Michael McGrath, Postmaster

Excerpt-In early May I found myself once more with my canvas and photographic apparatus approaching Grand Bend, but this time from the West. As I reached the curve in the river where the trail leads to the first view of the town I eagerly searched for Ould Michael's flag. There stood the mast, sure enough, but there was no flag in sight. What had happened to Ould Michael? While he lived his flag would fly. Had he left Grand Bend, or had Paddy Dougan's stuff been too much for him? I was rather surprised to find in my heart a keen anxiety for the old soldier. As I hurried on I saw that Grand Bend had heard the sound of approaching civilization and was waking up. Two or three saloons, a blacksmith's shop, some tents and a new general store proclaimed a boom. As I approached the store I saw a sign in big letters across the front, "Jacob Wragge, General Store," and immediately over the door, in smaller letters, "Postoffice." More puzzled than ever I flung my reins over the hitching-post and went in. A number of men stood leaning against the counter and piled-up boxes, none of whom I knew.