The North-West Passage by land: Being the narrative of an expedition from the Atlantic to the Pacific

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Title: The North-West Passage by land: Being the narrative of an expedition from the Atlantic to the Pacific
Author: Cheadle, W. B., Milton, Viscount
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The North-West Passage by land: Being the narrative of an expedition from the Atlantic to the Pacific" ***
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Transcriber’s Note: Italics are indicated with _underscores_.

[Illustration: OUR PARTY ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS.

(_From a Photograph._)]

THE
NORTH-WEST PASSAGE
BY LAND.

BEING THE NARRATIVE OF AN EXPEDITION FROM THE
ATLANTIC TO THE PACIFIC,

UNDERTAKEN WITH THE VIEW OF EXPLORING A ROUTE ACROSS
THE CONTINENT TO BRITISH COLUMBIA THROUGH BRITISH
TERRITORY, BY ONE OF THE NORTHERN PASSES
IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

BY
VISCOUNT MILTON, F.R.G.S., F.G.S., &c.,
AND
W. B. CHEADLE, M.A., M.D. CANTAB., F.R.G.S.

_Ros._ Well, this is the Forest of Arden.

_Touch._ Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at
home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content.
AS YOU LIKE IT.

LONDON:
CASSELL, PETTER, AND GALPIN,
LUDGATE HILL, E.C.

[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.]

TO
THE COUNTESS FITZWILLIAM
AND
MRS. CHEADLE,

WHO TOOK SO GREAT AN INTEREST IN THE SUCCESS OF THE TRAVELLERS, THIS
ACCOUNT OF THEIR JOURNEY IS DEDICATED BY
THE AUTHORS.

4, GROSVENOR SQUARE,
_1st June, 1865_.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Sail for Quebec--A Rough Voyage--Our Fellow-Passengers--
The Wreck--Off the Banks of Newfoundland--Quebec--Up
the St. Lawrence--Niagara--The Captain and the Major--
Westward Again--Sleeping Cars--The Red Indian--Steaming
up the Mississippi--Lake Pippin--Indian Legend--St.
Paul, Minnesota--The Great Pacific Railroad--Travelling
by American Stage-Wagon--The Country--Our Dog Rover--The
Massacre of the Settlers by the Sioux--Culpability of the
United States Government--The Prairie--Shooting by the
Way--Reach Georgetown 1

CHAPTER II.

Georgetown--Minnesota Volunteers--The Successful Hunters--
An Indian Hag--Resolve to go to Fort Garry in Canoes--
Rumours of a Sioux Outbreak--The Half-breeds refuse to
Accompany us--Prepare to Start Alone--Our Canoes and
Equipment--A Sioux War Party--The Half-breed’s Story--
Down Red River--Strange Sights and Sounds--Our First
Night Out--Effects of the Sun and Mosquitoes--Milton
Disabled--Monotony of the Scenery--Leaky Canoes--
Travelling by Night--The “Oven” Camp--Hunting Geese
in Canoes--Meet the Steamer--Milton’s Narrow Escape--
Treemiss and Cheadle follow Suit--Carried Down the
Rapids--Vain Attempts to Ascend--A Hard Struggle--On
Board at last--Start once more--Delays--Try a Night
Voyage again--The “Riband Storm”--“In Thunder, Lightning,
and in Rain”--Fearful Phenomena--Our Miserable Plight--
No Escape--Steering in Utter Darkness--Snags and Rocks--
A Long Night’s Watching--No Fire--A Drying Day--Another
Terrible Storm--And Another--Camp of Disasters--Leave it
at last--Marks of the Fury of the Storms--Provisions at
an End--Fishing for Gold-eyes--A Day’s Fast--Slaughter
of Wild-Fowl--Our Voracity--A Pleasant Awakening--Caught
up by the Steamer--Pembina--Fort Garry--La Ronde--We go
under Canvass 18

CHAPTER III.

Fort Garry--Origin of the Red River Settlement--The First
Settlers--Their Sufferings--The North-Westers--The
Grasshoppers--The Blackbirds--The Flood--The Colony in
1862--King Company--Farming at Red River--Fertility of
the Soil--Isolated Position of the Colony--Obstructive
Policy of the Company--Their Just Dealing and Kindness to
the Indians--Necessity for a proper Colonial Government--
Value of the Country--French Canadians and Half-breeds--
Their Idleness and Frivolity--Hunters and Voyageurs--
Extraordinary Endurance--The English and Scotch Settlers--
The Spring and Fall Hunt--Our Life at Fort Garry--Too
Late to cross the Mountains before Winter--Our Plans--
Men--Horses--Bucephalus--Our Equipment--Leave Fort
Garry--The “Noce”--La Ronde’s Last Carouse--Delightful
Travelling--A Night Alarm--Vital Deserts--Fort Ellice--
Delays--Making Pemmican--Its Value to the Traveller--
Swarms of Wild-Fowl--Good Shooting--The Indian Summer--A
Salt Lake Country--Search for Water--A Horse’s Instinct--
South Saskatchewan--Arrive at Carlton 36

CHAPTER IV.

Carlton--Buffalo close to the Fort--Fall of Snow--Decide to
Winter near White Fish Lake--The Grisly Bears--Start for
the Plains--The Dead Buffalo--The White Wolf--Running
Buffalo Bulls--The Gathering of the Wolves--Treemiss
Lost--How he Spent the Night--Indian Hospitality--Visit
of the Crees--The Chief’s Speech--Admire our Horses--
Suspicions--Stratagem to Elude the Crees--Watching Horses
at Night--Suspicious Guests--The Cows not to be Found--
More Running--Tidings of our Pursuers--Return to the Fort
59

CHAPTER V.

The Ball--Half-breed Finery--Voudrie and Zear return to
Fort Garry--Treemiss starts for the Montagne du Bois--
Leave Carlton for Winter Quarters--Shell River--La
Belle Prairie--Riviere Crochet--The Indians of White
Fish Lake--Kekekooarsis, or “Child of the Hawk,” and
Keenamontiayoo, or “The Long Neck”--Their Jollification--
Passionate Fondness for Rum--Excitement in the Camp--
Indians flock in to Taste the Fire-water--Sitting out
our Visitors--A Weary Day--Cache the Rum Keg by Night--
Retreat to La Belle Prairie--Site of our House--La Ronde
as Architect--How to Build a Log Hut--The Chimney--A
Grand Crash--Our Dismay--Milton supersedes La Ronde--The
Chimney Rises again--Our Indian Friends--The Frost sets
in 70

CHAPTER VI.

Furnishing--Cheadle’s Visit to Carlton--Treemiss there--His
Musical Evening with Atahk-akoohp--A very Cold Bath--
State Visit of the Assiniboines--Their Message to Her
Majesty--How they found out we had Rum--Fort Milton
Completed--The Crees of the Woods--Contrast to the Crees
of the Plains--Indian Children--Absence of Deformity--
A “Moss-bag”--Kekekooarsis and his Domestic Troubles--
The Winter begins in Earnest--Wariness of all Animals--
Poisoning Wolves--Caution of the Foxes--La Ronde and
Cheadle start for the Plains--Little Misquapamayoo--
Milton’s Charwoman--On the Prairies--Stalking Buffalo--
Belated--A Treacherous Blanket--A Cold Night Watch--More
Hunting--Cheadle’s Wits go Wool-gathering--La Ronde’s
Indignation--Lost all Night--Out in the Cold again--
Our Camp Pillaged--Turn Homewards--Rough and Ready
Travelling--Arrive at Fort Milton--Feasting 79

CHAPTER VII.

Trapping--The Fur-bearing Animals--Value of different
Furs--The Trapper’s Start into the Forest--How to make
a Marten Trap--Steel Traps for Wolves and Foxes--The
Wolverine--The Way he Gets a Living--His Destructiveness
and Persecution of the Trapper--His Cunning--His
Behaviour when caught in a Trap--La Ronde’s Stories of the
Carcajou--The Trapper’s Life--The Vast Forest in Winter--
Sleeping Out--The Walk--Indians and Half-breeds--Their
Instinct in the Woods--The Wolverine Demolishes our
Traps--Attempts to Poison him--Treemiss’s Arrival--He
relates his Adventures--A Scrimmage in the Dark--The
Giant Tamboot--His Fight with Atahk-akoohp--Prowess
of Tamboot--Decide to send our Men to Red River for
Supplies--Delays 99

CHAPTER VIII.

Milton visits Carlton--Fast Travelling--La Ronde and Bruneau
set out for Fort Garry--Trapping with Misquapamayoo--
Machinations against the Wolverine--The Animals’
Fishery--The Wolverine outwits us--Return Home--
The Cree Language--How an Indian tells a Story--New
Year’s Day among the Crees--To the Prairies again--The
Cold--Travelling with Dog-sleighs--Out in the Snow--
Our New Attendants--Prospect of Starvation--A Day
of Expectation--A Rapid Retreat--The Journey Home--
Indian Voracity--Res Augusta Domi--Cheadle’s Journey to
the Fort--Perversity of his Companions--“The Hunter”
yields to Temptation--Milton’s Visit to Kekekooarsis--A
Medicine Feast--The New Song--Cheadle’s Journey Home--
Isbister and his Dogs--Mahaygun, “The Wolf”--Pride and
Starvation--Our Meeting at White Fish Lake 113

CHAPTER IX.

Our New Acquaintances--Taking it Quietly--Mahaygun
Fraternises with Keenamontiayoo--The Carouse--
Importunities for Rum--The Hunter asks for more--A
Tiresome Evening--Keenamontiayoo Renounces us--His
Night Adventure--Misquapamayoo’s Devotion--The Hunter
returns Penitent--The Plains again--The Wolverine on
our Track--The Last Band of Buffalo--Gaytchi Mohkamarn,
“The Big Knife”--The Cache Intact--Starving Indians--
Story of Keenamontiayoo--Indian Gambling--The Hideous
Philosopher--Dog Driving--Shushu’s Wonderful Sagacity--A
Long March--Return to La Belle Prairie--Household Cares--
Our Untidy Dwelling--Our Spring Cleaning--The Great Plum
Pudding--Unprofitable Visitors--Rover’s Accomplishments
Astonish the Indians--Famine Everywhere 138

CHAPTER X.

La Ronde’s Return--Letters from Home--A Feast--The Journey
to Red River and back--Hardships--The Frozen Train--
Three Extra Days--The Sioux at Fort Garry--Their Spoils
of War--Late Visitors--Musk-Rats and their Houses--
Rat-catching--Our Weather-glass--Moose Hunting in the
Spring--Extreme Wariness of the Moose--His Stratagem to
Guard against Surprise--Marching during the Thaw--Prepare
to leave Winter Quarters--Search for the Horses--Their
Fine Condition--Nutritious Pasturage--Leave La Belle
Prairie--Carlton again--Good-bye to Treemiss and La
Ronde--Baptiste Supernat--Start for Fort Pitt--Passage
of Wild-Fowl--Baptiste’s Stories--Crossing Swollen
Rivers--Addition to our Party--Shooting for a Living--
The Prairie Bird’s Ball--Fort Pitt--Peace between the
Crees and Blackfeet--Cree Full Dress--The Blackfeet--The
Dress of their Women--Indian Solution of a Difficulty--
Rumours of War--Hasty Retreat of the Blackfeet--Louis
Battenotte, “The Assiniboine”--His Seductive Manners--
Departure for Edmonton--A Night Watch--A Fertile Land--
The Works of Beaver--Their Effect on the Country--Their
Decline in Power--How we crossed the Saskatchewan--Up the
Hill--Eggs and Chickens--Arrive at Edmonton 161

CHAPTER XI.

Edmonton--Grisly Bears--The Roman Catholic Mission at St.
Alban’s--The Priest preaches a Crusade against the
Grislies--Mr. Pembrun’s Story--The Gold Seekers--Perry,
the Miner--Mr. Hardisty’s Story--The Cree in Training--
Running for Life--Hunt for the Bears--Life at a Hudson’s
Bay Fort--Indian Fortitude--Mr. O’B. introduces Himself--
His Extensive Acquaintance--The Story of his Life--Wishes
to Accompany us--His Dread of Wolves and Bears--He comes
into the Doctor’s hands--He congratulates us upon his
Accession to our Party--The Hudson’s Bay People attempt
to dissuade us from trying the Leather Pass--Unknown
Country on the West of the Mountains--The Emigrants--The
other Passes--Explorations of Mr. Ross and Dr. Hector--
Our Plans--Mr. O’B. objects to “The Assiniboine”--“The
Assiniboine” protests against Mr. O’B.--Our Party and
Preparations 183

CHAPTER XII.

Set out from Edmonton--Prophecies of Evil--Mr. O’B.’s
Forebodings--Lake St. Ann’s--We enter the Forest--A
Rough Trail--Mr. O’B., impressed with the Difficulties
which beset him, commences the study of Paley--Pembina
River--The Coal-bed--Game--Curious Habit of the Willow
Grouse--Mr. O’B. en route--Changes wrought by Beaver--
The Assiniboine’s Adventure with the Grisly Bears--Mr.
O’B. prepares to sell his Life dearly--Hunt for the
Bears--Mr. O’B. Protects the Camp--The Bull-dogs--The
Path through the Pine Forest--The Elbow of the McLeod--
Baptiste becomes Discontented--Trout Fishing--Moose
Hunting--Baptiste Deserts--Council--Resolve to Proceed--
We lose the Trail--The Forest on Fire--Hot Quarters--
Working for Life--Escape--Strike the Athabasca River--
First View of the Rocky Mountains--Mr. O’B. spends a
Restless Night--Over the Mountain--Magnificent Scenery--
Jasper House--Wild Flowers--Hunting the “Mouton Gris” and
the “Mouton Blanc” 203

CHAPTER XIII.

Making a Raft--Mr. O’B. at Hard Labour--He admires our
“Youthful Ardour”--News of Mr. Macaulay--A Visitor--Mr.
O’B. Fords a River--Wait for Mr. Macaulay--The Shushwaps
of the Rocky Mountains--Winter Famine at Jasper House--
The Wolverine--The Miners before us--Start again--
Cross the Athabasca--The Priest’s Rock--Site of the
Old Fort, “Henry’s House”--The Valley of the Myette--
Fording Rapids--Mr. O’B. on Horseback again--Swimming the
Myette--Cross it for the Last Time--The Height of Land--
The Streams run Westward--Buffalo-dung Lake--Strike the
Fraser River--A Day’s Wading--Mr. O’B.’s Hair-breadth
Escapes--Moose Lake--Rockingham Falls--More Travelling
through Water--Mr. O’B. becomes disgusted with his Horse--
Change in Vegetation--Mahomet’s Bridge--Change in the
Rocks--Fork of the Fraser, or original Tête Jaune Cache--
Magnificent Scenery--Robson’s Peak--Flood and Forest--
Horses carried down the Fraser--The Pursuit--Intrepidity
of The Assiniboine--He rescues Bucephalus--Loss of
Gisquakarn--Mr. O’B.’s Reflections and Regrets--Sans Tea
and Tobacco--The Extent of our Losses--Mr. O’B. and Mrs.
Assiniboine--Arrive at The Cache 236

CHAPTER XIV.

Tête Jaune Cache--Nature of the Country--Wonderful View--
West of the Rocky Mountains--Rocky Mountains still--The
“Poire,” or Service Berry--The Shushwaps of The Cache--
The Three Miners--Gain but little Information about the
Road--The Iroquois return to Jasper House--Loss of Mr.
O’B.’s Horse--Leave The Cache--The Watersheds--Canoe
River--Perilous Adventure with a Raft--Milton and the
Woman--Extraordinary Behaviour of Mr. O’B.--The Rescue--
The Watershed of the Thompson--Changes by Beaver--Mount
Milton--Enormous Timber--Cross the River--Fork of the
North Thompson--A Dilemma--No Road to be Found--Cross
the North-west Branch--Mr. O’B.’s Presentiment of Evil--
Lose the Trail again--Which Way shall we Turn?--Resolve
to try and reach Kamloops--A Natural Bridge--We become
Beasts of Burden--Mr. O’B. objects, but is overruled by
The Assiniboine--“A Hard Road to Travel”--Miseries of
driving Pack-horses--An Unwelcome Discovery--The Trail
Ends--Lost in the Forest--Our Disheartening Condition--
Council of War--Explorations of The Assiniboine, and his
Report--A Feast on Bear’s Meat--How we had a Smoke, and
were encouraged by The Assiniboine 264

CHAPTER XV.

We commence to Cut our Way--The Pathless Primeval Forest--
The Order of March--Trouble with our Horses: their
Perversity--Continual Disasters--Our Daily Fare--
Mount Cheadle--Country Improves only in Appearance--
Futile Attempt to Escape out of the Valley--A Glimpse of
Daylight--Wild Fruits--Mr. O’B. triumphantly Crosses
the River--The Assiniboine Disabled--New Arrangements--
Hopes of Finding Prairie-Land--Disappointment--Forest
and Mountain Everywhere--False Hopes again--Provisions
at an End--Council of War--The Assiniboine Hunts
without Success--The Headless Indian--“Le Petit Noir”
Condemned and Executed--Feast on Horse-flesh--Leave
Black Horse Camp--Forest again--The Assiniboine becomes
Disheartened--The Grand Rapid--A Dead Lock--Famishing
Horses--The Barrier--Shall we get Past?--Mr. O’B.
and Bucephalus--Extraordinary Escape of the Latter--
More Accidents--La Porte d’Enfer--Step by Step--The
Assiniboine Downcast and Disabled--Mrs. Assiniboine takes
his Place--The Provisions give out again--A Dreary Beaver
Swamp--The Assiniboine gives up in Despair--Mr. O’B.
begins to Doubt, discards Paley, and prepares to become
Insane--We kill another Horse--A Bird of Good Omen--
The Crow speaks Truth--Fresher Sign--A Trail--The Road
rapidly Improves--Out of the Forest at last! 286

CHAPTER XVI.

On a Trail Again--The Effect on Ourselves and the Horses--
The Changed Aspect of the Country--Wild Fruits--Signs of
Man Increase--Enthusiastic Greeting--Starving again--Mr.
O’B. finds Caliban--His Affectionate Behaviour to him--
The Indians’ Camp--Information about Kamloops--Bartering
for Food--Clearwater River--Cross the Thompson--The
Lily-berries--Mr. O’B. and The Assiniboine fall out--
Mr. O’B. flees to the Woods--Accuses The Assiniboine of
an attempt to Murder him--Trading for Potatoes--More
Shushwaps--Coffee and Pipes--Curious Custom of the
Tribe--Kamloops in Sight--Ho! for the Fort--Mr. O’B.
takes to his Heels--Captain St. Paul--A Good Supper--
Doubts as to our Reception--Our Forbidding Appearance--
Our Troubles at an End--Rest 311

CHAPTER XVII.

