Part 5 (2/2)
ST. BONIFACE FIRE BRIGADE
W'en you come wes' from de oder place An' you want sometings for see; Jus' come an' see St. Boniface An' I show you sometings, me:-- Dar's de Mission Church dat W'ittier sing---- ”Turrets twain,” wher' de peoples prayed; But dar's sometings we got better still---- Da's St. Boniface Fire Brigade!
Da's a g-rea-t Brigade;--has mans tree, four---- Married mans wit be-eg fam-i-lee; Champeau, Dorien, pet.i.te Lafleur, An' Jean Perriault (da's ME).
Us mans we work like h--ll all day Wit de saw, de hammer an' de spade, But by gar, w'en de fire-bell she goes ”ring,”
Da's de t'am we don't was 'fraid.
You hear dat ting 'bout d' beeg oil-house; Tree hundre' bar'ls cotch de fire?
De smoke, mon Dieu! wit de flame go hup To de top of de be-eg church-spire;-- Lafleur's femme, she take de fit hon de floor---- Ma femme, she scre-ee-ch, ”Saint Marie!”
Hevery one yell--dat place look like he--ll, Ontil Dorien, Champeau, an' ME----
We fill hup de tank in de Red Rivaire---- Sacre! how de mans per--s--pire; De peoples go cra--ss--y; Winnipeg despaire; An' de bells dey ring, ”F-i-r-e!--F-i-r-e.”
W'at you t'ink happens? You nevaire don't guess---- Notings like dat happens sence;-- De horse runs away--de hose it go burs'---- But we save de dog-poun' fence!
You hear w'at 'appens once in de place?
W'en d' King's son he come Wes', All d' womans dress hup, wash d' baby face; An' d' mans put hon he's bes'.
Winni-peg bow down t' George d' Prince;-- Put d' soldier-mans hon parade; But de Prince, he sick of d' whole dam' show, Hask: ”WHER' ST. BONIFACE FIRE BRIGADE?”
Y--as, an' w'en d' heartquake shake Frisco, ”Hend of d' worl'!” some sa-aid; I send telegraff (cos' me tree dollaire), ”You like have my Fire Brigade?”
Hon d' las' Election, in d' Town-Hall Laurier sp'ik; He sa--aid:-- ”Gentilhomme! if--you--want--put--dat--bad--Tory--hout, Get St. Boniface Fire BRIGADE!”
”WINDY”
Lady Marmaduke Montague-Marlinford-Dunne Came out to the Yukon in search of her son; Heir to vast estates and to lands long entailed, Handed down by great grandpapa's fist (which was mailed).
The young man had mushed in by the lone Chilcoot Pa.s.s And was known to the boys as ”That t.i.tled young a.s.s.”
For the stuff he wrote home took Belgravian breath: ”Dear Monty with savages!”--”mus.h.i.+ng!”--”to death”!
They were shocked at the mention ”pay-dirt”; and ”the pan,”
They fully explained, was ”held by Monty's man!”
At St. James, The Carlton, The Ritz, it was told How ”Monty owns mountains and canyons of--Gold!”
Came a lapse in the years and the letters. Despair Seized the hearts in Belgravia--no word from the heir; For the lure of the Northland--the life of the camp, Had Monty the Beau transformed into a--tramp Who had drifted, like jetsam, the breakers among, And had almost forgotten his own mother-tongue.
[Ill.u.s.tration: PRAY, SIR, HAVE YOU SEEN MR. MARMADUKE]
In the year ninety-eight arrived per Dawson stage In December, a lady, a maid, and a page; One clearly of rank. With the air of a queen She stepped up to the desk, asking: ”Pray, have you seen Mr. Marmaduke Montague-Marlinford-Dunne?”
Adding proudly,--”The gentleman, Sir, is my son.”
The clerk at the desk stared and stammered, then said:-- ”No gent be that name in this shack has his bed; But mebbe' th' Boys”--Here he calls to a bunch, ”Say, has any o' youse seed a kid with a hunch That sounds like--Ma'am, wot was th' name o' y'r son?”
She faltered, ”Sir! Montague-Marlinford-Dunne!”
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