Interviewer: “Mr. Miller, there are many things, of course, about the history of the Peace River Country, that most people are anxious to know, and which have not been publicized. I might ask first of all, where you came from before you came up here to the Peace River Country. What part of the United States.”
“I came up to Canada from South Dakota, I was in South Dakota for nine years, but originated from Rolla, Missouri.
Interviewer: “Oh from Rolla, Missouri. How is it spelled? Like it is here, or differently?”
“It is spelt the same as we do it here.”
Interviewer: “Because of the people’s southern accent in Virginia and so forth, in the southern states, was Rolla at one time spelled Raleigh, like Sir Walter Raleigh?”
“Raleigh in North Caroline was named after Sir Walter Raleigh. And parties moved from North Carolina to Missouri, and there they opened a post office, like we did up here. This man said he would take the post office. He was the only one about that could handle a post office there, providing they would call it Raleigh, but spell it different, Rolla.”
Interviewer: “Why was that, did he figure that people could spell Rolla much easier than Raleigh.”
“Well, I couldn’t say that.”
Interviewer: “It was just his idea.”
“Yes, it was just his idea. That’s how Rolla became named down there.”
Interviewer: “From Rolla in Virginia, how did Rolla in North Dakota — now I drove by Rolla, North Dakota, just this past summer. Did it get its name from someone in Virginia, from someone coming up?”
“No. From Missouri. They came up from Rolla, Missouri.”
Interviewer: “Oh yes, it was North Carolina to Missouri to North Dakota, was that it. You came originally, did you? From Missouri to North Dakota.”
“Yes. I was born and raised in Rolla, Missouri.”
Interviewer: When you came up to this area near Dawson Creek, how did it get it’s name of Rolla. Did you have anything to do with that. I mean were you the post-master here?”
“Yes. I got the post office.”
Interviewer: “Did you have to submit any names, for the name. Or did you just name it Rolla yourself.”
“No. I sent out six names. The first name I put Rolla. And of course I had other names. But they gave me the name Rolla. As no other town had been named Rolla in B.C.”
Interviewer: “That’s most interesting. You must have been very pleased. Because there is a Rolla — Raleigh, I suppose actually — in South Carolina which was contracted to Rolla. In Missouri and Rolla in North Dakota, and Rolla here in British Columbia. Is that right. It is most interesting. We have heard a lot of stories about Rolla. One of the better known areas, in the B.C. Peace River. You do hear some people calling it Roll-a, that’s not correct, is it?”
“No. Not Roll-a. It is Rol-la.
Interviewer: “When did you come up to, what is now known as Rolla. Did you come directly from North Dakota or some other place in the Peace River Country..”
“Well. We came up to Edmonton. We stayed around Edmonton three years. And then we came out on the Edson Trail from Edmonton, and stopped on the Edson Trail, and built a stopping place for that winter. Next spring we left our stopping place, on the 10th of March. We got to Grande Prairie on the 20th of March. Took us ten days to come from our stopping place to Grande Prairie.”
Interviewer: “Ten days, eh. About what distance would that be. Have you any idea?”
“About two hundred and fifty miles.”
Interviewer: “Two hundred and fifty miles. What year was this?”
“1912.”
Interviewer: “1912. That’s little over forty years ago. This Edson Trail, Mr. Miller. A lot of people up here have heard about it. Where is it? Is it the same trail from Edson, Alberta, where you go west of Edmonton, towards Jasper and then go north? Is that the Edson Trail?”
“No, that is not. You go north. Where the trail came out. Where we came out. I kind of forgotten just how it goes out of Edson. But anyhow we went out, we worked on the railroad with our teams, for a couple of months. Then it froze up. My boy and I went out and built a stopping place out there. That was about seven miles to the Athabasca River. There we stayed all that winter ‘till spring — until the 10th of March. We left there and come to Grande Prairie.”
Interviewer: “By the way. What did you do in the wintertime to amuse yourselves. Did you play cards? I imagine it could become quite boring. There were no radios in those days to listen to.”
“Well, we worked. Cut wood. We had lots of stoppers come in there. Teams. We kept teams, and we gave them meals too, for them that wanted. We had a bunk house, they could go in there and camp in the bunk house and cook their own meals, or they could come to the house where we lived and we would give them their meals.”
Interviewer: “That’s very interesting. Just like the present day motels or hotels.”
“Now when you came from Grande Prairie to Rolla in 1912. I believe you left on the 25th of April. What did you use? Did you have a wagon, or two wagons? What mode of transportation?”
“Well, we loaded one wagon, as heavy as we thought the team could pull over the muddy road. And one Democrat — as much into that as the Democrat would hold up.”
Interviewer: “What did you have in there Just about everything you needed”
“The wagon was loaded with our bedding, and food enough to last us a couple of months, and such as that. But the Democrat we put straight one hundred pounds of flour. Stuff like that, that could be easily handled.”
Interviewer: “It took you ten days to come from Grande Prairie to Rolla.”
“Ten days of hard labour, daylight to dark, to get to Rolla.”
Interviewer: “I’ll be darned. What about the difficulty on that trip. Did you have any difficulty crossing any rivers or streams.”