Kamloops--We discover True Happiness--The Fort and
Surrounding Country--The Adventures of the Emigrants who
preceded us--Catastrophe at the Grand Rapid--Horrible
Fate of Three Canadians--Cannibalism--Practicability
of a Road by the Yellow Head Pass--Various Routes
from Tête Jaune Cache--Advantages of the Yellow Head
Pass, contrasted with those to the South--The Future
Highway to the Pacific--Return of Mr. McKay--Mr.
O’B. sets out alone--The Murderers--The Shushwaps of
Kamloops--Contrast between them and the Indians East of
the Rocky Mountains--Mortality--The Dead Unburied--
Leave Kamloops--Strike the Wagon Road from the Mines--
Astonishment of the Assiniboine Family--The remarkable
Terraces of the Thompson and Fraser--Their Great Extent:
contain Gold--Connection with the Bunch-grass--The Road
along the Thompson--Cook’s Ferry--The Drowned Murderer--
Rarity of Crime in the Colony--The most Wonderful Road
in the World--The Old Trail--Pack-Indians--Indian Mode
of catching Salmon--Gay Graves--The Grand Scenery of
the Cañons--Probable Explanation of the Formation of the
Terraces--Yale--Hope and Langley--New Westminster--Mr.
O’B. turns up again--Mount Baker--The Islands of the Gulf
of Georgia--Victoria, Vancouver Island 322

CHAPTER XVIII.

Victoria--The Rush there from California--Contrast to San
Francisco under similar Circumstances--The Assiniboines
see the Wonders of Victoria--Start for Cariboo--Mr.
O’B. and The Assiniboine are Reconciled--The former
re-establishes his Faith--Farewell to the Assiniboine
Family--Salmon in Harrison River--The Lakes--Mr.
O’B.’s Triumph--Lilloet--Miners’ Slang--The “Stage” to
Soda Creek--Johnny the Driver--Pavilion Mountain--The
“Rattlesnake Grade”--The Chasm--Way-side Houses on the
Road to the Mines--We meet a Fortunate Miner--The Farming
Land of the Colony--The Steamer--Frequent Cocktails--The
Mouth of Quesnelle--The Trail to William’s Creek--A Hard
Journey--Dead Horses--Cameron Town, William’s Creek 351

CHAPTER XIX.

William’s Creek, Cariboo--The Discoverers--The Position
and Nature of the Gold Country--Geological Features--
The Cariboo District--Hunting the Gold up the Fraser to
Cariboo--Conjectured Position of the Auriferous Quartz
Veins--Various kinds of Gold--Drawbacks to Mining in
Cariboo--The Cause of its Uncertainty--Extraordinary
Richness of the Diggings--“The Way the Money Goes”--
Miners’ Eccentricities--Our Quarters at Cusheon’s--
Price of Provisions--The Circulating Medium--Down
in the Mines--Profits and Expenses--The “Judge”--
Our Farewell Dinner--The Company--Dr. B----l waxes
Eloquent--Dr. B----k’s Noble Sentiments--The Evening’s
Entertainment--Dr. B----l retires, but is heard of again--
General Confusion--The Party breaks up--Leave Cariboo--
Boating down the Fraser--Camping Out--William’s Lake--
Catastrophe on the River--The Express Wagon--Difficulties
on the Way--The Express-man Prophesies his own Fate--The
Road beyond Lytton--A Break-down--Furious Drive into
Yale--Victoria once more 364

CHAPTER XX.

Nanaimo and San Juan--Resources of British Columbia and
Vancouver Island--Minerals--Timber--Abundance of Fish--
Different kinds of Salmon--The Hoolicans, and the Indian
Method of Taking them--Pasturage--The Bunch-grass:
its Peculiarities and Drawbacks--Scarcity of Farming
Land--Different Localities--Land in Vancouver Island--
Contrast between California and British Columbia--Gross
Misrepresentations of the Latter--Necessity for the
Saskatchewan as an Agricultural Supplement--Advantages of
a Route across the Continent--The Americans before us--
The Difficulties less by the British Route--Communication
with China and Japan by this Line--The Shorter Distance--
The Time now come for the Fall of the Last Great Monopoly--
The North-West Passage by Sea, and that by Land--The Last
News of Mr. O’B.--Conclusion 385

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE
OUR PARTY ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS _Frontispiece_.

OUR NIGHT CAMP ON EAGLE RIVER.--EXPECTING THE CREES 68

OUR WINTER HUT.--LA BELLE PRAIRIE 76

A MARTEN TRAP 102

SWAMP FORMED BY BEAVER, WITH ANCIENT BEAVER HOUSE AND DAM 179

FORT EDMONTON, ON THE NORTH SASKATCHEWAN 183

THE FOREST ON FIRE 225

OVER THE MOUNTAIN, NEAR JASPER HOUSE 231

VIEW FROM THE HILL OPPOSITE JASPER HOUSE.--THE UPPER LAKE OF
THE ATHABASCA RIVER AND PRIEST’S ROCK 232

CROSSING THE ATHABASCA RIVER, IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS 245

THE ASSINIBOINE RESCUES BUCEPHALUS 259

OUR MISADVENTURE WITH THE RAFT IN CROSSING CANOE RIVER 271

A VIEW ON THE NORTH THOMPSON, LOOKING EASTWARD 275

THE TRAIL AT AN END 281

MR. O’B. TRIUMPHANTLY CROSSES THE RIVER 292

THE HEADLESS INDIAN 296

THE TERRACES ON THE FRASER RIVER 338

YALE, ON THE FRASER RIVER 345

THE “RATTLESNAKE GRADE.”--PAVILLON MOUNTAIN, BRITISH COLUMBIA;
ALTITUDE, 4,000 FEET 356

A WAY-SIDE HOUSE.--ARRIVAL OF MINERS 357

A WAY-SIDE HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT 357

MINERS WASHING FOR GOLD 370

THE CAMERON “CLAIM,” WILLIAM’S CREEK, CARIBOO 371

GENERAL MAP OF BRITISH NORTH AMERICA, SHOWING THE AUTHORS’
ROUTE ACROSS THE CONTINENT (_Bound with Volume._)

MAP OF THE WESTERN PORTION OF BRITISH NORTH AMERICA, SHOWING
THE ROUTE ACROSS THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS BY THE YELLOW HEAD,
OR, LEATHER PASS INTO BRITISH COLUMBIA, ON A LARGER SCALE.
(_In the Pocket._)

PREFACE.

The following pages contain the narrative of an Expedition across the
Continent of North America, through the Hudson’s Bay Territories, into
British Columbia, by one of the northern passes in the Rocky Mountains.
The expedition was undertaken with the design of discovering the most
direct route through British territory to the gold regions of Cariboo,
and exploring the unknown country on the western flank of the Rocky
Mountains, in the neighbourhood of the sources of the north branch of
the Thompson River.

The Authors have been anxious to give a faithful account of their
travels and adventures amongst the prairies, forests, and mountains
of the Far West, and have studiously endeavoured to preserve the
greatest accuracy in describing countries previously little known. But
one of the principal objects they have had in view has been to draw
attention to the vast importance of establishing a highway from the
Atlantic to the Pacific through the British possessions; not only as
establishing a connection between the different English colonies in
North America, but also as affording a means of more rapid and direct
communication with China and Japan. Another advantage which would
follow--no less important than the preceding--would be the opening
out and colonisation of the magnificent regions of the Red River and
Saskatchewan, where 65,000 square miles of a country of unsurpassed
fertility, and abounding in mineral wealth, lies isolated from the
world, neglected, almost unknown, although destined, at no distant
period perhaps, to become one of the most valuable possessions of the
British Crown.

The idea of a route across the northern part of the Continent is not a
new one. The project was entertained by the early French settlers in
Canada, and led to the discovery of the Rocky Mountains. It has since
been revived and ably advocated by Professor Hind and others, hitherto
without success.

The favourite scheme of geographers in this country for the last three
centuries has been the discovery of a North-West Passage by sea, as
the shortest route to the rich countries of the East. The discovery has
been made, but in a commercial point of view it has proved valueless.
We have attempted to show that the original idea of the French
Canadians was the right one, and that the true North-West Passage is
by land, along the fertile belt of the Saskatchewan, leading through
British Columbia to the splendid harbour of Esquimalt, and the great
coal-fields of Vancouver Island, which offer every advantage for the
protection and supply of a merchant fleet trading thence to India,
China, and Japan.

The Illustrations of this Work are taken almost entirely from
photographs and sketches taken on the spot, and will, it is hoped,
possess a certain value and interest, as depicting scenes never before
drawn by any pencil, and many of which had never previously been
visited by any white man, some of them not even by an Indian. Our most
cordial thanks are due to Mr. R. P. Leitch, and Messrs. Cooper and
Linton, for the admirable manner in which they have been executed;
and to Mr. Arrowsmith, for the great care and labour he has bestowed
on working out the geography of a district heretofore so imperfectly
known. We also beg to acknowledge the very great obligations under
which we lie to Sir James Douglas, late Governor of British Columbia
and Vancouver Island; Mr. Donald Fraser, of Victoria; and Mr. McKay, of
Kamloops, for much valuable information concerning the two colonies,
and who, with many others, showed us the greatest kindness during our
stay in those countries.

4, GROSVENOR SQUARE,
_June 1st, 1865_.

[Illustration:

The Western Portion of
BRITISH NORTH AMERICA.
_Showing the Route followed by_
Lord Milton & Dr. Cheadle.
from the Saskatchewan to British Columbia
1863–4.
]

THE

NORTH-WEST PASSAGE BY LAND.

CHAPTER I.

Sail for Quebec--A Rough Voyage--Our Fellow-Passengers--The
Wreck--Off the Banks of Newfoundland--Quebec--Up the St.
Lawrence--Niagara--The Captain and the Major--Westward Again--
Sleeping Cars--The Red Indian--Steaming up the Mississippi--
Lake Pippin--Indian Legend--St. Paul, Minnesota--The Great
Pacific Railroad--Travelling by American Stage-Wagon--The
Country--Our Dog Rover--The Massacre of the Settlers by the
Sioux--Culpability of the United States Government--The
Prairie--Shooting by the Way--Reach Georgetown.

On the 19th of June, 1862, we embarked in the screw-steamer
_Anglo-Saxon_, bound from Liverpool to Quebec. The day was dull and
murky; and as the trader left the landing-stage, a drizzling rain
began to fall. This served as an additional damper to our spirits,
already sufficiently low at the prospect of leaving home for a long and
indefinite period. Unpleasant anticipations of ennui, and still more
bodily suffering, had risen up within the hearts of both of us--for we
agree in detesting a sea-voyage, although not willing to go the length
of endorsing the confession wrung from that light of the American
Church--the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher--by the agonies of sea-sickness,
that “those whom God hateth he sendeth to sea.”

We had a very rough passage, fighting against head winds nearly all the
way; but rapidly getting our sea-legs, we suffered little from ennui,
being diverted by our observations on a somewhat curious collection of
fellow-passengers. Conspicuous amongst them were two Romish bishops
of Canadian sees, on their return from Rome, where they had assisted
at the canonisation of the Japanese martyrs, and each gloried in
the possession of a handsome silver medal, presented to them by his
Holiness the Pope for their eminent services on that occasion. These
two dignitaries presented a striking contrast. One, very tall and
emaciated, was the very picture of an ascetic, and passed the greater
part of his time in the cabin reading his missal and holy books. His
inner man he satisfied by a spare diet of soup and fish, gratifying
to the full no carnal appetite except that for snuff, which he took
in prodigious quantity, and avoiding all society except that of his
brother bishop. The latter, “a round, fat, oily man of God,” of genial
temper, and sociable disposition, despised not the good things of this
world, and greatly affected a huge meerschaum pipe, from which he
blew a cloud with great complacency. As an antidote to them, we had
an old lady afflicted with Papophobia, who caused us much amusement
by inveighing bitterly against the culpable weakness of which Her
Majesty the Queen had been guilty, in accepting the present of a
side-board from Pius IX. A Canadian colonel, dignified, majestic, and
speaking as with authority, discoursed political wisdom to an admiring
and obsequious audience. He lorded it over our little society for a
brief season, and then suddenly disappeared. Awful groans and noises,
significant of sickness and suffering, were heard proceeding from his
cabin. But, at last, one day when the weather had moderated a little,
we discovered the colonel once more on deck, but, alas! how changed.
His white hat, formerly so trim, was now frightfully battered; his
cravat negligently tied; his whole dress slovenly. He sat with his head
between his hands, dejected, silent, and forlorn.

The purser, a jolly Irishman, came up at the moment, and cried,
“Holloa, colonel! on deck? Glad to see you all right again.”

“All right, sir!” cried the colonel, fiercely; “all right, sir? I’m
_not_ all right. I’m _frightfully ill_, sir! I’ve suffered the tortures
of the--condemned; horrible beyond expression; but it’s not the pain
I complain of; that, sir, a soldier like myself knows how to endure.
But I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself, and shall never hold up my head
again!”

“My dear sir,” said the purser, soothingly, with a sly wink at us,
“what on earth _have_ you been doing? There is nothing, surely, in
sea-sickness to be ashamed of.”

“I tell you, sir,” said the colonel, passionately, “that it’s most
demoralising! Think of a man of my years, and of my standing and
position, lying for hours prone on the floor, with his head over a
basin, making a disgusting beast of himself in the face of the company!
I’ve lost my self-respect, sir; and I shall never be able to hold up my
head amongst my fellow-men again!”

As he finished speaking, he again dropped his head between his hands,
and thus did not observe the malicious smile on the purser’s face, or
notice the suppressed laughter of the circle of listeners attracted
round him by the violence of his language.

The young lady of our society--for we had but one--was remarkable for
her solitary habits and pensive taciturnity. When we arrived at Quebec
harbour, a most extraordinary change came over her; and we watched her
in amazement, as she darted restlessly up and down the landing-stage in
a state of the greatest agitation, evidently looking for some one who
could not be found. In vain she searched, and at last rushed off to the
telegraph office in a state of frantic excitement. Later the same day
we met her at the hotel, seated by the side of a young gentleman, and
as placid as ever. It turned out that she had come over to be married,
but her lover had arrived too late to meet her; he, however, had at
last made his appearance, and honourably fulfilled his engagement. A
wild Irishman, continually roaring with laughter, a Northern American,
rabid against “rebels,” and twenty others, made up our list of cabin
passengers. Out of these we beg to introduce, as Mr. Treemiss, a
gentleman going out like ourselves, to hunt buffalo on the plains, and
equally enthusiastic in his anticipations of a glorious life in the
far West. We soon struck up an intimate acquaintance, and agreed to
travel in company as far as might be agreeable to the plans of each.

Before we reached the banks of Newfoundland we fell in with numerous
evidences of a recent storm; a quantity of broken spars floated past,
and a dismasted schooner, battered and deserted by her crew. On her
stern was the name _Ruby_, and the stumps of her masts bore the marks
of having been recently cut away.

Off the “banks” we encountered a fog so dense that we could not see
twenty yards ahead. The steam whistle was blown every five minutes,
and the lead kept constantly going. The ship crashed through broken
ice, and we all strained our eyes for the first sight of some iceberg
looming through the mist. A steamer passed close to us, her proximity
being betrayed only by the scream of her whistle. Horrible stories of
ships lost with all hands on board, from running against an iceberg,
or on the rock-bound coast, became the favourite topic of conversation
amongst the passengers; the captain looked anxious, and every one
uncomfortable.

After two days, however, we emerged in safety from the raw, chilling
fogs into clear sunlight at the mouth of the St. Lawrence, and on the
2nd of July steamed up the river to Quebec. The city of Quebec, with
its bright white houses, picked out with green, clinging to the sides
of a commanding bluff, which appears to rise up in the middle of the
great river so as to bar all passage, has a striking beauty beyond
comparison. We stayed but to see the glorious plains of Abraham, and
then hastened up the St. Lawrence by Montreal, through the lovely
scenery of the “Thousand Islands,” and across Lake Ontario to Toronto.

We determined to spend a day at Niagara, and, taking another steamer
here, passed over to Lewiston, on the American side of the lake, at the
mouth of the Niagara River. From Lewiston a railway runs to within a
mile of the Falls, following the edge of the precipitous cliffs on the
east side of the narrow ravine, through which the river rushes to pour
itself into Lake Ontario. Glad to escape the eternal clanging of the
engine bell warning people to get out of the way as the train steamed
along the streets, we walked across the suspension bridge to the
Canadian side of the river, and forward to the Clifton House. We heard
the roar of the cataract soon after leaving the station, and caught
glimpses of it from time to time along the road; but at last we came
out into the open, near the hotel, and saw, in full view before us,
the American wonder of the world. Our first impression was certainly
one of disappointment. Hearing so much from earliest childhood of the
great Falls of Niagara, one forms a most exaggerated conception of
their magnitude and grandeur. But the scene rapidly began to exercise
a charm over us, and as we stood on the edge of the Horseshoe Fall, on
the very brink of the precipice over which the vast flood hurls itself,
we confessed the sublimity of the spectacle. We returned continually
to gaze on it, more and more fascinated, and in the bright clear
moonlight of a beautiful summer’s night, viewed the grand cataract at
its loveliest time. But newer subjects before us happily forbid any
foolish attempt on our part to describe what so many have tried, but
never succeeded, in painting either with pen or pencil. On the Lewiston
steamer we had made the acquaintance of Captain ----, or, more properly
speaking, he had made ours. The gallant captain was rather extensively
got up, his face smooth shaven, with the exception of the upper lip,
which was graced with a light, silky moustache. He wore a white hat,
cocked knowingly on one side, and sported an elegant walking cane;
the blandest of smiles perpetually beamed on his countenance, and he
accosted us in the most affable and insinuating manner, with some
remark about the heat of the weather. Dextrously improving the opening
thus made, he placed himself in a few minutes on the most intimate
terms. Regretting exceedingly that he had not a card, he drew our
attention to the silver mounting on his cane, whereon was engraved,
“Captain ----, of ----.” Without further inquiry as to who we were, he
begged us to promise to come over and stay with him at his nice little
place, and we should have some capital “cock shooting” next winter. The
polite captain then insisted on treating us to mint-juleps at the bar,
and there introduced us with great ceremony to a tall, angular man, as
Major So-and-so, of the Canadian Rifles.

The major was attired in a very seedy military undress suit, too small
and too short for him, and he carried, like Bardolph, a “lantern in the
poop,” which shone distinct from the more lurid and darker redness of
the rest of his universally inflamed features. His manner was rather
misty, yet solemn and grand withal, and he comported himself with so
much dignity, that far was it from us to smile at his peculiar personal
appearance. We all three bowed and shook hands with him with an
urbanity almost equal to that of our friend the captain.

Both our new acquaintances discovered that they were going to the same
place as ourselves, and favoured us with their society assiduously
until we reached the Clifton House.

After viewing the Falls, we had dinner; and then the captain and major
entertained us with extraordinary stories.

The former related how he had lived at the Cape under Sir Harry Smith,
ridden one hundred and fifty miles on the same horse in twenty-four
hours, and various other feats, while the “major” obscurely hinted that
he owed his present important command on the frontier to the necessity
felt by the British Government that a man of known courage and talent
should be responsible during the crisis of the _Trent_ affair.

We returned to Toronto the next day, and lost no time in proceeding on
our way to Red River, travelling as fast as possible by railway through
Detroit and Chicago to La Crosse, in Wisconsin, on the banks of the
Mississippi.

