After examination he ordered me to go into the Hotel Dieu. I had there a dangerous hemorrhage of the lungs and I was sent to the Sanitorium at Gabriels, New York.

Bishop Bunoz came from Rupert to see me. Dr. Blamkmeir told him that I was improving and that a year's rest would make me fit again. Bishop Bunoz came back to Rupert and wrote me saying that my brother and the Sisters were rather inexperienced in the management of the school and that he would ask me to come and rest at Fort St. James. I left the Sanitorium right away but with the doctor's advice to avoid strenuous exertions and preaching for a year. I was ill prepared and ill disposed to follow the doctor's advice. Already whilst in the Sanitorium I entertained a group of summer resort people once a week on the shores of Lake Loon. They gave me enough to meet my expenses at the Sanitorium. And going through Hull, P.Q., where I had celebrated my first Mass in 1903, I was invited by the Oblate Superior of Hull to speak at five Masses to his congregation on Sunday morning. I did, and the Fathers and Brothers collected in the church for my Missions the sum of three hundred dollars. Before returning to the Mission and whilst in Ottawa I visited the Indian Department and suggest modification in the plans of a new Indian School.

The Government that had refused to build an Indian School in 1916 on account of war expenditures, hesitated once more on account of war debts. Being asked what accommodations and how many pupils I had in the school at Fort St. James, I told the Indian Department that there were seventy-five boarders in the Fort St. James School, that the building was, as it had been understood at the beginning, only a temporary building made of shiplap now dried up, leaving between the boards a large space filled with dirt, that it had fourteen stoves and the stove pipes running at all angles, dropping soot on floors and beds, in a word that it was a most uncomfortable and dangerous abode in which the lives of the inmates were in constant jeopardy. The Indian Department agreed to build and up-to-date school on the shores of Fraser Lake one hundred miles from Fort St. James.

PLEASE RETURN TO
MISS BUTCHER
3 ST. CATHERINE'S TER[RACE]
HOVE, SUSSEX

November 14th 1918

Well dears, I do not think I have ever longed from the arrival of the Mail more than for the one that is now due! Oct. 10th, when the last came, seems so far away on account of the troublous times we have been through and as our folks have been so sick & have died at such a rate we cannot but fear for our personal friends and look anxiously for news of them

I through we had a hard time with the whooping cough but it was a nothing in comparison with what we have now come through. I was so proud of the spick-and-span cleanliness of the Home when we had finished disinfecting. It was so good to have all the children together once again--they all sat together at supper Oct. 14th the first time since June 22 when the first batch went for holidays. Even though there was still a [good] deal of coughing we knew infection was over & were anxious for a little quiet routine before the Christmas rush. We began routine but it did not last longer than a week. Rumours of the terrors of Spanish Influenza had reached us from time to time: Seattle, Vancouver, Ocean Falls, Prince Rupert--ever creeping nearer--would the Indians who were away, keep away & so save us the scourge? No, an Indian must died in his own place & on Wed Oct 23rd two launches came in, one bearing two corpses, the other [bringing in] several sick people from [Prince] Rupert. We did not know whether they were really suffering from Spanish Flu or from some other ailment. School assembled on Thurs as usual and about 6:30 p.m. Chief Herbert McMillan came up & advised school be closed. I agreed at once & decided to keep my kiddies gated, so allowed no one "down" [to the Village] on Saturday, neither took them to Church on Sun. So we really were careful but without avail for Mon morn at 7 a.m. one girl started nursing the 30 who were in bed. We shifted beds & bedding until they were all on one floor. They were too close for sickness or for health but we could not possibly nurse the top floor [&] only two of us. Those children were very sick and what with vomiting, dysentery, nose-bleeding & senior girls' troubles, we had a horrible time. I never saw such nose-bleeding. We could not stop it & when it transpired that the only girl whose nose did not bleed, suffered hallucinations & was out of bed and trailing bedding or clothes crying she had killed herself or the house or her darling, or else asking me to cut her in pieces or she [was] hunting for her lungs or other parts of her body that had fallen out, I sure put up with the bleeding as a beneficent evil rather than have several crazy ones. After bleeding came congestion in varying degrees & horrible expectoration until it seemed impossible that children who a few days previously had been in good health could throw up such quantities of vile mucous. It was the first time Miss Heather had been sick away from Home & I was sorry for the scant attention she received but what could one do with so many? Food had to be cooked & fired kept burning & there were only the two of us. Mary King did splendidly but she was kept out of the Dormitories & she is only 14 yrs old and been in school for 2 yrs.