“It was cold. And of course when we got out we loaded up and we went on, from there.”
Interviewer: Did you have any more trouble, crossing gullies or streams.”
“When we got to Horse Lake. Horse Lake, there is a creek there that runs into Horse Lake, and there was no bridges on the road at all, and the creek was quite deep, but it wasn’t very swift. So I got the kiddies all on the wagon and drove in. When I got to the opposite bank, I pulled the kingpin on the evener and the horses went out. And then we used the tongue for a foot-bridge and we carried all the load out of there, we had to unload everything, carried the load out over that tongue. When we got it unloaded the team could pull it out. Of course my wife came along with the Democrat, her team could pull the load. That way we didn’t have to bother with her. Well we loaded the stuff all on, and we got out of there. We felt pretty good about it.”
Interviewer: “I imagine you would. Just before we go any further you mentioned we, and the kiddies, and your wife. How many were there in the party.”
“Well, just my family you know. We had seven children. They were all with me, but the one. One boy was seventeen years old — that’s the oldest boy. The oldest boy, he didn’t come out with us. He trapped muskrat that spring. There were seven of us.”
Interviewer: “How many boys and how many girls.”
“I had three girls, and one, two, three….”
Interviewer: “You can’t remember. Well that’s forty years ago. I don’t blame you.”
“Anyhow, seven children.”
Interviewer: “Some of those children are living right in Dawson Creek today, aren’t they.”
“Yes, there is one. Mrs. Norman Little and Mrs. May Lewis, she lives at Rolla. And Mrs. Eunice Tower, she lives at the Peace River, down there, where they run the ferry, you know.”
Interviewer: “How about the boys. Do any of them live in the Peace River Country?”
“Well, they are all here but the one. One’s down at Aldergrove, B.C. The oldest boy was killed in the First World War. But the next boy, he lives at Rolla there, and the next two boys live at Rolla. My youngest son was born after we got here. He lives there too, he lives with me most of the time. The girls they started out a little bit. The one boy down to Aldergrove.”
Interviewer: “Very interesting, Mr. Miller. Now we had better get back to the very interesting trip that we were discussing just a moment or two ago. You were talking about that Horse Lake, was it Horse Lake that you just crossed?”
“Yes, we just crossed Horse Lake.”
Interviewer: “Whenever you come to a stream, I suppose the children would climb on the wagon, you would pull the kingpin, would you, and let the team go out.”
“We did the very same thing if there were little streams, as we did with a big stream. There might have been only three of those small streams that we crossed before coming to Swan Lake.”
Interviewer: “I suppose you had to cross Tupper Creek, did you?”
“Tupper Creek, is what they call the stream that runs into Swan Lake. Well, when we got there, the creek was very deep, but there was a pack horse bridge across there. They just cut the logs about thirty feet long, threw it across, one from each bank. There they had built it wide enough for one horse at a time to go through, a packhorse. But they put a log on top for a banister. Now the banister is just a big log laid on top of the other. Our wagon wheels would just run on these banisters. So we unhooked everything. Unloaded, carried everything across, and we put one slow horse, he was gentle and slow, we put him on the end of the tongue with one of the boys, and he had him go very slow. And two of us got hold of each front wheel and we walked backwards and helped them wheels on that banister.”
Interviewer: “Must have been quite a job, eh.”
“Well, that’s the way we crossed. And we crossed the Democrat the same way.”
Interviewer: “Oh yes, that was quite a crossing. Would you consider that fairly easy?”
“Well, that was a good easy one. We had no trouble with that at all, because we had good footing to walk across. And we throwed out all the things that dragged down. But the next crossing now, mind you that was something hard to do. That was at Tate Creek. Tate Creek that was what it was called then, then they changed that name to Gundy’s Ranch, and then they changed it here lately to Tomslake. Tomslake is north of Tate Creek, seven or eight miles, you know, and why they put Tomslake down there, but that’s what they done anyhow. But there’s where we had our trouble.”
Interviewer: “How did you cross there. Was there any means?”
“Well, there were Land Surveyor’s in there, and they had cut a big spruce tree across, just above the road, there they made a banister to walk across easy. Now when we got there, we carried everything across on that spruce tree, unloaded and everything. Then we unharnessed the horses and carried the harness across, and then the horses had to come across. So one of went across the creek with the rope, one at a time and led the horses, or pulled them across, while the others stood behind and started the horse in. We did each horse that way. But the wagon – when we got everything across, we harnessed up and we hitched the rope on the end of the wagon. When the wagon hit the current, of that stream, it threw the wagon right down the stream. We thought it was going to pull the team right backwards. But when the wagon swung across on the other side why the team stopped it. And it floated out all right.”
Interviewer: “Boy that was a close one.”
“Well, we crossed the Democrat the same way, and of course we got across there. That was really the hardest place, we didn’t really know. We didn’t know what was next.”
Interviewer: “I guess not. That was probably your most difficult one was it?”
“Yes. That was the worst crossing we had to do. But when we got across, we loaded up, and of course our spirits wasn’t dampened at all. And of course we drawed a long breath, and thinks I, what’s going to come best. We didn’t know that the next was going to be.”