We found the sleeping-cars a wonderful advantage in our long journeys,
and generally travelled by night. A “sleeping-car” is like an ordinary
railway carriage, with a passage down the centre, after the American
fashion, and on each side two tiers of berths, like those of a ship.
You go “on board,” turn in minus coat and boots, go quietly to sleep,
and are awakened in the morning by the attendant nigger, in time to
get out at your destination. You have had a good night’s rest, find
your boots ready blacked, and washing apparatus at one end of the car,
and have the satisfaction of getting over two hundred or three hundred
miles of a wearisome journey almost without knowing it. The part of
the car appropriated to ladies is screened off from the gentlemen’s
compartment by a curtain; but on one occasion, there being but two
vacant berths in the latter, Treemiss was, by special favour, admitted
to the ladies’ quarter, where ordinarily only married gentlemen are
allowed--two ladies and a gentleman kindly squeezing into one large
berth to accommodate him!

At one of the small stations in Wisconsin we met the first Red Indian
we had seen in native dress. He wore leather shirt, leggings, and
moccasins, a blanket thrown over his shoulders, and his bold-featured,
handsome face was adorned with paint. He was leaning against a tree,
smoking his pipe with great dignity, not deigning to move or betray
the slightest interest as the train went past him. We could not help
reflecting--as, perhaps, he was doing--with something of sadness
upon the changes which had taken place since his ancestors were lords
of the soil, hearing of the white men’s devices as a strange thing,
from the stories of their greatest travellers, or some half-breed
trapper who might occasionally visit them. And we could well imagine
the disgust of these sons of silence and stealth at the noisy trains
which rush through the forests, and the steamers which dart along lakes
and rivers, once the favourite haunt of game, now driven far away. How
bitterly in their hearts they must curse that steady, unfaltering,
inevitable advance of the great army of whites, recruited from every
corner of the earth, spreading over the land like locusts--too strong
to resist, too cruel and unscrupulous to mingle with them in peace and
friendship!

At La Crosse we took steamer up the Mississippi--in the Indian
language, the “Great River,” but here a stream not more than 120 yards
in width--for St. Paul, in Minnesota. The river was very low, and
the steamer--a flat-bottomed, stern-wheel boat, drawing only a few
inches of water--frequently stuck fast on the sand bars, giving us an
opportunity of seeing how an American river-boat gets over shallows.
Two or three men were immediately sent overboard, to fix a large pole.
At the top was a pulley, and through this a stout rope was run, one end
of which was attached to a cable passed under the boat, the other to
her capstan. The latter was then manned, the vessel fairly lifted up,
and the stern wheel being put in motion at the same time, she swung
over the shoal into deep water.

The scenery was very pretty, the river flowing in several channels
round wooded islets; along the banks were fine rounded hills, some
heavily timbered, others bare and green. When we reached Lake Pippin,
an expansion of the Mississippi, some seven or eight miles long, and
perhaps a mile in width, we found a most delightful change from the
sultry heat we had experienced when shut up in the narrow channel. Here
the breeze blew freshly over the water, fish splashed about on every
side, and could be seen from the boat, and we were in the midst of a
beautiful landscape. Hills and woods surround the lake; and, about half
way, a lofty cliff, called the “Maiden’s Rock,” stands out with bold
face into the water. It has received its name from an old legend that
an Indian maiden, preferring death to a hated suitor forced upon her by
her relatives, leaped from the top, and was drowned in the lake below.
Beyond Lake Pippin the river became more shallow and difficult, and we
were so continually delayed by running aground that we did not reach
St. Paul until several hours after dark.

St. Paul, the chief city of the State of Minnesota, is the great
border town of the North Western States. Beyond, collections of houses
called cities dwindle down to even a single hut--an outpost in the
wilderness. One of these which we passed on the road, a solitary house,
uninhabited, rejoiced in the name of “Breckenridge City;” and another,
“Salem City,” was little better.

From St. Paul a railway runs westward to St. Anthony, six miles
distant--the commencement of the Great Pacific Railroad, projected to
run across to California, and already laid out far on to the plains.
From St. Anthony a “stage” wagon runs through the out-settlements of
Minnesota as far as Georgetown, on the Red River. There we expected to
find a steamer which runs fortnightly to Fort Garry, in the Red River
Settlement. The “stage,” a mere covered spring-wagon, was crowded
and heavily laden. Inside were eight full-grown passengers and four
children; outside six, in addition to the driver; on the roof an
enormous quantity of luggage; and on the top of all were chained two
huge dogs--a bloodhound and Newfoundland--belonging to Treemiss.
Milton and Treemiss were fortunate enough to secure outside seats,
where, although cramped and uncomfortable, they could still breathe the
free air of heaven; but Cheadle was one of the unfortunate “insides,”
and suffered tortures during the first day’s journey. The day was
frightfully hot, and the passengers were packed so tightly, that it was
only by the consent and assistance of his next neighbour that he could
free an arm to wipe the perspiration from his agonised countenance.
Mosquitoes swarmed and feasted with impunity on the helpless crowd,
irritating the four wretched babies into an incessant squalling, which
the persevering singing of their German mothers about Fatherland was
quite ineffectual to assuage. Two female German Yankees kept up an
incessant clack, “guessing” that the “Young Napoleon” would soon wipe
out Jeff. Davis; in which opinion two male friends of the same race
perfectly agreed. The dogs kept tumbling off their slippery perch,
and hung dangling by their chains at either side, half strangled,
until hauled back again with the help of a “leg up” from the people
inside. This seventy mile drive to St. Cloud, where we stayed the first
night, was the most disagreeable experience we had. There six of the
passengers left us, but the two German women, with the four babies they
owned between them, still remained. The babies were much more irritable
than ever the next day, and their limbs and faces, red and swollen from
the effects of mosquito bites, showed what good cause they had for
their constant wailings.

The country rapidly became more open and level--a succession of
prairies, dotted with copses of wild poplar and scrub oak. The land
appeared exceedingly fertile, and the horses and draught oxen most
astonishingly fat. Sixty-five miles of similar country brought us,
on the second night after leaving St. Paul, to the little settlement
of Sauk Centre. As it still wanted half an hour to sundown when we
arrived, we took our guns and strolled down to some marshes close at
hand in search of ducks, but were obliged to return empty-handed,
for although we shot several we could not get them out of the water
without a dog, the mosquitoes being so rampant, that none of us felt
inclined to strip and go in for them. We were very much disappointed,
for we had set our hearts on having some for supper, as a relief to
the eternal salt pork of wayside houses in the far West. On our return
to the house where we were staying, we bewailed our ill-luck to our
host, who remarked that had he known we were going out shooting, he
would have lent us his own dog, a capital retriever. He introduced us
forthwith to “Rover,” a dapper-looking, smooth-haired dog, in colour
and make like a black and tan terrier, but the size of a beagle. When
it is known from the sequel of this history how important a person
Rover became, how faithfully he served us, how many meals he provided
for us, and the endless amusement his various accomplishments afforded
both to ourselves and the Indians we met with, we shall perhaps be
forgiven for describing him with such particularity. Amongst our Indian
friends he became as much beloved as he was hated by their dogs.
These wolf-like animals he soon taught to fear and respect him by his
courageous and dignified conduct; for although small of stature, he
possessed indomitable pluck, and had a method of fighting quite opposed
to their ideas and experience. Their manner was to show their teeth,
rush in and snap, and then retreat; while he went in and grappled with
his adversary in so determined a manner, that the biggest of them
invariably turned tail before his vigorous onset. Yet Rover was by no
means a quarrelsome dog. He walked about amongst the snarling curs
with tail erect, as if not noticing their presence; and probably to
this fearless demeanour he owed much of his immunity from attack. He
appeared so exactly suited for the work we required, and so gained our
hearts by his cleverness and docility, that next morning we made an
offer of 25 dollars for him.

The man hesitated, said he was very unwilling to part with him, and,
indeed, he thought his wife and sister would not hear of it. If,
however, they could be brought to consent, he thought he could not
afford to refuse so good an offer, for he was very short of money.

He went out to sound the two women on the subject, and they presently
rushed into the room; one of them caught up Rover in her arms, and,
both bursting into floods of tears, vehemently declared nothing would
induce them to part with their favourite. We were fairly vanquished by
such a scene, and slunk away, feeling quite guilty at having proposed
to deprive these poor lonely women of one of the few creatures they had
to lavish their wealth of feminine affection upon.

As we were on the point of starting, however, the man came up, leading
poor Rover by a string, and begged us to take him, as he had at last
persuaded the women to let him go. We demurred, but he urged it so
strongly that we at length swallowed our scruples, and paid the money.
As we drove off, the man said good-bye to him, as if parting with
his dearest friend, and gave us many injunctions to “be kind to the
little fellow.” This we most solemnly promised to do, and it is almost
needless to state, we faithfully kept our word.

A fortnight afterwards, these kindly people--in common with nearly all
the whites in that part of Minnesota--suffered a horrible death at
the hands of the invading Sioux. This fearful massacre, accompanied
as it was by all the brutalities of savage warfare, was certainly
accounted for, if not excused, or even justified, by the great
provocation they had received. The carelessness and injustice of the
American Government, and the atrocities committed by the troops sent
out for the protection of the frontier, exasperated the native tribes
beyond control. Several thousand Indians--men, women, and children--
assembled at Forts Snelling and Abercrombie, at a time appointed by
the Government themselves, to receive the yearly subsidy guaranteed
to them in payment for lands ceded to the United States. Year after
year, either through the neglect of the officials at Washington, or the
carelessness or dishonesty of their agents, the Indians were detained
there for weeks, waiting to receive what was due to them. Able to bring
but scanty provision with them--enough only for a few days--and far
removed from the buffalo, their only means of subsistence, they were
kept there in 1862 for nearly six weeks in fruitless expectation. Can
it be a matter of surprise that, having been treated year by year in
the same contemptuous manner, starving and destitute, the Sioux should
have risen to avenge themselves on a race hated by all the Indians of
the West?

Unconscious of the dangers gathering round, and little suspecting the
dreadful scenes so shortly to be enacted in this region, we drove
merrily along in the stage. As we went farther west, the prairies
became more extensive, timber more scarce, and human habitations more
rare. Prairie chickens and ducks were plentiful along the road, and
the driver obligingly pulled up to allow us to have a shot whenever a
chance occurred. On the third day we struck Red River, and stayed the
night at Fort Abercrombie; and the following day, the 18th of July,
arrived at Georgetown. The stage did not run beyond this point, and
the steamer, by which we intended to proceed to Fort Garry, was not
expected to come in for several days, so that we had every prospect of
seeing more of Georgetown than we cared for.

CHAPTER II.

Georgetown--Minnesota Volunteers--The Successful Hunters--An
Indian Hag--Resolve to go to Fort Garry in Canoes--Rumours
of a Sioux Outbreak--The Half-breeds refuse to Accompany us--
Prepare to Start Alone--Our Canoes and Equipment--A Sioux
War Party--The Half-breed’s Story--Down Red River--Strange
Sights and Sounds--Our First Night Out--Effects of the Sun and
Mosquitoes--Milton Disabled--Monotony of the Scenery--Leaky
Canoes--Travelling by Night--The “Oven” Camp--Hunting Geese
in Canoes--Meet the Steamer--Milton’s Narrow Escape--Treemiss
and Cheadle follow Suit--Carried Down the Rapids--Vain Attempts
to Ascend--A Hard Struggle--On Board at last--Start once
more--Delays--Try a Night Voyage Again--The “Riband Storm”--
“In Thunder, Lightning, and in Rain”--Fearful Phenomena--Our
Miserable Plight--No Escape--Steering in Utter Darkness--
Snags and Rocks--A Long Night’s Watching--No Fire--A Drying
Day--Another Terrible Storm--And Another--Camp of Disasters--
Leave it at last--Marks of the Fury of the Storms--Provisions
at an End--Fishing for Gold-eyes--A Day’s Fast--Slaughter
of Wild-Fowl--Our Voracity--A Pleasant Awakening--Caught up
by the Steamer--Pembina--Fort Garry--La Ronde--We go under
Canvass.

The little settlement of Georgetown is placed under cover of the belt
of timber which clothes the banks of the river, while to the south
and east endless prairie stretches away to the horizon. The place is
merely a trading post of the Hudson’s Bay Company, round which a few
straggling settlers have established themselves. A company of Minnesota
Volunteers was stationed here for the protection of the settlement
against the Sioux. They were principally Irish or German Yankees;
_i.e._, emigrants, out-Heroding Herod in Yankeeism, yet betraying their
origin plainly enough. These heroes, slovenly and unsoldier-like, yet
full of swagger and braggadocio now, when the Sioux advanced to the
attack on Port Abercrombie, a few weeks afterwards, took refuge under
beds, and hid in holes and corners, from whence they had to be dragged
by their officers, who drew them out to face the enemy by putting
revolvers to their heads.

On the day of our arrival two half-breeds came in from a hunting
expedition in which they had been very successful. They had found
a band of twenty elk, out of which they killed four, desisting,
according to their own account, from shooting more from a reluctance
to waste life and provision!--a piece of consideration perfectly
incomprehensible in a half-breed or Indian. We went down to their camp
by the river, where they were living in an Indian “lodge,” or tent
of skins stretched over a cone of poles. Squatted in front of it,
engaged in cutting the meat for drying, was the most hideous old hag
ever seen. Lean, dried-up, and withered, her parchment skin was seamed
and wrinkled into folds and deep furrows, her eyes were bleared and
blinking, and her long, iron-grey hair, matted and unkempt, hung over
her shoulders. She kept constantly muttering, and showing her toothless
gums, as she clawed the flesh before her with long, bony, unwashed
fingers, breaking out occasionally into wild, angry exclamations, as
she struck at the skeleton dogs which attempted to steal some of the
delicate morsels strewn around.

Finding upon inquiry that, in consequence of the lowness of the
water, it was very uncertain when the steamer would arrive, if she
ever reached Georgetown at all, we decided to make the journey to
Fort Garry in canoes. The distance is above five hundred miles by the
river, which runs through a wild and unsettled country, inhabited only
by wandering tribes of Sioux, Chippeways, and Assiniboines. After
much bargaining, we managed to obtain two birch-bark canoes from some
half-breeds. One of them was full of bullet holes, having been formerly
the property of some Assiniboines, who were waylaid by a war party of
Sioux whilst descending the river the previous summer, and mercilessly
shot down from the bank, where their enemies lay in ambush. The other
was battered and leaky, and both required a great deal of patching
and caulking before they were rendered anything like water-tight. We
endeavoured to engage a guide, half-breed or Indian, but none would
go with us. The truth was that rumours were afloat of the intended
outbreak of the Sioux, and these cowards were afraid. One man, indeed--
a tall, savage-looking Iroquois, just recovering from the effects of a
week’s debauch on corn whisky--expressed his readiness to go with us,
but his demands were so exorbitant, that we refused them at once. We
offered him one-half what he had asked, and he went off to consult his
squaw, promising to give us an answer next day.

We did not take very large supplies of provisions with us, as we
expected not to be more than eight or ten days on our voyage, and knew
that we should meet with plenty of ducks along the river. We therefore
contented ourselves with twenty pounds of flour, and the same of
pemmican, with about half as much salt pork, some grease, tinder, and
matches, a small quantity of tea, salt, and tobacco, and plenty of
ammunition. A tin kettle and frying-pan, some blankets and a waterproof
sheet, a small axe, and a gun and hunting-knife apiece, made up the
rest of our equipment.

Whilst we were completing our preparations, another half-breed came
in, in a great state of excitement, with the news that a war party
of Sioux were lurking in the neighbourhood. He had been out looking
for elk, when he suddenly observed several Indians skulking in the
brushwood; from their paint and equipment he knew them to be Sioux
on the war-path. They did not appear to have perceived him, and he
turned and fled, escaping to the settlement unpursued. We did not place
much reliance on his story, or the various reports we had heard, and
set out the next day alone. How fearfully true these rumours of the
hostility of the Sioux, which we treated so lightly at the time, turned
out to be, is already known to the reader. As we got ready to start,
the Iroquois sat on the bank, smoking sullenly, and showing neither
by word nor sign any intention of accepting our offer of the previous
day. Milton and Rover occupied the smaller canoe, while Treemiss and
Cheadle navigated the larger one. At first we experienced some little
difficulty in steering, and were rather awkward in the management of a
paddle. A birch-bark canoe sits so lightly on the water, that a puff
of wind drives it about like a walnut-shell; and with the wind dead
ahead, paddling is very slow and laborious. But we got on famously
after a short time, Milton being an old hand at the work, and the
others accustomed to light and crank craft on the Isis and the Cam. We
glided along pleasantly enough, lazily paddling or floating quietly
down the sluggish stream. The day was hot and bright, and we courted
the graceful shade of the trees which overhung the bank on either side.
The stillness of the woods was broken by the dip of our paddles, the
occasional splash of a fish, or the cry of various birds. The squirrel
played and chirruped among the branches of the trees, the spotted
woodpecker tapped on the hollow trunk, while, perched high on the
topmost bough of some withered giant of the forest, the eagle and the
hawk uttered their harsh and discordant screams. Here and there along
the banks swarms of black and golden orioles clustered on the bushes,
the gaily-plumed kingfisher flitted past, ducks and geese floated on
the water, and the long-tailed American pigeon darted like an arrow
high over the tree-tops. As night approached, a hundred owls hooted
round us; the whip-poor-will startled us with its rapid, reiterated
call; and the loon--the most melancholy of birds--sent forth her
wild lamentations from some adjoining lake. Thoroughly did we enjoy
these wild scenes and sounds, and the strange sensation of freedom and
independence which possessed us.

Having shot as many ducks as we required, we put ashore at sundown, and
drawing our canoes out of the water into the bushes which fringed the
river-bank, safe from the eye of any wandering or hostile Indian, we
encamped for the night on the edge of the prairie. It became quite dark
before we had half completed our preparations, and we were dreadfully
bothered, in our raw inexperience, to find dry wood for the fire, and
do the cooking. However, we managed at last to pluck and split open the
ducks into “spread-eagles,” roasting them on sticks, Indian fashion,
and these, with some tea and “dampers,” or cakes of unleavened bread,
furnished a capital meal. We then turned into our blankets, _sub
Jove_--for we had no tent;--but the tales we had heard of prowling
Sioux produced some effect, and a half-wakeful watchfulness replaced
our usual sound slumbers.

We often recalled afterwards how one or other of us suddenly sat up
in bed and peered into the darkness at any unusual sound, or got up
to investigate the cause of the creakings and rustlings frequently
heard in the forest at night, but which might have betrayed the
stealthy approach of an Indian enemy. Mosquitoes swarmed and added to
our restlessness. In the morning we all three presented an abnormal
appearance, Milton’s arms being tremendously blistered, red, and
swollen, from paddling with them bare in the scorching sun; and
Treemiss and Cheadle exhibiting faces it was impossible to recognise,
so wofully were they changed by the swelling of mosquito bites.

Milton was quite unable to use a paddle for several days, and his canoe
was towed along by Treemiss and Cheadle. This, of course, delayed us
considerably, and the delight we had experienced during the first few
days’ journey gradually gave place to a desire for change.