I put mustard plasters on the children by turns for it was impossible to do them all & the many other necessaries as well. Some days the poor things did not get their faces washed, other days their beds [were] not made & no one's hair combed until she was able to do it herself or another was well enough to do it for her. I told you about Arnott & how sick he had been--he was doing nicely when the Sickness took him. He ran up to 105.5º [fever] on Tues night & Wed morn, I was taking temperatures & turned round to him, he looked dead, but calling Miss Hortop, we dosed him with stimulant, got hot bottles & blankets & he revived. That was Oct 30th, from that time it was a constant struggle, he would fluctuate so much. Nov 11th, he was in one of his better times so we called his brother, made a hammock of blankets & sent him home. He would have been sent before but his Father died one day, his Mother gave birth to a child two days later & it was a sick household. We were glad they had him for the few hours before he died.

Letter continues for 5 more pages...

(Page 26) My very first memory is of the 1918 flu and of my young mother being very sick.I was five years old. Like the other families on Stoney Creek Indian Reserve, we were living in a log cabin. I remember that people came in and out of our home, and that all of them talked about the 1918 flu that was sickening many Natives on the reserve, but what nineteen-eighteen meant or what kind of a terrible thing a flu might be, I did not know.I remember that my eighteen-year-old mother, usually so busy with hides and fish, was very sick. To see her lying quietly on the homemade bed in the corner scared me. One of the people who came to our home was the priest,Father Coccola. He talked to the mother of Agnes George, who was nursing my mother, and told her to make chicken soup.My mother wouldn't touch the chicken soup. All she wanted was a cup of warm water. As if she was speaking now,I can hear her say, "Mary, put a cup of water on the stove. Iam very thirsty." That cup of water on the back of the stove and my mother asking for it—that is my first memory.When a child is five years old, there is much that is con-fused and beyond understanding.

(Page 32-33) I may not have known what the 1918 flu was, but I knew that it made me very sick. Sick as I was, I was aware that many things, some good and some very sad, were happening on thereserve.Agnes George's mother stayed in our cabin until my mother was over the worst of her sickness. My mother was expecting a baby, and one day, when I was still in bed, this elderly woman came to me and told me that I had a new baby brother and that his name was Mark. Soon after she said this, Agnes George's mother said, "Well, I'd better get back to my own home. Everyone is sick there too." A few days later, we heard that she was dead. Oh, the number of people who died on the reserve in those months was awful.Our mission bell rings when someone dies. It seemed to me that, day and night, as the flu sickened more and more people,the bell never stopped ringing. I remember wishing that the ringing and the sickness and the deaths would end. There was a doctor in Vanderhoof, Doctor Stone, but during this bad time, he hardly came to the reserve at all. He had to make his rounds with a horse and buggy and he travelled for miles in all directions out of Vanderhoof during the epidemic. Father Coccola, who lived on the reserve at that time,knew quite a bit about medicine, and as long as the flu lasted,he moved from cabin to cabin in the village, helping to care for the sick and dying.The people of the village said that it seemed to be a matter of luck whether you lived or died. Some of the weakest survived and some of the strongest found their way to the village cemetery. That cemetery—one of the things which filled me with horror during this time was the mass burial. When the epidemic was at its worst, a number of people died within two or three days of each other, and those who were left were too sick to lay out the corpses and make coffins. A large hole was dug in the cemetery, and seven bodies were carefully wrapped and buried side by side.Many years later, some of my children were working with me at the cemetery. There were old boards scattered around,crosses which had collapsed over the years. I told the young people to gather up the old wood and put it in a pile for burning outside the graveyard fence. Then I noticed that the place where the seven people had been buried so many years ago was now a big hole and that the ground around the spot was very uneven.I said to my children, "We should get a backhoe and make the ground level." And I told them about the mass burial.They looked at me and one of them said, "Oh, that's gross!" Finally the epidemic was over. The bell stopped ringing,and once again my mother and my stepfather were busy withfish and hides and berries. Life was good again.

The Northern BC Archives hold the records of Bridget Moran, which include the taped interviews she did with Mary John in other to write Stoney Creek Woman. Contact the archives to listen to Mary John's recollection of the 1918 flu. The following items include Mary John's description of the 1918 flu (these items are not available online):

• Item 2008.3.1.211.1 - Mary John [Tape] 1 & 2: timestamp 78’00” Bridget asks her what her early memories would have been of Stoney Creek; Mary recalls tending to her mother during the flu epidemic. Recalls people being buried in blankets; too many people and no time to build coffins. Recalls Father Cocola and Lejac again.
• Item 2008.3.1.211.5 - Mary John [Tape] 9 & 10: timestamp 22’00” Mary speaks again about Father Coccola who could be ‘a very strict man’ but who took care of the people when they were sick and dying.