Interviewer: “Well, that would take you next close to Pouce Coupe, would it? Did you go by way of Pouce?”
“Yes. The next trouble we had. We come to the Canyon Creek, about six miles south of Pouce Coupe. And there is a very deep drop there. Now a horse cannot go where an ox can. Now we were following a pack-trail down, no track at all for the wagon. Just a packtrail. Except those oxen, they come through, three teams with light loads. Well now the ox can go down and up the bank and through the mud, where a horse can’t possibly do that. We sized up everything, went down and had a look at it, and the hill had been burnt off of the pine trees, two or three years back, and it was covered with burnt chunks, all different lengths. So I got busy. I told the kiddies if the kiddies could pull a chunk, get busy. I was boss of the bunch of the lot all right.
Interviewer: “You were the foreman, eh?”
“I was the foreman of the crew. We worked there. We got there about nine o’clock in the morning. And we worked there until about three o’clock in the afternoon. We had a bridge done.”
Interviewer: “You actually built a bridge.”
“We just filled in with these pine logs from the ground up. And of course our filling was about six feet high. And of course the last logs that were put on was long ones, they made a kind of bridge. We crossed there, and I think the public used it ten years after, we got through there.”
Interviewer: “You should have made that a toll bridge, eh? What happened after that. Did you camp for the night, I suppose it took you all day, pretty well.”
Well, we drove on to Bissette Creek. We had no trouble there. We had to get on one of the horses. One of the boys did, and go across the creek and pull a log out of the way. It was a gravel bottom, and we drove right across. But there we came up on top of the hill in Pouce Coupe, where Pouce Coupe is now, and camped, oh about a hundred yards north and east of where the police barracks stand today. And the next morning, we got up early, and we went down to Tremblay’s place, that was the old stopping place.
Now Tremblay had been in there ten years before his family came out. He was trading with the Indians, and trapping. There was a man killed up north by the name of Coleman, and he [Tremblay] was called to Vancouver on a trial. So he went out there. His wife and family lived close to Vancouver, and he persuaded his wife to come out with him. They came over — round by Athabasca, I guess was the way they come. They packed through. She had been here, the family had been here four years before we come. Except the one man and his wife come out with them. And she died shortly after they came out here, so he was left without any white woman. And our family was the first white family to come in. Naturally we was welcomed very heartily.”
Interviewer: “I can imagine.”
“They wanted us to stay all night, but we wouldn’t. We ate dinner with them all right. But that afternoon we went right on and we set a tent on our homestead about four o’clock in the afternoon. We set up the tent as I have it there — I just thought of Abraham, when the Lord told him to get out into a strange country. And we were pretty well the same as Abraham. He set his tent hundreds of years ago, you could say thousands of years ago in a strange land. And we felt that God had blessed him and his seed after him. Now I feel the same thing as that, as we set our tent, as Abraham did, years ago. I think God has blessed me and my family.”
Interviewer: “Yes, that’s a very fine way of putting it, Mr. Miller. And I know as you said before, that God’s blessings have come upon your family and grandchildren and your great grandchildren. By the way have you kept track of your great-grandchildren. Do you know how many you have.”
“Well, I think it’s nineteen great-grandchildren.”
Interviewer: “Boy. That’s really wonderful. You have seen a great many changes have not since you came up?”
“I’ve sure seen many changes.”
Interviewer: “What made you decide to settle in the area of Rolla. As this is one of the finest grain growing areas in all of the Peace River Country. What made you go there in particular, that is, to that spot.”
“Well, I got the land. And I named the town. Rolla had to come with me.”
Interviewer: “Well, thank you very kindly. It has been very interesting. And I know you could tell many, many more stories of later happenings in Rolla District. I know the area developed in the last forty years, more families came in, and undoubtedly there were many interesting happening. And perhaps we can get you to tell our listening audience about these later on. Do you think you might be able to?
“Yes. I’m willing to tell all I know.”
Interviewer: “Good, fine. True confessions, eh, Mr. Miller.”
“Yes, well everything I’ve told, is what really happened to me.”
Interviewer: “Well, fine. Is there anything else you would care to say, before we say goodbye to you today.”
“Well, I would say this. I wonder how many people, here in Dawson Creek, or anywhere else, knows what it takes to settle a new country like this had been. The loneliness, the disappointments, the heartaches. Four hundred miles from the nearest doctor and with a family with seven children, from two years to nineteen years.”
Interviewer: “Yes, I can appreciate what you’re saying. We think we have hardships today. We complain perhaps that we have to do this or that. Why I guess we don’t know how lucky we are. We have natural gas, and those of us who haven’t got it, why our coal and wood are delivered right to our door. We have doctors, hospitals, theaters, curling rinks, arenas, radio stations, just about all the modern conveniences. And well we still complain. I suppose the work that the pioneers, such as yourself and their families, had to do in the past years, has not really been appreciated. And I think the only way to do it, is to chronicle it. Have more broadcasts of this kind, and we could have more books on the work and experiences of the pioneers, such as yourself. Do you not agree?”
“I do agree on that. Yes.”
Interviewer: “Well thank you very much sir.”
“Thank you.”