Red River, flowing almost entirely through prairie land, has hollowed
out for itself a deep channel in the level plains, the sloping sides of
which are covered with timber almost to the water’s edge. The unvarying
sameness of the river, and the limited prospect shut in by rising banks
on either side, gave a monotony to our daily journey; and the routine
of cooking, chopping, loading and unloading canoes, paddling, and
shooting, amusing enough at first, began to grow rather tiresome.

The continual leaking of our rickety canoes obliged us to pull up so
frequently to empty them, and often spend hours in attempting to stop
the seams, that we made very slow progress towards completing the five
hundred miles before us. We therefore thoroughly overhauled them, and
having succeeded in making them tolerably water-tight, resolved to make
an extra stage, and travel all night. The weather was beautifully fine,
and, although there was no moon, we were able to steer well enough by
the clear starlight.

The night seemed to pass very slowly, and we nodded wearily over our
paddles before the first appearance of daylight gave us an excuse for
landing, which we did at the first practicable place. The banks were
knee-deep in mud, but we were too tired and sleepy to search further,
and carried our things to drier ground higher up, where a land-slip
from a steep cliff had formed a small level space a few yards square.
The face of the cliff was semi-circular, and its aspect due south; not
a breath of air was stirring, and as we slept with nothing to shade
us from the fiery rays of the mid-day sun, we awoke half baked. Some
ducks which we had killed the evening before were already stinking and
half putrid, and had to be thrown away as unfit for food. We found the
position unbearable, and, reluctantly re-loading our canoes, took to
the river again, and paddled languidly along until evening. This camp,
which we called “The Oven,” was by far the warmest place we ever found,
with the exception of the town of Acapulco, in Mexico, which stands in
a very similar situation.

A week after we left Georgetown our provisions fell short, for the
pemmican proved worthless, and fell to the lot of Rover, and we
supplied ourselves entirely by shooting the wild-fowl, which were
tolerably plentiful. The young geese, although almost full-grown and
feathered, were not yet able to fly, but afforded capital sport. When
hotly pursued they dived as we came near in the canoes, and, if too
hardly pushed, took to the shore. This was generally a fatal mistake;
Milton immediately landed with Rover, who quickly discovered them lying
with merely their heads hidden in the grass or bushes, and they were
then captured.

When engaged in this exciting amusement one day, Milton went ahead
down stream in chase of a wounded bird, while Treemiss and Cheadle
remained behind to look after some others which had taken to the land.
The former was paddling away merrily after his prey, when, at a sudden
turn of the river, he came upon the steamer warping up a shallow
rapid. Eager to get on board and taste the good things we had lately
lacked, he swept down the current alongside the overhanging deck of
the steamer. The stream was rough and very strong, and its force was
increased by the effect of the stern-wheel of the steamer in rapid
motion in the narrow channel. The canoe was drawn under the projecting
deck, but Milton clung tightly to it, and the friendly hands of some
of the crew seized and hauled him and his canoe safely on board. The
others following shortly afterwards, and observing the steamer in like
manner, were equally delighted, and dashed away down stream in order to
get on board as quickly as possible.

The stern-wheel was now stopped, but as they neared the side it was
suddenly put in motion again, and the canoe carried at a fearful pace
past the side of the boat, sucked in by the whirlpool of the wheel. By
the most frantic exertions, the two saved themselves from being drawn
under, but were borne down the rapid about a quarter of a mile. Rover
attempting a similar feat, was carried down after them, struggling
vainly against the powerful current. Great was the wrath of Cheadle
and Treemiss against the captain for the trick he had served them, and
they squabbled no little with each other also, as they vainly strove
to re-ascend the rapid. Three times they made the attempt, but were
as often swept back, and had to commence afresh. By paddling with all
their might they succeeded in getting within a hundred yards of the
steamer; but at this point, where the stream narrowed and shot with
double force round a sharp turn in the channel, the head of the canoe
was swept round in spite of all their efforts, and down they went again.

When they were on the eve of giving up in despair, the other canoe
appeared darting down towards them, manned by two men whose masterly
use of the paddle proclaimed them to be old voyageurs. Coming
alongside, one of them exchanged places with Cheadle, and thus, each
having a skilful assistant, by dint of hugging the bank, and warily
avoiding the strength of the current, they easily reached the critical
point for the fourth time. Here again was a fierce struggle. Swept back
repeatedly for a few yards, but returning instantly to the attack, they
at last gained the side of the steamer. The captain kindly stopped half
an hour to allow us to have a good dinner. Finding the steamer would
probably be a week before she returned, we obtained a fresh stock of
flour and salt pork, and went on our way again. Presently we found
Rover, who had got to land a long way down the stream, and took him on
board again.

After a few days’ slow and monotonous voyaging, being again frequently
obliged to stop in order to repair our leaky craft, we decided to try a
night journey once more. The night was clear and starlight, but in the
course of an hour or two ominous clouds began to roll up from the west,
and the darkness increased. We went on, however, hoping that there
would be no storm. But before long, suddenly, as it seemed to us, the
darkness became complete; then, without previous warning, a dazzling
flash of lightning lit up for a moment the wild scene around us, and
almost instantaneously a tremendous clap of thunder, an explosion like
the bursting of a magazine, caused us to stop paddling, and sit silent
and appalled. A fierce blast of wind swept over the river, snapping
great trees like twigs on every side; the rain poured down in floods,
and soaked us through and through; flash followed flash in quick
succession, with its accompanying roar of thunder; whilst at intervals
between, a dim, flickering light, faint and blue, like the flame of a
spirit lamp, or the “Will-o’-the-wisp,” hovered over the surface of the
water, but failed to light up the dense blackness of the night. With
this came an ominous hissing, like the blast of a steam pipe, varying
with the wind, now sounding near as the flame approached, now more
distant as it wandered away.

We were in the very focus of the storm; the whole air was charged with
electricity, and the changing currents of the electric fluid, or the
shifting winds, lifted and played with our hair in passing. The smell
of ozone was so pungent that it fairly made us snort again, and forced
itself on our notice amongst the other more fearful phenomena of the
storm. We made an attempt to land at once, but the darkness was so
intense that we could not see to avoid the snags and fallen timber
which beset the steep, slippery bank; and the force of the stream
bumped us against them in a manner which warned us to desist, if we
would avoid being swamped or knocking holes in the paper sides of our
frail craft. We had little chance of escape in that case, for the river
was deep, and it would be almost impossible to clamber up the slippery
face of the bank, even if we succeeded in finding it, through the utter
darkness in which we were enveloped. There was nothing else for it but
to face it out till daylight, and we therefore fastened the two canoes
together, and again gave ourselves up to the fury of the storm. We had
some difficulty in bringing the two canoes alongside, but by calling
out to one another, and by the momentary glimpses obtained during the
flashes of lightning, we at last effected it. Treemiss, crouching in
the bows, kept a sharp look-out, while we, seated in the stern, steered
by his direction. As each flash illuminated the river before us for
an instant, he was able to discern the rocks and snags ahead, and a
vigorous stroke of our paddles carried us clear during the interval of
darkness.

After a short period of blind suspense, the next flash showed us that
we had avoided one danger to discover another a few yards in front.
Hour after hour passed by, but the storm raged as furiously, and the
rain came down as fast as ever. We looked anxiously for the first gleam
of daylight, but the night seemed as if it would never come to an end.
The canoes were gradually filling with water, which had crept up nearly
to our waists, and the gunwales were barely above the surface. It
became very doubtful whether they would float till daybreak.

The night air was raw and cold, and as we sat in our involuntary
hip-bath, with the rain beating upon us, we shivered from head to foot;
our teeth chattered, and our hands became so benumbed that we could
scarcely grasp the paddles. But we dared not take a moment’s rest from
our exciting work, in watching and steering clear of the snags and
rocks, although we were almost tempted to give up, and resign ourselves
to chance.

Never will any of us forget the misery of that night, or the intense
feeling of relief we experienced when we first observed rather a
lessening of the darkness than any positive appearance of light.
Shortly before this, the storm began sensibly to abate; but the rain
poured down as fast as ever when we hastily landed in the grey morning
on a muddy bank, the first practicable place we came to. Drawing our
canoes high on shore, that they might not be swept off by the rising
flood, we wrapped ourselves in our dripping blankets, and, utterly
weary and worn out, slept long and soundly.[1]

When we awoke, the sun was already high, shining brightly, and
undimmed by a single cloud, and our blankets were already half dry.
We therefore turned out, spread our things on the bushes, and made an
attempt to light a fire. All our matches and tinder were wet, and we
wasted a long time in fruitless endeavours to get a light by firing
pieces of dried rag out of a gun. Whilst we were thus engaged, another
adventurer appeared, coming down the river in a “dug-out,” or small
canoe hollowed out of a log. We called out to him as he passed, and he
came ashore, and supplied us with some dry matches. He had camped in
a sheltered place before sundown, on the preceding evening, and made
everything secure from the rain before the storm came on. We soon had
a roaring fire, and spent the rest of the day in drying our property
and patching our canoes, which we did caulk most effectually this
time, by plastering strips of our pocket-handkerchiefs over the seams
with pine-gum. But our misfortunes were yet far from an end. We broke
the axe and the handle of the frying-pan, and were driven to cut our
fire-wood with our hunting-knives, and manipulate the cooking utensil
by means of a cleft stick.

Our expectations of having a good night’s rest were disappointed. About
two hours before daylight we were awakened by the rumbling of distant
thunder, and immediately jumped up and made everything as secure as
possible. Before very long, a storm almost as terrible as the one of
the night before burst over us. Our waterproof sheets were too small
to keep out the deluge of water which flooded the ground, and rushed
into our blankets. But we managed to keep our matches dry, and lighted
a fire when the rain ceased. Meantime, about noon, nearly everything we
had was soaked again, and we had to spend the rest of the day in drying
clothes and blankets as before.

On the third day after our arrival in this camp of disasters, just as
we were nearly ready to start, we were again visited by a terrible
thunder-storm, and once more reduced to our former wretched plight.
Again we set to work to wring out trousers, shirts, and blankets, and
clean our guns, sulkily enough, almost despairing of ever getting away
from the place where we had encountered so many troubles.

But the fourth day brought no thunder-storm, nor did we experience any
bad weather for the rest of the voyage.

We paddled joyfully away from our dismal camp, and along the river-side
saw numerous marks of the fury of the storm; great trees blown down,
or trunks snapped short off, others torn and splintered by lightning.
The storm had evidently been what is called a “riband storm,” which
had followed the course of the river pretty closely. The riband storm
passes over only a narrow line, but within these limits is exceedingly
violent and destructive.

We had by this time finished all the provisions we brought with us,
and lived for some days on ducks and fish. A large pike, of some ten
or twelve pounds, served us for a couple of days, and we occasionally
caught a quantity of gold-eyes, a fish resembling the dace. Having
unfortunately broken our last hook, we caught them by the contrivance
of two needles fastened together by passing the line through the eyes,
and threading them head first through the bait. One night found us
with nothing but a couple of gold-eyes for supper, and we were roused
very early next morning by the gnawing of our stomachs. We paddled
nearly the whole day in the hot sun, languid and weary, and most
fearfully hungry. Neither ducks nor geese were to be seen, and the
gold-eyes resisted all our allurements. We knew that we must be at
least 150 miles from our journey’s end, and our only hope of escaping
semi-starvation seemed to be the speedy arrival of the steamer. For
be it remembered, that for the whole distance of 450 miles between
Georgetown and Pembina, sixty miles above Fort Garry, there are no
inhabitants except chance parties of Indians. We were sorely tempted to
stop and rest during the heat of the day, but were urged on by the hope
of finding something edible before nightfall.

Our perseverance was duly rewarded, for shortly before sundown we came
upon a flock of geese, and a most exciting chase ensued. Faintness and
languor were forgotten, and we paddled furiously after them, encouraged
by the prospect of a substantial supper. We killed three geese, and
soon after met with a number of ducks, out of which we shot seven.
Before we could find a place at which to camp, we killed two more
geese, and were well supplied for a couple of days. We speedily lit a
fire, plucked and spitted our game, and before they were half cooked,
devoured them, far more greedily than if they had been canvass-backs
at Delmonico’s, or the Maison Dorée. The total consumption at this
memorable meal consisted of two geese and four ducks; but then, as
a Yankee would express it, they were geese and ducks “straight”--
_i.e._, without anything else whatever. We slept very soundly and
happily that night, and at daybreak were awakened by the puffing of the
steamer; and running to the edge of the river, there, sure enough, was
the _International_. The captain had already caught sight of us, and
stopped alongside; and in a few minutes we were on board, and engaged
in discussing what seemed to us a most delicious meal of salt pork,
bread, and molasses. We had been sixteen days since leaving Georgetown,
and were not sorry that our canoeing was over. On the following day we
reached Pembina, a half-breed settlement on the boundary-line between
British and American territory; and the next, being the 7th of August,
arrived at Fort Garry. Directly we came to anchor opposite the Fort, a
number of people came on board, principally half-breeds, and amongst
them La Ronde, who had been out with Milton on his previous visit to
the plains. He indulged in the most extravagant demonstrations of
delight at seeing him again, and expressed his readiness to go with him
to the end of the world, if required.

He informed us that our arrival was expected. Two men, who had left
Georgetown after our departure from that place, had arrived at Fort
Garry some days before by land, and from the unusually long time we
had been out, serious apprehensions were entertained for our safety.
Indeed, La Ronde had made preparations to start immediately in search
of us, in case we did not arrive by the steamer. We pitched our tent
near his house, in preference to the unsatisfactory accommodation
of the so-called hotel, and had no cause to regret having at once
commenced life under canvass.

CHAPTER III.

Fort Garry--Origin of the Red River Settlement--The First
Settlers--Their Sufferings--The North-Westers--The
Grasshoppers--The Blackbirds--The Flood--The Colony in
1862--King Company--Farming at Red River--Fertility of the
Soil--Isolated Position of the Colony--Obstructive Policy of
the Company--Their Just Dealing and Kindness to the Indians--
Necessity for a proper Colonial Government--Value of the
Country--French Canadians and Half-breeds--Their Idleness and
Frivolity--Hunters and Voyageurs--Extraordinary Endurance--
The English and Scotch Settlers--The Spring and Fall Hunt--
Our Life at Fort Garry--Too late to cross the Mountains before
Winter--Our Plans--Men--Horses--Bucephalus--Our Equipment--
Leave Fort Garry--The “Noce”--La Ronde’s last Carouse--
Delightful Travelling--A Night Alarm--Vital Deserts--Fort
Ellice--Delays--Making Pemmican--Its Value to the Traveller--
Swarms of Wild-Fowl--Good Shooting--The Indian Summer--A Salt
Lake Country--Search for Water--A Horse’s Instinct--South
Saskatchewan--Arrive at Carlton.

Fort Garry--by which we mean the building itself, for the name of the
Fort is frequently used for the settlement generally--is situated on
the north bank of the Assiniboine river, a few hundred yards above its
junction with Red River. It consists of a square enclosure of high
stone walls, flanked at each angle by round towers. Within this are
several substantial wooden buildings--the Governor’s residence, the
gaol, and the storehouses for the Company’s furs and goods. The shop,
where articles of every description are sold, is thronged from morning
till night by a crowd of settlers and half-breeds, who meet there to
gossip and treat each other to rum and brandy, as well as to make their
purchases.

The Red River settlement extends beyond Fort Garry for about twenty
miles to the northward along the banks of Red River, and about fifty
to the westward along its tributary, the Assiniboine. The wealthier
inhabitants live in large, well-built wooden houses, and the poorer
half-breeds in rough log huts, or even Indian “lodges.” There are
several Protestant churches, a Romish cathedral and nunnery, and
schools of various denominations. The neighbouring country is
principally open, level prairie, the timber being confined, with a few
exceptions, to the banks of the streams. The settlement dates from
the year 1811, when the Earl of Selkirk purchased from the Hudson’s
Bay Company and the Cree and Sauteux Indians a large tract of land
stretching along both banks of the Red River and the Assiniboine. The
country was at that time inhabited only by wandering tribes of Indians,
and visited occasionally by the employés of the North-West and Hudson’s
Bay Companies, who had trading posts in the neighbourhood. Vast herds
of buffalo, now driven far to the west of Red River, then ranged over
its prairies, and frequented the rich feeding grounds of the present
State of Minnesota, as far as the Mississippi.

The first band of emigrants--Scotch families, sent out under the
auspices of Lord Selkirk--reached the colony in 1812, and were
reinforced by subsequent detachments until the year 1815. Never
did the pioneers of any new country suffer greater hardships and
discouragements than were experienced by these unfortunate people
during the first seven or eight years after their arrival. They
were attacked by the Canadians and half-breeds in the employ of the
North-West Fur Company, who looked on them with jealousy, as _protegés_
of their rivals of the Hudson’s Bay Company, and were compelled to
flee to Pembina. Here they spent the winter living on the charity of
the Indians and half-breeds, and suffering the greatest hardships from
the scarcity of provisions, and want of proper protection against the
severity of the climate. When they returned to the colony they were
again attacked by their persevering enemies, the North-Westers, many
of their number shot down, the rest driven a second time into exile,
and their homes pillaged or burnt. They went back a third time, but
their attempts to live by the cultivation of the soil were defeated
by various misfortunes. Crops promising to repay them a hundred-fold
were devoured by swarms of grasshoppers, which appeared two years in
succession, and all they were able to save was a small quantity of
seed collected by the women in their aprons. These insects came in
such armies that they lay in heaps on the ground; fires lighted out
of doors were speedily extinguished by them, the earth stank, and
the waters were polluted with the mass of decomposing bodies. The
grasshoppers disappeared, and have not since re-visited the colony;
but they were succeeded by myriads of blackbirds, which made terrible
havoc with the grain. It was not until the year 1821, nine years after
the first establishment of the colony, that these unfortunate settlers
succeeded in reaping to any extent the fruits of their labours. The
North-West Company was at that time amalgamated with the Hudson’s Bay
Company, when the colonists were left in peace, and have steadily,
though slowly, progressed up to the present time. The only misfortune
which has since occurred to them was a disastrous flood, which swept
away horses, cattle, and corn-stacks, as well as several of the
inhabitants.[2]

In 1862 we found them a very heterogeneous community of about eight
thousand souls--Englishmen, Irishmen, Scotchmen, English Canadians,
French Canadians, Americans, English half-breeds, Canadian half-breeds,
and Indians. Nearly the whole population, with the exception of a few
storekeepers and free-traders, live by the Company, and the Company is
king. The Company makes the laws, buys the produce of the chase and of
the farm, supplying in return the other necessaries and the luxuries of
life.

The farmers of Red River are wealthy in flocks, and herds, and grain,
more than sufficient for their own wants, and live in comparative
comfort. The soil is so fertile, that wheat is raised year after year
on the same land, and yields fifty and sixty bushels to the acre,
without any manure being required. The pasturage is of the finest
quality, and unlimited in extent. The countless herds of buffalo which
the land has supported are sufficient evidence of this. But, shut
out in this distant corner of the earth from any communication with
the rest of the world--except an uncertain one with the young State
of Minnesota by steamer during the summer, and with England by the
Company’s ship which brings stores to York Factory, in Hudson’s Bay,
once a year--the farmers find no market for their produce.