EPIDEMICS (p. 19-21)

There were some epidemics that wiped out quite a few of the native people. One of which was the small-pox epidemic when the whites first came into the country. I will not go into details of how this happened. I am sure some people know the reason. It came as far as Tatuk Lake, which was the home of many natives of the Stoney Creek tribe. There is a big graveyard at Tatuk Lake of the people who died of the disease. The Stuart Lake Carriers escaped this dread disease, but they did not escape the flu epidemic of 1918, which was world-wide. It took seventy-four lives at Fort St. James. These deaths included people from around the lake who were at the Fort for All Saints' Day. Some of the people who could not be taken into the local homes were camped outside at the Mission.

The first fatality of the flu was a young man from Nadleh (Fort Fraser) who had accompanied back to Nak'aẕdli (Fort St. James) Donald Tod, a Hudson Bay employee or servant, when the latter went to Fort Fraser with two pack-horses for supplies. As was the custom, the church bell tolled for the first few deaths, but the priest, Father Joseph Allard, stopped it when more and frequent deaths began to occur each passing day.

The late W.D. Fraser was then in charge of the H.B.C. Babine Lake Post, he told me that as soon as he heard of the epidemic, he stopped the people there from contacting people of other villages. There was not one case of flu there.

When the flu broke out in Prince George, Michel Sam, Gaspar Thomas and Jean Felix Antoine were working in the saw-mill at Aleza Lake.

When they came down with the flu they were transferred to the Prince George Hospital. After recovering somewhat, they were discharged. They tool the train to Vanderhoof. After buying some food there, they started walking on the road to Fort St. James. They were still weak, in fact, Jean Felix was so weak he could not pack a pound weight on his back. The other two men packed all the bedding and food, they were picked up by Justin McIntyre, a Hudson's Bay clerk. "Mac" as he was called, was driving a team of horses and wagon on his way to the Fort carrying mail.

On their arrival home, they found nearly all the people sick with the flu. Later, when they felt better and strengthened they got to work making coffins and digging graves. Driving a team of horses and wagon, laden with coffins each day to the cemetery at the Mission.

In some cases four coffins were put in a common grave. In one case William and Angeline Prince were put in a common grave, one coffin on top of the other. Another person who helped was Pete Erickson who was a carpenter by trade. Felix also distributed soup among the Rancherie people. This soup was donated by the H.B. Co.. The new log house of Benoit and Helena A'Huile at the Mission had been turned into a morgue. This house was vacant because Benoit and his family were on their trapline near Beaver Lake. Upon leaving for the trapline in September, Helena left their housekey with my [Lizette Hall nee Prince] mother to keep for them till their planned return at Christmas. But Helena her mother Sabina Julian and other members of her family died on their trapline and are buried at Beaver Lake. From the first of November till the latter half of the month flu and subsequent deaths continued.

Nobody knews why some people escaped this epidemic even though they were exposed. My mother was one of the people who did not get sick. She told me she did not even get a headache. She looked after her family of six at home. I lost one brother to this flu.

The Residential School at the Mission did not escape. Three thirteen year-old girls died. They were Sophie Prince, Josphine Antoine and Amelia Benoit. For some reason or another, the boys had shorter sick days. He also packed the water from the lake. To this day I don't know why we were not allowed to have drinking water. I was in the High Dormitory with five other girls and I remember how thirsty we all were, what with the high temperatures we had. When the water in the rubber hot water bottles cooled, we drank the water. I remember feeling around in the dark on the basin-and water bench one night, I found an ice-cold pailful of water, it had pieces of ice in it. I called to the other girls informing them of my find. They all got out of bed as fast as they possibly could. How good that water tasted as we gulped it down. Father Joseph must have brought up the water while we slept. A day after this, my cousin Nancy and I were told to get dressed and go to the sewing-room. After being in bed two weeks, I felt top-heavy. But we were quite happy to be allowed to get up.

On arriving in the sewing-room, we found Nancy's sister Vitaline (Victorine Sam) also there with Sister Superior.

The sun was shining brightly on that November morning and the fire crackled in the big barrel-turned stove. Sister left the room and when she returned she informed us that the Armistice was signed at eleven o'clock. From that day on, all the children improved. Towards the end of the month school started again.

I remember Christmas of 1918. During Midnight Mass I could feel the grief of the surviving relatives of the ones that were taken the previous month. I remember also Father Coccola emerging from the Sacristy carrying a black robe to drape over the shoulders of Celestine AhTie, she had festive clothes on, she did not lose any family member during the recent epidemic.

What is significant about the accounts by Mary John and Lizette Hall of the flu epidemic?

What is significant about Margaret Butcher’s account of the flu epidemic?

How are these accounts similar? How are they different?

How do Mary, Margaret and Lizette’s accounts compare with local newspaper accounts written at the time?

Do these sources provide evidence of settler and First Nations relations during respective time periods?