It is the interest and policy of the Company to discourage emigration,
and keep the country as one vast preserve for fur-bearing animals.
The colony has therefore been recruited almost entirely from their
own servants, who settle at Fort Garry on their retirement from the
service. It is also their interest to prevent any trading except
through themselves. In 1849 they attempted to enforce their monopoly
of the fur trade, and four half-breeds were arrested for infringement
of the laws by buying furs from the Indians. The half-breeds rose in
arms, and a revolution was imminent. The trial was not proceeded with,
and since that time they have been content to put every obstacle in the
way of free-trade, by tabooing the offender, and refusing to furnish
him with anything out of their stores. This obstructive policy keeps
up a continual ill-feeling amongst the independent population of the
settlement, who naturally enough have little belief in the justice of
laws framed, as they imagine, for the protection of the Company rather
than for the general good. The members of the Legislative Council,
the magistrates, and all other public officers, are nominated by the
Governor.

The Hudson’s Bay Company have, we believe, exercised their almost
absolute power well and justly, in so far that they have administered
with impartiality the laws which they have made. They have gained
the affection and respect of the Indians by kindly intercourse and
just dealing. But the day of monopolies has gone by, and it seems
strange that the governing power of this colony should still be left
in the hands of a trading company, whose interests are opposed to its
development. It is time the anomaly should cease, and a proper colonial
government be established, whose efforts would be directed to the
opening out of a country so admirably adapted for settlement.

From Red River to the Rocky Mountains, along the banks of the
Assiniboine and the fertile belt of the Saskatchewan, at least sixty
millions of acres of the richest soil lie ready for the farmer when he
shall be allowed to enter in and possess it. This glorious country,
capable of sustaining an enormous population, lies utterly useless,
except for the support of a few Indians, and the enrichment of the
shareholders of the Last Great Monopoly.

Since the time of our visit the Company has passed into other hands.
The fact that the new directors sent out Dr. Rae to survey a route
for a telegraph line through their territories into British Columbia,
redounds greatly to their credit, and induces a hope that their policy
will be more liberal than that of their predecessors.

The stationary condition of the Red River colony is not, however, to be
entirely attributed to the despotic rule of the Hudson’s Bay Company,
but in some measure also to the incorrigible idleness and want of
thrift exhibited by the French Canadians, and their relatives, the
French half-breeds, who form the largest section of the inhabitants.
The latter, the most numerous of the two, are also the most unreliable
and unprofitable members of society. Desultory, fickle, mercurial, and
passionately fond of gaiety and finery, they have an utter distaste for
all useful labour, and rarely succeed in raising themselves into any
permanent position of comfort and independence.

They are so admirably delineated by Mr. Ross, in his “History of
the Red River Settlement,” that we shall be excused for quoting his
description. He says, “The Canadians and half-breeds are promiscuously
settled together, and live in much the same way. They are not, properly
speaking, farmers, hunters, or fishermen, but rather compound the
three occupations together, and follow them in turn, as whim and
circumstances may dictate. They farm to-day, hunt to-morrow, and fish
the next day, without anything like system, always at a nonplus,
but never disconcerted. They are great in adventuring, but small in
performing, and exceedingly plausible in their dealings. Still, they
are oftener useful to themselves than others, and get through the world
as best they can, without much forethought or reflection. Taking them
all in all, they are a happy people.” They spend much of their time
in singing, dancing, and gossiping from house to house, getting drunk
when the opportunity offers. They are a merry, light-hearted, obliging
race, recklessly generous, hospitable, and extravagant. Dancing goes
on nearly every night throughout the winter, and a wedding, or “noce”
as it is called, is celebrated by keeping open house, and relays of
fiddlers are busily employed playing for the dancers all through the
night, and often far on into the next day. By that time most of the
guests are incapacitated from saltatory exercise; for rum flows freely
on these occasions, and when a half-breed drinks he does it, as he
says, _comme il faut_--that is, until he obtains the desired happiness
of complete intoxication. Vanity is another of their besetting sins,
and they will leave themselves and their families without the common
necessaries of life to become the envied possessors of a handsome suit,
a gun, a horse, or a train of dogs, which may happen to attract their
fancy. Being intensely superstitious, and firm believers in dreams,
omens, and warnings, they are apt disciples of the Romish faith.
Completely under the influence of the priests in most respects, and
observing the outward forms of their religion with great regularity,
they are yet grossly immoral, often dishonest, and generally not
trustworthy.

But as hunters, guides, and voyageurs they are unequalled. Of more
powerful build, as a rule, than the pure Indian, they combine his
endurance and readiness of resource with the greater muscular strength
and perseverance of the white man. Day after day, with plenty of food,
or none at all, whether pack on back, trapping in the woods, treading
out a path with snow-shoes in the deep snow for the sleigh-dogs, or
running after them at a racing pace from morning to night, when there
is a well-beaten track, they will travel fifty or sixty miles a day
for a week together without showing any sign of fatigue.

The other division of the inhabitants of the Red River settlement,
the English and Scotch, with the better portion of their half-breed
relations, form a pleasing contrast to their French neighbours, being
thrifty, industrious, and many of them wealthy, in their way. Some of
the more Indian of the English half-breeds are, indeed, little better
than the Canadians, but these seem to be the exception, for we met but
few who equalled the French half-breeds in idleness and frivolity.

These different classes have each their own quarter in the settlement.
The English and Scotch inhabit the west bank of Red River, north of the
Assiniboine, while the French Canadians dwell on the east bank of Red
River, and along the south bank of the Assiniboine. The Indian tribes
who frequent Fort Garry are the Sauteux and other branches of the great
Chippeway nation, and occasionally a few Crees, or Assiniboines; the
Sioux, the natural enemies of all the former tribes, sometimes visit
the colony in time of peace.

The two great events of the year at Red River are the Spring and Fall
Hunt. The buffalo still forms one of the principal sources from which
provisions are obtained. Pemmican and dried meat, like bacon with us,
are staple articles of food in every establishment. At these seasons
the whole able-bodied half-breed population set out for the plains in a
body, with their horses and carts. Many of the farmers who do not go
themselves engage half-breeds to hunt for them. These expeditions now
assume very large proportions. The number of hunters frequently exceeds
500, and they are accompanied by the women and children, to prepare
the meat. The number of carts often reaches 1,500 or 1,600. When the
buffalo are found, the horsemen are formed into line, and ride up as
close as possible before the herd takes flight at full speed. Then the
captain gives the word, and all charge, as hard as horses can gallop,
into the middle of the herd. The fattest beasts are singled out and
shot down, and often more than 1,000 carcases strew the ground.

We spent three weeks at Fort Garry very pleasantly. The weather was
beautifully bright and fine, without a cloud in the sky, and although
intensely hot, we enjoyed our lazy life thoroughly for a time.

The Bishop, Dr. Anderson, showed us great kindness and hospitality, and
the Governor of Red River, Mr. M‘Tavish, afforded us every assistance
in fitting out our expedition. The only drawback to our comfort was
the presence of armies of mosquitoes and sand-flies, which attacked
us every night. In order to get any sleep, we were compelled to smoke
out our tent before turning in. This we effected by cutting a hole
in the ground at one end, and lighting a small fire in the bottom,
which we covered up with sods and earth when it was well alight. The
fire generally continued to smoulder and smoke until morning, but it
frequently acted so effectually that we were awakened in the night by a
sense of suffocation, and were compelled to rush out of the tent, to
escape being stifled.

During our stay, Lord Dunmore, and a party of officers of the Guards
stationed at Montreal, arrived on their way to hunt buffalo on the
plains. Their preparations were soon completed, and they started before
us for Fort Ellice, on the Assiniboine.

We found, upon careful inquiry, that it was already too late in the
season to attempt crossing the mountains before winter. We therefore
decided to travel westward, to some convenient point on the river
Saskatchewan, and winter there, in readiness to go forward across the
mountains the following summer. We also learnt that several parties of
emigrants, about 200 in all, chiefly Canadians, had passed through in
the early part of the summer, on their way to British Columbia.

By the evening of the 22nd of August we had completed our arrangements,
ready to start on the morrow. We had engaged four men--Louis La
Ronde, our head man and guide, Jean Baptiste Vital, Toussaint Voudrie,
and Athanhaus Bruneau, all French half-breeds. La Ronde had a great
reputation as a hunter and trapper, and was very proud of having been
out with Dr. Rae on some of his extraordinary journeys. He was a
fine, tall, well-built fellow, with a handsome face and figure, and
was reported to be quite irresistible amongst the fair sex. Vital
was a sinister-looking dog, thick-set and bull-necked, surly and
ill-conditioned. He professed to have been out with Captain Palliser’s
expedition, and was eternally boasting of his skill and bravery in
encounters with Indians, and the extraordinary number of grisly bears
which he had slain. Voudrie was a little, dark-complexioned fellow,
very loquacious and plausible, but making no pretensions to any great
knowledge of hunting or travelling. Bruneau was the son of a Red River
magistrate--a tall, good-looking fellow, but very simple, and the
butt of all the others. Our conversation with the men was carried on
in Canadian French, for their knowledge of English was very imperfect.
Amongst themselves they used a mixed patois of French and Indian, for a
long time perfectly incomprehensible to us.

We succeeded in obtaining very good saddle horses. Treemiss bought the
champion runner of the settlement, and Milton had an old favourite of
his and La Ronde’s, the hero of a thousand runs. Cheadle’s horse was,
however, the most extraordinary-looking animal in the whole cavalcade.
Bucephalus stood about fifteen hands, was straight in the shoulder, one
of his legs was malformed and crooked, his head was very large, and
his tail very long. On the road he was continually stumbling; and when
Cheadle rode him about the settlement, he was at first nearly pitched
over every gate and fence he came to. When the horse caught sight of
one, he made for it, and suddenly stopping, stood stock-still, as a
hint for his rider to dismount and tie him up--an illustration of the
gossiping habits of his late owner. But he turned out the most useful
horse of the whole number, galloped over the roughest ground after
buffalo without ever making a mistake, or giving his rider a fall, and
eventually carried packs over the mountains into British Columbia.

Our supplies consisted of pemmican, dried meat, flour, tea, salt,
tobacco, rum, a large quantity of ammunition, blankets, and buffalo
robes, and knives and trinkets for presents or barter. These and a
canvass tent were carried in six of the small rough carts of the
country, which are made entirely of wood; and although they break more
readily than if iron were used, yet they are easily repaired when
travelling where iron and blacksmiths are not found.

We discarded boots and coats, adopting the costume of the country,
viz., moccasins, and hunting-shirts of the skin of the Cariboo deer.
Our weapons were a double-barrelled gun, hunting-knife, and a revolver
a-piece, which last we only carried when in dangerous localities.

And here we would offer a word of advice to any future traveller in the
Hudson’s Bay territories. If he intends merely to hunt buffalo on the
plains in the summer, when he can take carts along with him, and ample
supplies, let him take a rifle if he will; but if he wishes to see wild
life in every phase, and rough it through the winter, as we did, let
him be content with a double-barrelled smooth-bore, which will carry
ball well. Carts cannot travel in the deep snow, and everything has to
be carried on dog-sleighs. Every pound of weight is a consideration,
and a gun packed on a sleigh is almost certain to be bent or broken. In
the woods the hunter must carry all his baggage and provisions on his
back.

Two guns are, therefore, out of the question in both cases. The hunter
and trapper lives by the feathered game which he kills, rather than by
the larger animals, which are only occasionally met with; and although
he may be a crack shot, he cannot kill birds on the wing with a rifle,
or two or three at a time, as he must do if he would avoid starvation,
and economise his ammunition. A good smooth-bore shoots well enough, up
to sixty or eighty yards, for all practical purposes, and during our
experience we never met with an instance where we could not approach
within that distance of large game.

We left Fort Garry on the 23rd of August, in the highest spirits,
feeling free as air, riding alongside our train of carts, which carried
all we possessed on the continent. We had several spare horses, and
these trotted along after us as naturally as Rover. The road followed
the left bank of the Assiniboine pretty closely, passing through level
prairie land, with here and there patches of woodland and a few houses.
As we passed one of these hamlets, Voudrie informed us that a cousin
of his--the cousins of a half-breed are legion--had been married
that morning, and invited us to the wedding festivities, which were
then going on at the house of the bride’s father close by. As we had
some curiosity to see a “noce,” we agreed, and immediately camped, and
walked to the house, where we were duly introduced by Voudrie, and
warmly welcomed by the assembled company.

After we had discussed some meat, cakes, pasties, tea, and whisky
spread out on the ground outside, we adjourned to the ball-room,
the sitting-room of the little two-roomed house. It was crowded
with guests, dressed in full half-breed finery. At one end were two
fiddlers, who worked in relays, the music being in most rapid time, and
doubtless very fatiguing to the instrumentalists. The dance, in which
about half a dozen couples were engaged when we entered, appeared to
be a kind of cross between a Scotch reel and the “Lancers,” a number
of lively steps, including a double-shuffle and stamp, being executed
with great vigour. The dancing _was_ dancing, and no mistake, and both
the men and their fair partners were exceedingly hot and exhausted
when the “set” was finished. The figures appeared so intricate, and
the skill of the performers so admirable, that we were deterred by our
natural diffidence from yielding to the repeated solicitations of the
M.C. to select partners and foot it with the rest. At length, however,
Milton, with a courage equal to the occasion, and, it is suspected,
strongly attracted by the beauty of the bride--a delicate-featured,
pensive-looking girl of sixteen or seventeen, with a light and graceful
figure--boldly advanced, and led her out amid the applause of the
company. He succeeded in interpreting the spirit of the music, if not
with the energy, certainly with a greater dignity and infinitely less
exertion than his compeers. His performance was highly appreciated
by all--including Treemiss and Cheadle--who gazed with admiration,
mingled with envy, at a success they were unequal to achieve.

Weary at length of the hot room, and the incessant scraping of fiddles
and stamping of feet, we returned to camp and proposed to start again.
La Ronde, who had been in various stages of intoxication ever since
leaving Fort Garry, taking parting drinks with his friends at every
opportunity, had disappeared, and the others endeavoured to persuade
us that it was too late to go further that night. We overruled their
objections, however, and set out. La Ronde made his appearance before
we had gone very far, considerably sobered, and very penitent. He
assured us he had had his last drunk for many a long day, saying, “Je
boive pas souvent, messieurs, mais quand je boive, je boive comme il
faut, c’est ma façon voyez vous.” And so it turned out, for we never
had to complain of him again, and although we frequently offered him
rum, he always refused it, declaring he did not care for it unless he
could have a regular carouse. And thus it is with both half-breeds and
Indians; they do not drink from a liking for the taste of the liquor,
but simply to produce the happy state of intoxication.

After leaving Portage La Prairie, fifty miles beyond Fort Garry, and
the western boundary of the settlement, we entered a fine, undulating
country, full of lakes and marshes thronged with wild-fowl, and
studded with pretty copses of aspen. As we rode along we continually
came across the skulls of buffalo, whitened by age and exposure. A
few years ago buffalo were plentiful along the road between Red River
and Carlton. The prairies were gay with the flowers of the dark blue
gentianella, which grew in great profusion.

Each day was like the one before, yet without a wearisome monotony.
Sometimes we jogged dreamily along beside the carts, or lay basking
in the bright sunshine. When tired of idleness, we cantered ahead,
with Rover in attendance, and shot geese and ducks at the lakes, or
prairie grouse in the copses. Feathered game was so plentiful that we
easily killed enough to feed the whole party, and rarely had occasion
to trench on our stock of pemmican. A little before sundown we camped
by wood and water, hobbled the horses, and then ate our suppers with
appetites such as we had never known before. At night, while smoking
our pipes round the camp fire, La Ronde amused us with stories of his
hunting adventures, of encounters with the Sioux, or of his journey
with Dr. Rae, after which we turned into our blankets and slept soundly
till daybreak.

About midnight, however, on one occasion, when all were sound asleep,
the men under the carts, and ourselves in the tent, Treemiss suddenly
jumped up with a great shout, and rushed, _sans culottes_, out of the
tent, crying, “Indians! Indians! Indians!” Awakened thus rudely, we
ran out after him, frightened and half asleep, and Milton, observing a
figure stealthily moving near one of the carts, dashed at it, seized it
by the throat, and half strangled--Voudrie, who, hearing the noise,
had jumped up also to see what was the matter. When we found there was
no real cause for alarm, we searched for Treemiss, and found him on
the top of a cart, busily engaged in unpacking one of his boxes. He was
still in a state of somnambulism, and tremendously puzzled, when we
awoke him, to find himself where he was, shivering in his shirt in the
cold night air. We had a hearty laugh over the affair next morning, and
concluded that a mushroom supper, and La Ronde’s wild stories together,
were the cause of the horrible nightmare. While we were talking it
over, the men told us Vital was missing. We had remonstrated with him
about his laziness the day before, and he had taken it in high dudgeon,
and decamped in the night.

During the day we met a train of carts returning to Red River, and
engaged one of the drivers, a loutish-looking youth, who rejoiced in
the name of Zear, in place of Vital. The man in charge was the bearer
of a note from Lord Dunmore, stating that he was lying ill at Fort
Ellice, and requesting Cheadle to come to his relief as quickly as
possible. The next morning, therefore, we tied our blankets behind
our saddles, hung a tin cup to our belts, and taking a couple of
“gallettes,” or unleavened cakes, a-piece, set out on a forced march to
the Fort, leaving the men to follow more slowly with the carts.

We rode hard, and reached our destination on the evening of the third
day, when we found that our exertions had been useless, as Lord Dunmore
had left the day before. When the carts arrived two days afterwards,
several of them required repairs, which delayed us two days longer. We
were very kindly entertained by Mr. Mackay, the officer in charge of
the Fort, and amused ourselves by visiting the half-breeds and Indians,
whose lodges were erected in considerable numbers round the Fort. From
one of them we purchased a “lodge” in place of our canvass tent, the
former being far more comfortable during the cold autumn nights, as it
admits of a fire being made in the centre.

The half-breed hunters had just been driven in by the Sioux, who had
killed four of their party, having surprised them while cutting wood
away from the camp. The remainder of the half-breeds came up, however,
and drove them off, killing one, whose bow and arrow they showed us.
The Indians who frequent the fort are Sauteux, Assiniboines, and Crees;
and the half-breeds, nearly all of whom are related to one or other of
these tribes, share their hostility to the Sioux and Blackfeet, and
occasionally join the war-parties of their kinsfolk. The women were
busily engaged in making pemmican, which is prepared in the following
manner:--The meat, having been dried in the sun, or over a fire in
thin flakes, is placed in a dressed buffalo skin, and pounded with a
flail until it is reduced to small fragments and powder. The fat of
the animal is at the same time melted down. The pounded meat is then
put into bags of buffalo hide, and the boiling grease poured on to it.
The mass is well stirred and mixed together, and on cooling becomes as
solid as linseed cake. Although we found pemmican decidedly unpalatable
at first, tasting remarkably like a mixture of chips and tallow, we
became very partial to it after a time. A finer kind of pemmican is
made by using only marrow and soft fat, leaving out the tallow, and
sometimes adding berries of different kinds and some sugar. The berry
pemmican is much prized, and very difficult to get hold of, and is
really capital eating.[3]

In a country where food is scarce, and the means of transport very
limited, pemmican is invaluable to the traveller, as it contains a
large amount of nourishment in very small weight and compass. It is
uncommonly satisfying, and the most hungry mortal is able to devour
but a very small portion. Many a time have we sat down half-famished,
despising as insignificant the dish of pemmican set before us, and
yet been obliged to leave the mess unfinished. The voyageurs of the
Hudson’s Bay Company, whose power of enduring fatigue is probably
unequalled, subsist almost entirely upon this kind of food. It has,
however, one drawback: it is very difficult of digestion, and a
full meal of it is certain to cause considerable suffering to an
unaccustomed stomach. There are few half-breeds who do not suffer
habitually from dyspepsia.

Having crossed the Assiniboine river above the Fort, we now left it
to the right, travelling for several days through rich, park-like
country, similar to that we had previously traversed. Innumerable
lakes and pools, swarming with wild-fowl, supplied us with constant
shooting, and Rover with abundance of work. Canada geese, white
geese, mallards, canvass-backs, large-billed ducks, various kinds of
pochards, blue-winged teal, and common teal, were the most common of
the different species which thronged the waters. Occasionally the
appearance of a new species of duck, or a flock of white swans, gave
fresh zest to the sport. The ducks at this season are most delicious,
possessing much of the ordinary flavour of the wild bird, with all the
fatness and delicacy of the tame one. The broods of prairie grouse were
already full grown, and very plentiful. When driven into the little
round copses of aspen which are such a prominent feature of the “park
country,” they afforded capital sport.

We were now enjoying all the glory of the Indian summer. The days were
of that clear, unclouded brightness almost peculiar to the country;
the temperature of a delightful warmth, except at night, when it was
slightly frosty, the water sometimes showing a thin incrustation of
ice by morning. The mosquitoes and sand-flies had disappeared with the
first cool evening, and we slept in peace.

After passing the deserted old Fort at Touchwood Hills, we came, in
the course of a day or two, to a long stretch of bare rolling prairie,
destitute of tree or shrub, and its hollows occupied by nothing
but salt lakes, where we were obliged to carry with us a supply of
fire-wood and fresh water. When we were coming to the old park country
again, one evening at dark, Cheadle and La Ronde, who were out shooting
ahead of the train, came to a little skirt of wood on the shores of a
small lake, where they awaited the arrival of the carts, in order to
camp. These soon came up, the horses were taken out and hobbled, and
whilst the camp was being prepared, La Ronde walked down to the lake
to try and get a shot at what he supposed were ducks on the water.
He crept cautiously up, but when he peeped through the bushes which
fringed the shore, he found to his astonishment that what he took for
ducks were prairie hens. The lake was dry, and the saline incrustation
in its bed had in the twilight, at a little distance, the most complete
appearance of water. Although it was nearly dark, we had no choice but
to harness up again, and go forward until we did find water somewhere.
La Ronde and Cheadle were considerably chaffed for the mistake they
had made, and Milton galloped off in search of a suitable camping
ground. After riding two or three miles, principally through thick
wood, without meeting with a sign of water, his horse suddenly neighed
and turned abruptly out of the track into the bushes. The quacking of
ducks at a little distance induced his rider to dismount and search,
and there, sure enough, hidden amongst the trees, was a fine sheet of
water. The instinct of the horse saved us many miles’ journey in the
dark, for we travelled far next morning before we found another lake or
stream.

On the 25th of September we reached the south branch of the
Saskatchewan, here a stream of about eighty yards wide, flowing in a
valley cut deep in the plain level, the sides of which are steep and
wooded. The two branches of the river are only eighteen miles apart at
this point, and after crossing the south branch on the morning of the
26th, we reached Carlton the same day, having now accomplished about
500 out of the 1,200 or 1,300 miles from Red River to the foot of the
Rocky Mountains.

CHAPTER IV.

Carlton--Buffalo close to the Fort--Fall of Snow--Decide to Winter
near White Fish Lake--The Grisly Bears--Start for the Plains--
The Dead Buffalo--The White Wolf--Running Buffalo Bulls--
The Gathering of the Wolves--Treemiss Lost--How he Spent the
Night--Indian Hospitality--Visit of the Crees--The Chiefs
Speech--Admire our Horses--Suspicions--Stratagem to Elude the
Crees--Watching Horses at Night--Suspicious Guests--The Cows
not to be Found--More Running--Tidings of our Pursuers--Return
to the Fort.

Carlton House, of which Mr. Lillie was in charge at this time, like
the other forts of the Hudson’s Bay Company, consists of a few wooden
buildings, surrounded by a high square palisade, flanked at each
corner with small square towers. It stands on the south side of the
Saskatchewan, in the low ground close to the river, and below the
high banks which formed the ancient boundary of the stream. The north
Saskatchewan is very similar in appearance to the south branch, but
of rather greater size. Situated between the vast forest on the north
and the prairie which stretches away to the south, it was formerly a
post of very considerable importance. But as the fur-bearing animals
of the woods have decreased, and the buffalo are often far distant, it
has ceased to be one of the most profitable establishments. When we
arrived there, however, we were gladdened by the news that this year
the buffalo had come up closer than usual, the bulls being but one and
the cows not more than two days’ journey distant.

The night after our arrival snow began to fall heavily, and continued
most of the next day, covering the ground to the depth of five inches.
But Mr. Lillie assured us that this could not be the commencement of
the winter, and would all rapidly disappear, to be followed by several
weeks of fine weather. And, in accordance with this prediction, a thaw
set in on the following day.

We had now decided, by La Ronde’s advice, to go into winter quarters
amongst the peaceful Wood Crees near White Fish Lake, about eighty
miles N.N.W. of Carlton, and situated on the borders of the endless
forest which stretches away to the northward. Here we should find
very good trapping grounds within 80 or 100 miles of the plains, and
the buffalo, who had already crossed the north Saskatchewan in great
numbers, might possibly advance within one or two days’ journey of our
position. We therefore transferred our winter supplies to the Fort,
and prepared for an excursion on to the plains to run buffalo, before
finally establishing ourselves for the winter.

Milton started with the carts next day; but two grisly bears having
been seen the day before within five or six miles of the place,
Treemiss and Cheadle set out at daybreak in search of them, intending
to catch up the carts, if possible, the same day. Directed by some
half-breeds, they rode on several miles, and then came upon the tracks,
which they followed for a considerable distance. But the snow had
rapidly melted away, and their skill was unequal to following the trail
on the bare ground. They were therefore compelled, very reluctantly,
to relinquish the pursuit, and returned to the Port grievously
disappointed. The footprints of one of the animals were of enormous
size, and showed in the snow with great distinctness. The length was
that of a man’s fore-arm, and the mark of the claws like the impress of
human fingers.

After dining with Mr. Lillie, they started after the carts, which they
regained at dark, after a hard ride of some thirty miles. We all arose
the next morning in great excitement, knowing that we might expect to
see buffalo at any moment, for even Milton, who was an old hand at
“running,” and had been out with the Great Fall Hunt, from Fort Garry,
two years before, could not conceal a certain inability to sit still,
and a restless, nervous impatience to be at the wild sport again. La
Ronde rode ahead to reconnoitre, and Treemiss, too impatient to wait,
followed him shortly after. We remained with the carts, expecting La
Ronde’s report. He did not return, however, and we presently came upon
a buffalo bull lying dead close to the track, a victim, doubtless, to
La Ronde. Several wolves were prowling about, and whilst the men were
engaged in cutting up the animal, we rode in chase of a large white
fellow. Milton led, and turned him repeatedly, but missed him with both
barrels, and Cheadle took up the chase, but with no better success.
We rode over him time after time, but failed to hit him, as he dodged
about under our horses, snarling and showing his teeth. The horses
were at length thoroughly blown, and the wolf gaining at every stride,
we gave up the chase. After riding seven or eight miles, we arrived at
the camp, long after dark, exceedingly cold and hungry, and much vexed
with La Ronde for keeping all the sport to himself. Treemiss had been
more fortunate than we, and produced, with great triumph, the tongues
and marrow-bones of two animals which he had killed.

We were under weigh very early on the following morning, and Cheadle
excited great merriment by the ludicrous appearance which he made,
bestriding a little roan mare of fourteen hands, which looked very
unfit to carry his big frame of thirteen stone. But Bucephalus was too
sorely galled to bear a saddle, and Cheadle, determined not to miss
the sport, despised ridicule, and went forth on the little cart mare.
After two or three miles’ travelling, the carts which were in front of
us suddenly stopped, and Voudrie came running hastily back, crying in
an excited manner, but with subdued voice, “Les bœufs, les bœufs, les
bœufs sont proches!” We rode up quietly, and saw a herd of nine bulls
feeding about a mile off, and other bands in the distance, about sixty
in all. Girths were now tightened, and guns examined, and then we went
forward at a foot’s pace, feeling in much the same nervous condition as
a freshman at the university in his first boat-race, waiting for the
sound of the gun which gives the signal to start.

We rode in line, with La Ronde as captain in the centre. When we
arrived within a quarter of a mile of the largest band, they began to
move slowly off; and La Ronde, imitating the lowing of a buffalo, the
other groups looked up from their grazing, and then trotted off to
join the main body who were still walking quietly along. We now went
forward at a canter, and the herd having collected together, broke
into a lumbering gallop; but we gained on them rapidly, until within
about 200 yards, when they went off at speed. La Ronde gave the signal
with a wild “Hurrah! hurrah! allez! allez!” and away we all went,
helter-skelter, arms brandishing, and heels hammering our horses’ ribs
in true half-breed fashion--a mad, wild charge, Milton leading on his
old red horse, and Cheadle bringing up the rear on the little roan
mare. As we closed with them, the herd broke up into bands of three
or four, and each person selected the one lying most favourably for
himself. A succession of shots soon told that the slaughter had begun;
but we were all quickly separated, and each knew nothing of the success
of the rest, until the run was over.

Buffalo running is certainly a most fascinating sport. The wild charge
together into the thick of the herd, the pursuit of the animal selected
from the band, which a well-trained horse follows and turns as a
greyhound courses a hare; the spice of danger in it from the charge of
a wounded animal, or a fall from the holes so numerous on the prairies,
contrive to render it extremely exciting. There is something also very
ludicrous in the appearance of the bulls as they lumber along in their
heavy gallop. Their small hind-quarters, covered only with short hair,
seem absurdly disproportioned to the heavy front, with its hump and
shaggy mane; and as they gallop, their long beards and fringed dewlaps
sway from side to side, whilst their little eyes roll viciously, as
they peep out of the forest of hair at the enemy behind them.

It was curious to see how the wolves seemed to spring up, as it were,
out of the ground, at the sound of the first shot. Two or three
appeared on every little eminence, where they sat watching the progress
of the hunt. When we left one of the dead animals, after cutting off
the best meat from the carcase, they began to steal towards it, and
before we had got many hundred yards, a dozen of them were tearing at
the body, and generally managed to pick the bones clean before morning.

In this run all were successful. La Ronde killed two, and the rest of
us one a-piece, even Cheadle making his appearance in due course on his
diminutive steed, with a tongue hanging to his saddle.

Whilst the men were engaged in cutting up the animals nearest at hand,
Treemiss, still unsatiated, started again in search of game, and
Cheadle set out with Zear to the animal he had killed, which lay above
a mile away. It presently began to rain heavily, and Milton went on
with the train, to camp in a grove of trees by the river-side. The rain
changed to sleet, and it became bitterly cold.

Evening began to close in, and still Treemiss and Cheadle did not make
their appearance. La Ronde rode out in search of them, and guns were
fired at intervals, to signal the position of the camp. A little after
dark, however, Cheadle arrived with Zear, drenched to the skin and
miserably cold. They had caught a glimpse of Treemiss several hours
before, as he passed them in full career after a band of buffalo. A
portion of the herd crossed about a hundred yards in front, and Cheadle
brought down the leader, to the great admiration of Zear. This delayed
them cutting up the meat until darkness came on, and they had some
difficulty in finding the camp. We continued to fire occasional shots
until after midnight, and raised a firebrand on one of the lodge poles
as a beacon, but were fain to retire to rest minus our companion.

At daybreak next morning all the men were dispatched in search, but
without success. Presently, however, a group of horsemen were descried
riding towards us, and proved to be Treemiss and a party of Crees.
After wandering about, the night before, until after dark, completely
lost, he turned aside into a clump of trees, and attempted to light
a fire. But matches, tinder, and wood were all wet, and he could not
succeed. Mounting his tired horse once more, he rode along for several
hours, drenched to the skin, and almost numb with cold. At length,
by a fortunate accident, he came upon an Indian camp, and was most
hospitably received. He was taken into the chiefs lodge, his clothes
dried, meat and Indian tea set before him, and as a cordial after, a
mug of warm water mixed with grease. Weary as he was, however, he
found it almost impossible to sleep that night. Both men and squaws
turned out continually to cook meat, smoke, or beat presuming dogs,
which were seized as they rushed out of the lodge by others lying in
wait at the door, and a general fight ensued. When morning came, he
made his hosts understand that he had lost his way, whereupon they
saddled their horses, and as if by instinct, led him straight to our
camp.

We shook hands with our visitors, and inviting them into the lodge,
passed round the calumet, according to the rules of Indian politeness.
For a long time they sat round with legs crossed, smoking in perfect
silence. At last, after some preliminary conversation, the chief, a
fine-looking fellow, dressed in a spangled shirt, a cap covered with
many-coloured ribands, and an elaborately-worked medicine-bag, rose and
made an oration in the Cree language. He delivered himself with much
dignity, his gestures were graceful and easy, and his speech fluent. He
said, “I and my brothers have been much troubled by the reports we have
heard from the Company’s men, who tell us that numbers of white men
will shortly visit this country; and that we must beware of them. Tell
me why you come here. In your own land you are, I know, great chiefs.
You have abundance of blankets, tea and salt, tobacco and rum. You have
splendid guns, and powder and shot as much as you can desire. But there
is one thing that you lack--you have no buffalo, and you come here to
seek them. I am a great chief also. But the Great Spirit has not dealt
with us alike. You he has endowed with various riches, while to me
he has given the buffalo alone. Why should you visit this country to
destroy the only good thing I possess, simply for your own pleasure?
Since, however, I feel sure that you are great, generous, and good, I
give you my permission to go where you will, and hunt as much as you
desire, and when you enter my lodge you shall be welcome.”

With this conclusion he sat down and resumed the pipe, awaiting our
answer. He had put the case so truly and forcibly, that we really felt
almost ashamed of ourselves, and should have found some difficulty in
replying, had he not ended his speech so graciously. As it was, we
merely thanked him for his courtesy, and made him and his companions
what we considered a very handsome present of knives, ammunition, tea,
salt, and tobacco. They did not seem satisfied, and wanted a gun,
blankets, and above all, rum. These we refused, and at length they took
their departure, apparently in good humour, although they intimated
that they doubted whether we were such very great people, after all,
since we had no rum. As they went out they viewed our horses with
evident admiration, and La Ronde became very uneasy, assuring us that
they were displeased with their reception, and would certainly follow
our trail and attempt to carry them off. We accordingly took measures
to evade their pursuit, and save our property. Moving forward three
or four miles, we encamped close to the river, as if about to cross,
and kept watch during the night. No alarm occurred, and the following
morning we turned off at right angles, travelling at great speed some
twenty miles, until we reached a small stream called Eagle River,
when we camped again. The weather favoured our escape, a dense fog
shrouding us from the view of any who might be watching our movements.
This was followed in the afternoon by a high wind, which, although it
dispersed the mist, raised the grass bent down by our passage, and thus
completely effaced our trail. At night we again kept diligent guard,
picketing all the most valuable horses close to the lodge.

We spent the next day in looking for the cows, but no sign of them
could be seen. We therefore resolved to spend a few days longer in
running bulls, and then return to the Fort. We were still obliged to
keep careful watch during the night, for the attempt on the horses
was more likely to be made after the lapse of some days, according to
Indian custom. Each took his turn on guard, and it must be confessed
we felt somewhat uncomfortable as we crouched in the shade of the
bushes alone, while all the rest were asleep. It was fortunately bright
moonlight, but the loose horses continually strayed out of view, and as
we stole round from time to time to drive them in, we half expected to
feel the hand of some ambushed Indian laid upon our shoulder, when we
passed through the thick underwood.

[Illustration: OUR NIGHT CAMP ON EAGLE RIVER.--EXPECTING THE CREES.

(_See page 68._)
]

One afternoon two Indians, youths of about seventeen, came to our
camp, and expressed their intention of honouring us with their company
till the morrow. We had strong suspicions that they were spies, but
invited them to sleep in the lodge, and redoubled our vigilance
in keeping watch. But the night again passed without alarm, and we
concluded that we had succeeded in throwing our pursuers off the trail.
After hunting several days more, with varied success, we made a rapid
journey back to the Fort, which we reached on the 8th of October. On
our way we overtook the Company’s train of carts returning, laden with
meat. Mr. Sinclair, who was in charge, informed us that when first the
hunters went out on the fall hunt, they found buffalo in extraordinary
numbers. Vast herds covered the ground in every direction, so that the
earth fairly shook again beneath their trampling, and at night sleep
was almost impossible from the constant lowing, and the tumult of their
passage. By the time he got there the large bands had been broken up,
and the cows, who are much wilder than the bulls, driven far to the
south. He also told us that he had met the party of Crees who had
guided Treemiss to the camp on the occasion when he lost his way. They
related the whole story to him, with the further information that they
had been much disappointed with us, and vastly smitten with our horses,
which they had made up their minds to carry off. Accordingly, a large
party cautiously followed our trail the next day, but when they arrived
at our old camp by the river--the point where we had turned off at
right angles--they were unable to trace us any further, and concluded
that we had crossed the river. We were greatly pleased to find our
suspicions were not groundless, and that the stratagem we adopted had
been so completely successful.

CHAPTER V.

The Ball--Half-Breed Finery--Voudrie and Zear return to Fort
Garry--Treemiss starts for the Montagne du Bois--Leave Carlton
for Winter Quarters--Shell River--La Belle Prairie--Riviere
Crochet--The Indians of White Fish Lake--Kekekooarsis, or
“Child of the Hawk,” and Keenamontiayoo, or “The Long Neck”--
Their Jollification--Passionate Fondness for Rum--Excitement in
the Camp--Indians flock in to Taste the Fire-water--Sitting out
our Visitors--A Weary Day--Cache the Rum Keg by Night--Retreat
to La Belle Prairie--Site of our House--La Ronde as Architect--
How to Build a Log Hut--The Chimney--A Grand Crash--Our
Dismay--Milton supersedes La Ronde--The Chimney Rises again--
Our Indian Friends--The Frost sets in.

The night after our return to Carlton, a ball was got up by the
half-breeds in honour of our visit. Mr. Lillie gave up his best room
for the purpose, and we provided the refreshment, in the shape of rum;
the expectation that we should do so being no doubt one of the greatest
attractions the entertainment offered. The men appeared in gaudy array,
with beaded firebag, gay sash, blue or scarlet leggings, girt below the
knee with beaded garters, and moccasins elaborately embroidered; the
women in short, bright-coloured skirts, showing the richly-embroidered
leggings, and white moccasins of cariboo-skin, beautifully worked with
flowery patterns in beads, silk, and moose hair. Some of the young
girls were good-looking, but many of them were disfigured by goitre,
which is very prevalent among the half-breeds at all the posts on
the Saskatchewan, although unknown amongst the Indians. Sinclair, who
acted as musician, was kept hard at work, with but short respites for
refreshment, and the revelry continued far into the small hours.

As winter was now close at hand, we hastened our departure for White
Fish Lake. Treemiss had decided to fix his residence at the Montagne
du Bois, or Thickwood Hills, about fifty miles N.W. of Carlton, where
large game was more abundant, and which was nearer to the plains. The
Montagne du Bois had moreover the additional attraction of being the
home of Atahk-akoohp, or “Star of the Blanket,” the most noted hunter
of the district. La Ronde and Bruneau accompanied us, to remain during
the winter; Voudrie and Zear returning to Fort Garry, in charge of the
most valuable horses and our letters for England.

On the 10th of October we transferred horses, carts, and baggage to the
north side of the Saskatchewan, and in the evening bade good-bye to the
people of the Fort, and followed our train, camping for that night on
the bank of the river. Next morning we said adieu to Treemiss, as from
this point our roads diverged.

We were now once more travelling through mixed country. The weather was
still beautifully fine, and during the day pleasantly warm. The nights
began to be very keen, and the lakes were already partly covered with a
thin coating of ice.

The wild-fowl had taken their departure for the south, only a few
stragglers remaining from the later broods. Many of the latter fall
victims to their procrastination, being frequently found frozen fast in
the ice. But this, the Indians assert, takes place in consequence of
their excessive fatness, which renders them unable to rise on the wing,
and they are thus detained behind, to suffer a miserable death.

In four days we arrived at the Shell River, a small tributary of the
Saskatchewan; and here we had all to jump into the stream and assist
in helping the heavily-laden carts down the steep bank, and up the
opposite slope. The water was cold as ice, and we hardly enjoyed our
compulsory bath, but the noonday sun shone warmly, and a rapid walk
soon restored the circulation in our benumbed limbs.

The next day brought us to a lovely little spot, a small prairie of
perhaps 200 acres, surrounded by low wooded hills, and on one side a
lake winding with many an inlet amongst the hills and into the plain,
while here and there a tiny promontory, richly clothed with pines and
aspens, stretched out into the water. The beauty of the place had
struck the rude voyageurs, its only visitors, except the Indians, and
they had named it La Belle Prairie.

As we crossed it, we remarked to one another what a magnificent site
for a house one of the promontories would be, and how happy many a
poor farmer who tilled unkindly soil at home would feel in possession
of the rich land which lay before us. The same day we struck the river
Crochet, a stream of about the same size as Shell River, and assisted
to help the carts across, as we had done at the latter. About half a
mile beyond, we saw two small wooden houses. We encamped in an open
space at a little distance, and then walked up to make the acquaintance
of the occupants. One of the huts had been built by an enterprising
free-trader, Mr. Pruden; the other, at its side, by the Company, in
opposition. Mr. Pruden was at length induced to enter the Company’s
service as Chief Trader at Carlton, and presented his dwelling to two
families of Indians. The Company’s establishment was dismantled, and
remained untenanted. A fishery was still worked occasionally at White
Fish Lake, close by. In the house we found an old Indian engaged in
mending a net, and his squaw squatted by the hearth indulging in a
pipe. They shook hands with us very cordially, La Ronde introducing us
as a great chief and great medicine man, who had travelled far for the
pleasure of making their acquaintance. The old fellow rejoiced in the
name of Kekekooarsis, or “The Child of the Hawk,” in allusion to the
beak-like form of his nose.

We smoked several pipes with him whilst answering the numerous
questions he addressed to us through La Ronde, and were so delighted
with his urbanity, that in a weak moment we promised to make him a
present of a small quantity of rum. Alas! mistaken generosity, fruitful
of anxiety and trouble! The old gentleman became all excitement, said
we were the best fellows he had met for many a day, adding that if
he might venture to offer a suggestion, it would be that we should
fetch the fire-water immediately. We accordingly went back to the
lodge, sent off to him a very small quantity well watered, taking the
precaution to fill a small keg with a weak mixture, and hiding the cask
in the cart.

It does not answer, however, to dilute the spirits too much. It must
be strong enough to be inflammable, for an Indian always tests it by
pouring a few drops into the fire. If it possesses the one property
from which he has given it the name of fire-water, he is satisfied,
whatever its flavour or other qualities may be.

We had hardly covered up the cask, when Kekekooarsis appeared,
accompanied by his squaw, a withered old hag, and Keenamontiayoo, “The
Long Neck,” his son-in-law. The men were already half drunk, singing
away the Indian song without words, and clamorous for more rum. They
produced a number of marten and other skins, and all our explanations
failed to make them understand that we had not come as traders.

After two hours’ continued discussion, we doled out another small
quantity, as the only way to get rid of them. How they chuckled and
hugged the pot! exclaiming, “Tarpwoy! tarpwoy!” (It is true! it is
true!) hardly able to believe the delightful fact. At the first dawn of
day, they entered the lodge again, bringing more furs for sale.

Boys rode off as couriers in all directions to carry the welcome
tidings to their friends in the neighbourhood. Before long men came
galloping up from different quarters, and these were presently followed
by squaws and children, all eager to taste the pleasure-giving
fire-water, and our lodge was soon crowded with importunate guests.
To end the matter, we sent them off with what remained in the little
keg, all they actually knew that we possessed, for we had kept the
cask in the cart hidden securely out of their sight. In about two
hours all returned, more or less intoxicated and the infernal clamour
re-commenced with tenfold importunity. First one fellow thrust a
marten skin into our hands, another two or three fish, while a third,
attempting to strip off his shirt for sale, fell senseless into the
arms of his squaw. The demand was the same with all, and incessant:
“Isquitayoo arpway! isquitayoo arpway!” (Fire-water! fire-water!) Hour
after hour we sat smoking our pipes with an air of unconcern we did not
feel, and refusing all requests. Afternoon came, and the scene still
continued. We dared not leave the lodge, lest they should search the
carts and discover our store.

Wearily passed the time till darkness came on, and still the crowd
sat round, and still the same request was dinned into our ears. But
we were thoroughly determined not to give way, and at last they began
to conclude we were inexorable, and dropped off one by one, immensely
disgusted with our meanness. In the dead of night we stealthily arose,
and La Ronde went out to reconnoitre the position of the Indians. None
were near, and all was perfectly still. We now proceeded, with the
greatest caution, to remove the cask from its hiding-place, and La
Ronde and Bruneau went off to cache it safely at some distance. They
returned before daylight, very cold and wet, having crossed the river,
and deposited the cause of our troubles in the bush some miles away.

In the morning Keenamontiayoo came to our lodge, but did not renew his
importunities. Our firmness the day before had produced a most salutary
effect. We were, however, so much disgusted with our experience of
the last two days, that we resolved to give up the idea of fixing our
winter residence here, and retreat to La Belle Prairie, putting a
distance of nine or ten miles between our troublesome neighbours and
ourselves.

[Illustration: OUR WINTER HUT.--LA BELLE PRAIRIE.

(_See page 76._)
]

We retraced our steps accordingly the next day, and set up our lodge
on the banks of the lake of the Beautiful Prairie. The site selected
for our dwelling was the middle of the wooded promontory which had
before attracted our admiration. As it was now the end of October, it
was necessary to use all speed in putting up a house, lest the winter
should set in before our work was completed. And, moreover, we were
obliged, for the same reason, to be content with a building of very
small size, and the simplest construction. La Ronde acted as architect,
and proceeded to work in the following manner.

A rude enclosure, fifteen feet by thirteen, was first made of rough
poplar logs, morticed together at the corners of the building. The
logs, however, did not by any means lie in apposition, and the spaces
between them would admit of a hand being passed through. As yet there
was neither door, window, nor roof, and the walls were but six feet
high in front, and little over five feet behind. These deficiencies
were, however, soon supplied by the ingenious La Ronde, in a much
simpler fashion than we had suspected. A doorway and window was hewn
through the solid walls; a door constructed of boards from the carts;
whilst a piece of parchment supplied the place of window-glass. The
roof was covered in by straight poles of young, dry pines, and over
this was a thatch of marsh grass, weighted down by loose earth thrown
over. The lowness of the building, externally, was remedied inside
by digging out the ground two feet, rendering the building very much
warmer. The interstices between the logs were filled up with mud,
mixed with chopped grass, to give it tenacity. But we had still the
most important and difficult work of all--to build the chimney.
For a long time we were unable to discover any clay wherewith to
cement the boulders of which a chimney is constructed in backwood
fashion, and began to be seriously afraid that the strong frost would
commence before our fire-place was ready. This would, of course, have
been exceedingly awkward, for it was difficult enough to work with
untempered mortar, and if it were frozen, building would obviously be
out of the question.

At last, after digging through several feet of rich loam, we discovered
some clayey soil, with which we made shift, and the fire-place rose
rapidly. As it approached completion, a fire was lighted, and we were
congratulating ourselves upon complete success--when, crash! and down
it tumbled. Great was our consternation, and for some time we were
completely nonplused. An animated discussion took place as to the
manner of raising a more durable structure. La Ronde and Bruneau were
much chagrined at their failure, declared the clay was worthless, and
were too sulky to set to work again at once. There was, however, no
time to be lost in repairing the damage, or we should be left without
a fire-place when the thermometer was down below zero. Milton took
upon himself to be engineer, and built up a framework of green wood
to support the clay, and Cheadle, meanwhile, with horse and cart,
collected a stock of the most rectangular stones to be found. By this
means we built a substantial fire-place, which stood bravely all the
winter.

Whilst we were engaged in these labours we had several visits from our
Indian friends, but they had ceased to be very troublesome. The hunter,
Keenamontiayoo, called on his way to the Fort for winter supplies, and
returned with the news that the buffalo had already advanced within two
days’ journey of La Belle Prairie. This, however, proved to be without
foundation. We found old Kekekooarsis and the squaws exceedingly useful
to us. The former we employed to make snow shoes and some dog-sleighs,
whilst the latter mended our moccasins, and made up winter clothing.

On the 23rd of October the lake was completely frozen over, and near
two inches of snow covered the ground. A partial thaw took place,
however, on the 26th, after which the winter fairly commenced. Our work
was finished only just in time.

CHAPTER VI.

Furnishing--Cheadle’s Visit to Carlton--Treemiss there--His
Musical Evening with Atahk-akoohp--A very Cold Bath--State
Visit of the Assiniboines--Their Message to Her Majesty--How
they found out we had Rum--Fort Milton Completed--The Crees
of the Woods--Contrast to the Crees of the Plains--Indian
Children--Absence of Deformity--A “Moss-bag”--Kekekooarsis
and his Domestic Troubles--The Winter begins in Earnest--
Wariness of all Animals--Poisoning Wolves--Caution of the
Foxes--La Ronde and Cheadle start for the Plains--Little
Misquapamayoo--Milton’s Charwoman--On the Prairies--Stalking
Buffalo--Belated--A Treacherous Blanket--A Cold Night Watch--
More Hunting--Cheadle’s Wits go Wool-gathering--La Ronde’s
Indignation--Lost all Night--Out in the Cold again--Our Camp
Pillaged--Turn Homewards--Rough and Ready Travelling--Arrive
at Fort Milton--Feasting.

Our house now required flooring and furnishing, and it was decided that
Milton and La Ronde should undertake this, while Cheadle, with Bruneau,
made a journey to Carlton, to obtain a stock of pemmican, before the
snow rendered the road impassable for carts. Accordingly, on the 29th
the horses were sought, Bucephalus captured and harnessed, and the
party set out. A bitter north wind blew strongly, and at night the
snow began to fall fast. They travelled with great speed, reaching the
banks of the Saskatchewan by dusk on the following day. At the crossing
they found a lodge erected, and two carts laden with provisions, which
they judged to belong to Treemiss, who had probably come over on a
similar errand. After firing several shots in vain, they turned into
the lodge and made free with the provisions, their own stock being
exhausted. On the following morning, after much shouting, and burning
a great deal of powder, a party appeared on the opposite bank, and
proceeded to bring over the barge. This was a work of much difficulty,
as the river was already half frozen over, a passage being still open
in the middle, down which great masses of ice crashed and grated
along. As the barge approached, a loud whoop announced the presence of
Treemiss, who was hardly recognisable dressed in long capote and cap,
with band and lappets of fur, after the half-breed fashion. The barge
brought carts across going to Fort Pitt, and whilst it was unloading,
Treemiss related his adventures since we parted from him. He had
nearly finished his house, which, like ours, consisted of only one
room, but in a far higher style of architecture, being loftier, and
having a high-pitched roof. He too had met with great annoyance from
the possession of a little rum, and Atahk-akoohp and his friends had
let him have no peace until they had obtained the whole of it. Their
drunken orgies lasted through the night, and a dirty Indian crept in
to share Treemiss’s bed. He was forthwith turned out by the indignant
owner, but quickly returned, and after several repetitions of the same
performance, Treemiss took him by the shoulders and put him out of
doors. Atahk-akoohp at length alone remained, sitting over the fire,
singing the Indian song. Treemiss now flattered himself that at last he
should be left to sleep in peace. Atahk-akoohp, however, discovering
that all his audience had departed, with the exception of Treemiss, who
appeared to be sound asleep, proceeded to arouse the latter by digging
him in the ribs, repeating the operation through the night, as often as
his victim showed any want of attention to his tuneful efforts.

In landing on the ice on the south side, two unfortunate fellows broke
through, and plunged overhead in the water. They were soon rescued,
but their clothes instantly froze as stiff as boards, and they had a
most ludicrous appearance as they walked shivering and covered with
ice, swinging their legs stiffly as if partially paralysed, the rigid
case in which they were enclosed preventing flexure of the knee joints.
A party had come into the Fort from Red River, but had brought no
letters for any of our party. We had as yet received none since leaving
England. Some old newspapers furnished a little intelligence of the
outer world, containing, amongst other things, the news of the massacre
of the whites in Minnesota by the Sioux--the first knowledge we had of
the horrors we had somewhat narrowly escaped.

A short time before Cheadle’s visit, Mr. Lillie had been surprised by
a band of 300 Assiniboines, arrayed in gayest dress and full paint,
who marched up to the Fort in solemn procession. After the calumet had
been duly passed round, and proper presents made, the chief arose,
and, in a complimentary speech, expressed the delight with which they
had received the news that the Company had come to a better mind, and
again provided the much-loved fire-water for their Indian friends.
Mr. Lillie assured them they were mistaken, but without obtaining
belief, and they proceeded straightway to make a strict search. Every
corner of the building was visited and turned out, and they even went
down into the ice-cellar, where the meat is kept. Failing to discover
anything, they expressed great regret that the good news was not true,
and requested Mr. Lillie to forward a strong remonstrance from them to
Her Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria, for prohibiting that which her Red
Children loved so well, intimating that they themselves were the best
judges of what was good for them.

The origin of their visit (the first they had made for ten years)
was as follows:--Whilst our party were at the Fort on the previous
occasion, a small quantity of rum had been spilled upon the floor of
the store, in drawing some from the cask. Two Assiniboines came in to
trade, and smelt the delicious odour their noses had not experienced
for many a year. Without giving the smallest sign that they perceived
anything unusual, or making any inquiry, they hastened back to the
tribe with all speed, and communicated the joyful tidings. Instantly
the camp was all excitement, and preparations made for the state visit
to the Fort which has been related. But they arrived too late. A few
days before, we had carried the treasure far beyond their reach.

After one day’s rest, Cheadle and Bruneau set out on their return. The
Saskatchewan was already frozen over above and below the Fort, but an
open passage still existed at the usual crossing-place, and the barge
was the means of conveyance from one ice-bank to the other.

The cart was loaded on the ice, and before it reached the shore, broke
through and upset, immersing Bucephalus in the water. Fortunately it
was not very deep, and after some delay he was lugged out. In a few
minutes he appeared in a new character, white as if made of frosted
silver, and bristling like a hedgehog with the long icicles which
formed on his shaggy coat as the water dripped off. It took a long time
to unload the cart, haul it out, carry the things to the bank, and
re-load; and the horse, ice-clothed and shivering in the bitter north
wind, was a most pitiable object. However, a brisk march of ten miles
set him all right again, and the party arrived at Fort Milton, as La
Ronde had named our hut, without further adventure, early on the third
day.

During their absence Milton and La Ronde had not been idle. A couple
of bunks had been put up, which, furnished with dry grass and buffalo
robe, were to us most luxurious sleeping-places. The door and parchment
windows were completed, and two rough tables, one for the kitchen
department, and another for the dining end of our small, one-roomed hut.

On the 7th of November La Ronde started across the lake, on which the
ice was already four or five inches thick, to explore the forest on the
northern side, and discover the most promising ground for trapping.
During his absence we were engaged in putting up shelves, making
candlesticks and chairs, &c., and arranging our goods and chattels in
their places; whilst Bruneau erected a platform outside, raised on high
posts, on which to store our meat secure from wolves and dogs.

Our Indian friends paid us visits occasionally, but were exceedingly
well-behaved, and we felt quite at ease, having safely cached the
spirit cask some distance from the hut, and it was now completely
hidden by the accumulating snow.

The Wood Crees are of different habits and disposition to their
relatives, the Crees of the Plains--a race of solitary trappers and
hunters on foot, contrasted with a race of gregarious horsemen. They
are very peaceable, and pride themselves upon an honesty unknown
amongst their lawless brethren of the prairies. During the six months
we spent amongst the Crees of the Woods, we had not occasion to
complain of a single theft. Three months of this time we lived amongst
them entirely alone, and, although they often importuned us to give
them different things to which they took a fancy, they never offered to
dispute our right of ownership.

They are most expert trappers and hunters of moose, and occasionally
seek buffalo when they enter the skirts of the woods in severe winters.
They are far better clothed and equipped than the Plains Indians, being
able to obtain what they may require at the trading posts in exchange
for furs. But they often suffer severely from starvation, as moose are
now becoming scarce; while the Plains Crees, following the buffalo,
seldom lack food, although they possess little marketable property
wherewith to buy clothes and luxuries at the Forts. These Indians, as
indeed all others we met with, managed their families admirably. An
Indian child is seldom heard to cry, and matrimonial squabbles seem
unknown. Our friend Keenamontiayoo was a most affectionate husband
and father, and his wife and children obeyed him at a word, evidently
looking up to him as a superior being, to be loved with respect.

Among the things which struck us when we became more extensively
acquainted with the Indians, was the absence of deformity and baldness,
or grey hair, amongst them. The former may no doubt be accounted for by
the influence of “natural selection,” and perhaps the careful setting
of the infants’ limbs in the “moss-bag,” or Indian cradle. This is a
board with two side flaps of cloth, which lace together up the centre.
The child is laid on its back on the board, packed with soft moss, and
laced firmly down, with its arms to its side, and only its head at
liberty. The cradle is slung on the back of the mother when travelling,
or reared against a tree when resting in camp, the child being only
occasionally released from its bondage for a few moments. The little
prisoners are remarkably good; no squalling disturbs an Indian camp,
and strict obedience is obtained without recourse to corporeal
punishment.

On one occasion Kekekooarsis arrived in a state of great excitement
from domestic troubles. He had sold one of his daughters in marriage--
after the Indian fashion--for a horse, but his ungrateful son-in-law,
after carrying off his bride, returned in the night and stole back the
horse given in payment. Kekekooarsis, indignant at such behaviour,
retaliated by secretly fetching his daughter home, and was now in
considerable fear of the disappointed bridegroom, whom he anticipated
might do him bodily injury, and begged us to give him shelter for the
night, lest he should be waylaid on his return home in the dark. This
we of course granted, but his apprehensions appeared to have been
groundless, for the husband bore his loss with perfect indifference,
and made no attempt to regain his wife.

On the 9th La Ronde returned, having found but little sign of game
until a day’s journey distant, when marten tracks became tolerably
plentiful, and he had set a few traps. On the following day the frost
set in with great severity, and six inches of snow had fallen during
the night. The men now set to work to construct a couple of horse
sleighs, in readiness for a journey to the plains in search of fresh
meat. Whilst they were thus engaged, we employed ourselves in supplying
the larder, with Rover’s assistance, and rarely failed to bring in a
supply of prairie grouse, wood partridges, and rabbits. The latter were
very wary, and we saw so few that, until the snow fell, we had no idea
that they were numerous. When the snow became deep, it was furrowed by
their paths in all directions, and we caught them by placing snares
across these runs.

With the exception of wolves and buffalo, wild animals of any kind are
rarely seen in the Hudson’s Bay territories, unless they are carefully
tracked up. They are so constantly hunted by the Indians, and whenever
they encounter man are so invariably pursued, that they are ever on
their guard, and escape unseen on the slightest alarm. It is only when
the snow betrays their numerous footprints, that a novice can bring
himself to believe there really is any four-footed game in the country.

The tracks of wolves and foxes were numerous on the lake, and the
former regularly announced daybreak and sunset by a chorus of howls.
Being somewhat afraid that our horses might be attacked by them, we set
baits, poisoned with strychnine, at different points round the lake.
The animals are so wary and suspicious, that they will not touch a bait
lying exposed, or one which has been recently visited. It is necessary,
therefore, to cover the enticing morsel carefully with snow, smoothing
the surface evenly over it, and not approaching the place afterwards,
unless a distant view shows that it has been dug out by a too hungry
victim. The foxes especially are exceedingly cautious, frequently
visiting the place for days and even weeks, marching round, but not
daring to enter in and partake. For a long time we had no success; many
of the baits were taken, and we tracked the animals for long distances,
but the poison appeared to have had no effect. At last we were rewarded
by finding an immense white wolf, the unusual size of whose footprints
had rendered him a particular object of pursuit. He had a most
magnificent skin, which was carefully preserved, and his carcass used
as a means of destruction for his brethren. In a week all the large
wolves were destroyed, and our horses considered safe for the winter.

When the sleighs were completed, La Ronde paid a rapid visit to his
traps, returning in two days with a fisher and a few martens, and
the following day he set out with Cheadle for the plains, taking two
horses and sleighs to bring back the produce of their hunt. They were
accompanied by an Indian boy--the son of the hunter, Keenamontiayoo--
who brought a very diminutive horse, a two-year-old colt, the size of
a Shetland pony, to carry his share of the spoils. Misquapamayoo, or
“The thing one catches a glimpse of,” was an exceedingly active, clever
youth of fourteen, with very large black eyes, and an open, merry
face, very willing and obliging, and performing all his duties with
the dignity and importance of a man. He became afterwards a devoted
follower of ours, and did good service on many occasions, often amusing
us by his insatiable curiosity and intense enjoyment of anything which
seemed to him strange or ridiculous, falling into fits of laughter on
the slightest provocation. During the absence of this party, Milton
remained at home with Bruneau, to attend to the traps and take care
of house and property. Being somewhat dissatisfied with Bruneau’s
performance of his duties as housemaid and laundress, Milton took
the opportunity afforded by the visit of an Indian and his squaw, to
engage the latter for a general washing and house-cleaning. Although
it was night when they arrived, the woman set to work immediately,
diligently melting snow at a roaring fire for hours, and when about
midnight she had obtained a sufficient supply of water, proceeded to
scrub blankets and clothes. Milton expostulated, and suggested she
should retire to rest, but in vain. The splashing and scrubbing went on
without cessation, and sleep was impossible. At length Milton, driven
to desperation, jumped out of bed, threw away all the water, and put
out the fire. The squaw thereupon retired to rest in much astonishment,
and for a time all was still. Presently, however, when she imagined
Milton had fallen asleep, she quietly got up, and re-commenced her
labours. The unhappy retainer of her services was fairly beaten, and
compelled to resign himself to his fate, venting many maledictions on
the untimely industry of his servant.

The hunting party meanwhile pursued their way to the plains, following
an old Indian track to the south-west for about eighty miles. Passing
through a hilly country, well wooded and watered, on the morning of
the fourth day they reached the brow of a hill, whence they saw the
prairie stretching away before them. La Ronde quickly detected five
buffalo, grazing about a mile distant, and a camp was immediately made.
After a hasty meal of dry pemmican--a fire being dispensed with for
fear of frightening the game--they prepared for the hunt. The day was
unusually warm, and in a weak moment La Ronde and Cheadle both divested
themselves of leather shirt and capote before starting. After a great
deal of dodging and crawling on hands and knees through the snow,
they gained a point where, peering through a little patch of scrub,
they saw the five bulls within twenty yards of them. La Ronde, in his
excitement, hurriedly whispered instructions to Cheadle in a most
unintelligible jargon of mingled French, English, and Cree. The latter,
equally excited, and bewildered by directions he could not understand,
hesitated to fire. La Ronde, in despair, stealthily raised his gun,
when Cheadle, unwilling to be forestalled, raised his also, and in so
doing incautiously protruded his head out of cover.

In an instant the whole band started off full speed, saluted, as they
went, by an ineffectual volley at their sterns. Many were the mutual
recriminations, and fiercely did La Ronde “sacré.” The buffalo were
gone, no more to be seen, and small was the pemmican remaining in the
camp. Far away in the distance the frightened bulls began to slacken
their pace, and at last commenced slowly walking and feeding along. The
only chance remaining was to try and come up with them again, and the
disappointed hunters set off in pursuit at a run, carefully screening
themselves from observation. After about two hours’ hard work, they
succeeded in getting before them, and lying concealed in their path,
killed two as they passed slowly by.

It was now nearly dark, and the party were three or four miles from
camp. It was impossible to fetch the horses and sleighs, and carry the
meat back that night, and if the carcasses were left, the wolves would
pick the bones clean by morning. There was, therefore, no choice but to
camp on the spot for the night. But little shelter could be found, and
the only wood was a few dry poplar saplings.

The two dead buffalo lay some 200 yards apart, and placing a gun and
powder-horn against one to scare away the wolves, they lighted a small
fire near the other, and proceeded to take off his hide, and cook
steaks for supper. By this time night had quite closed in, and a strong
north wind blew icily cold, piercing the single flannel shirts of the
unfortunate hunters like gauze. Bitterly did they now repent having
left shirts and capotes behind; for the prospect of spending the long
winter night with the thermometer below zero, and without shelter or
proper fire, was unpleasant enough.

All the wood that could be found--a very scanty supply--was collected
to replenish the tiny fire, the snow scraped away, and willows cut
and strewn for a couch. The raw buffalo hide was divided into two,
and Cheadle made himself very small to creep under one half, while La
Ronde and Misquapamayoo huddled together under the other. The reeking
hide was delightfully warm, and the weary travellers were soon sound
asleep. But their comfort was, alas! of short duration. Before long,
the sleepers awoke half frozen and benumbed in every limb. The scanty
coverlet, so soft and warm at first, had quickly frozen hard as stone,
and formed an arch over the recumbent bodies, through which the keen
winter wind rushed like the draught under the arch of a bridge.

Sleep was out of the question, and kicking aside their deceitful
protection, the shivering trio stamped restlessly to and fro,
cherishing with sparing hand the miserable fire, or cooking strips of
meat to while away the dreary hours, watching anxiously the voyageur’s
clock, “Great Orion,” which “sloped,” as it seemed, very, very “slowly
to the west.” He did get through his journey at last, however; and when
the wolves proclaimed the dawn with the usual chorus of howls, La Ronde
and the boy started back to fetch the sleighs, whilst Cheadle went in
pursuit of a buffalo which had been severely wounded the night before.

After hunting several days with tolerable success, the sleighs were
loaded with meat, and the party turned their faces homewards. But their
adventures were not yet over. Several bands of buffalo were descried
close at hand, and it was resolved to have one more day’s hunting
before returning to La Belle Prairie. The character of the country,
which was undulating, with scattered patches of small timber, was very
favourable for stalking, and a small band was successfully approached
within some forty yards. They were lying asleep in a little hollow, and
Cheadle agreed to wait ensconced behind a hillock, whilst the other two
crept round to approach them on the opposite side.

Long he waited, peering over the brow of the hill through the long
grass, and anxiously watching in vain for some sign that the others had
reached their post. Presently one of the bulls got up and stretched
himself, but did not appear disturbed. Cheadle, unwilling to spoil the
chance of the others, still forbore to shoot, and as he lay and waited,
began to dream; thoughts of home, and old familiar scenes and faces
took possession of his brain;

“Old wishes, ghosts of broken plans,
And phantom hopes assemble;”

and La Ronde, buffalo and all, were completely forgotten. Suddenly he
was aroused from his reverie by a great shouting of “Tir donc! tir,
Docteur! tir-r, sacré! tonnerre! tir-r-r!” and there were the buffalo
rushing by as hard as they could tear, with La Ronde and Misquapamayoo
running after them, blazing away as rapidly as they could load. They
fired at random and without effect, but Cheadle, more deliberate,
wounded one badly in the body, which pulled up for a moment, and then
followed behind the rest.

La Ronde, utterly disgusted, refused to follow them, and vowed that
never again would he lead the absent-minded Cheadle up to buffalo. He
declared that he had waited a full half hour, expecting him to shoot,
and then being impatient, he whistled softly; one of the bulls arose,
presenting his broadside, and he thought that surely that fine chance
would be taken. Again he waited a long time, and then waved his cap as
a signal to fire, but in vain. At last, in a fit of despair and rage,
he jumped up and shouted as before related.

After a short rest, and having somewhat recovered their equanimity,
they again set out, and soon observed a herd of twelve feeding, still
undisturbed. As they had already nearly enough meat, it was agreed to
give the boy a chance, and he accordingly crept up to them alone,
whilst the rest lay in wait for a chance as they passed. But the young
one missed his mark, and the herd went off in the wrong direction, out
of reach of the two in ambush.

Ill luck ruled the day, but La Ronde said, “Try it again;” and as the
last herd had not fairly seen their enemies, they pulled up about a
mile distant, and began to feed slowly along. After alternately racing
at full speed, when out of view, and crawling stealthily over exposed
places for miles, continually finding the animals had moved off by
the time the place where they were last seen was reached, the hunters
succeeded in ensconcing themselves behind a hillock on the other side
of which the buffalo were feeding, and moving on round the base towards
them.

It was now La Ronde’s turn to have the first shot, and as soon as the
fore-quarters of the leader of the band moved slowly into view, some
twenty yards off, he fired. As the animal did not drop instantly,
Cheadle, who was determined not to return empty-handed after all, and
had covered him carefully, dropped him with a second shot behind the
shoulder. La Ronde was highly indignant at his conduct, and declared it
was unsportsmanlike, but was much chagrined to find, on cutting up the
animal, that his own shot had merely passed through the shoulder-blade
without breaking it, and the animal would doubtless have escaped but
for the second bullet, which passed through the heart. This beast
proved a splendid young bull, of three years old, with a magnificent
skin, and a mane with hair half a yard in length. Before the animal
was cut up, and the meat packed on the horses, which they had this time
brought with them, night had already come on.

The chase had led them six or seven miles from camp, and the young moon
had nearly gone down. La Ronde, however, pressed confidently forward,
although it seemed impossible to find the way in the dark through a
country of such uniform character. After travelling several hours, he
stopped all at once, and began striking sparks with flint and steel, to
enable him to see the old track near the camp. It could not be found,
however, although La Ronde very positively asserted that it must be
close at hand, and the camp itself within a few hundred yards of the
place where they stood. La Ronde had steered his course entirely by the
stars, and judged by the direction, and time, and rate of travelling,
that they must be close to their destination. All were impressed with
the idea that the camp lay to the right, and a divergence was made for
a few hundred yards in that direction; but no landmarks could be made
out, and it was resolved to camp for the night in a copse of small
poplars. A pack of wolves kept up a continual howling, snapping, and
growling at a little distance to the left, and Cheadle was very anxious
to move there, thinking it probable that they were quarrelling over the
meat that had been left packed on the sledges in the camp. But La Ronde
dissuaded him, saying he was sure the camp lay to the right, and the
wolves would not dare to enter so soon a place strewed with blankets
and other property of men.

The night was bright and very cold, and the fire miserably small, the
only dry wood to be found being a few dead saplings of aspen, the size
of pea-rods. Blankets and buffalo robes had been left in the old camp,
and the hunters were little better off than they had been a few nights
before. The covering this time was a large waterproof sheet, which had
been brought to roll up meat in, and was, if possible, less efficient
than the raw hide had been. The moisture of the breath condensed and
froze in cakes inside the sheet, and all advantage from sleeping with
head under the covering was thus lost. As in the previous adventure,
sleep was not to be obtained, and the similar weary watch for daylight,
stamping about, mending the tiny fire, observing the progress of Orion,
and listening to the snapping and growling of the wolves, seemed
interminable.

Since, however, it was nearly midnight when the search for the camp was
given up, the season of misery lasted, in reality, little more than
half as long as before, although, for its duration, the hardship was
quite as severe.

At daybreak La Ronde reconnoitred, and discovered that the camp was
within 300 or 400 yards to the left; and, when approached, showed
ominous marks of disorder. The wolves had been dividing the spoils, as
Cheadle shrewdly suspected. The whole of Misquapamayoo’s little store,
consisting of choice morsels, which he had prepared and packed with
nicest care, was gone, and nearly the whole of our sleigh load beside.
The new supply, however, nearly made up for the loss; and the horses
were therefore at once harnessed to the sleighs, and all speed made for
Fort Milton once more.

The journey home was slow and tedious. Although there had been no
regular thaw, the warm sun had melted the snow on the hill sides and
southern slopes, and the labour of dragging the loaded sleighs over the
bare ground was so harassing to the horses, that but short stages could
be made, and those at a slow pace. At one point the way lay across a
large lake. The snow on this had almost entirely disappeared, and the
horses fell so continually over the bare ice, that the attempt to take
them across was obliged to be abandoned. Misquapamayoo’s Lilliputian
steed in particular, whose feet were small as those of a deer, was
utterly unable to stand on the slippery surface, and for a long time it
seemed as if the only chance of getting him off again would be to drag
him to _terra firma_ by the tail. The horses had now to be taken out of
the sleighs, which were drawn by hand across the lake, and a road cut
through the woods which skirted the banks, whereby the horses were led
round to the further side. This operation occupied a whole morning, and
it was not until the evening of the fifth day of travelling that the
party reached La Belle Prairie, after an absence of twelve days.

One little incident of the journey home serves to illustrate the
rough and ready manner of proceeding characteristic of the voyageurs.
One of the sleighs in passing along the side of a steep hill, upset,
overturning with it the horse, who lay helplessly on his back, with
his legs kicking in the air. Cheadle was proceeding to unharness him;
but La Ronde cried, “Ah! non, Monsieur, pas besoin;” and both lifting
together, they sent horse and sleigh rolling over and over down the
hill, until at last they came right side up, and the train proceeded.

Great was the delight of Milton and Bruneau at the happy return, and
Keenamontiayoo and some Indians who were at the house were not slow to
assist in the feast of fresh meat, which lasted far into the night, the
party from the plains enjoying, on their part, the luxury of bread.

Truly the pleasures of eating are utterly unknown in civilised life.

CHAPTER VII.

Trapping--The Fur-Bearing Animals--Value of different Furs--The
Trapper’s Start into the Forest--How to make a Marten Trap--
Steel Traps for Wolves and Foxes--The Wolverine--The Way he
gets a Living--His Destructiveness and Persecution of the
Trapper--His Cunning--His Behaviour when caught in a Trap--
La Ronde’s Stories of the Carcajou--The Trapper’s Life--The
Vast Forest in Winter--Sleeping Out--The Walk--Indians and
Half-breeds--Their Instinct in the Woods--The Wolverine
Demolishes our Traps--Attempts to Poison him--Treemiss’s
Arrival--He relates his Adventures--A Scrimmage in the Dark--
The Giant Tamboot--His Fight with Atahk-akoohp--Prowess of
Tamboot--Decide to send our Men to Red River for Supplies--
Delays.

The supply of meat which we had obtained being sufficient for some
time, we stored it up on the platform out of doors, to be preserved
by the frost, and turned our attention to trapping in the woods. Our
attempts had hitherto been confined to setting a few small steel traps
round the lake, and placing poisoned baits for the wolves. But we were
now desirous to fly at higher game, and, far in the depths of the
vast pine forest, seek trophies sure to be gratefully received when
presented to dear friends of the fair sex at home. The animals which
furnish the valuable furs from this region are the silver and cross
foxes, the fisher, marten, otter, mink, and lynx--whilst amongst
those of less worth are the wolverine, beaver, ermine, and musk-rat.
The beaver was formerly found in great numbers, and its peltry highly
prized; but from the assiduity with which it was hunted, it has now
become comparatively scarce; and from the substitution of silk for
beaver skin in the manufacture of hats, the latter has become almost
worthless. Of all furs, with the single exception of the sea-otter,
which is found only on the Pacific coast, the silver fox commands the
highest price. The fur of the silver fox is of a beautiful grey; the
white hairs, which predominate, being tipped with black, and mixed
with others of pure black. A well-matched pair of silver fox skins
are worth from £80 to £100. The cross foxes, so called from the dark
stripe down the back, with a cross over the shoulders like that on a
donkey, vary in every degree between the silver and the common red fox;
and the value of their skins varies in the same ratio. After the best
cross foxes come the fisher, the marten, and the mink. These three are
all animals of the pole-cat tribe, and both in size and value may be
classed in the order in which they have been mentioned. The skin of a
fisher fetches from sixteen shillings to thirty shillings; a marten,
fifteen shillings to twenty-three shillings; and a mink, from ten
shillings to fifteen shillings. The otter, which is less common than
the two last named, commands a price of one shilling an inch, measured
from the head to the tip of the tail. The ermine is exceedingly common
in the forests of the North-West, and is a nuisance to the trapper,
destroying the baits set for the marten and fisher. It is generally
considered of too little value to be the object of the trapper’s
pursuit. The black bear is also occasionally discovered in his winter’s
hole, and his skin is worth about forty shillings. The lynx is by no
means uncommon, and generally taken by snares of hide. When caught,
he remains passive and helpless, and is easily knocked on the head
by the hunter. The other denizens of the forests are the moose, and
smaller game, such as the common wood partridge, or willow grouse, the
pine partridge, the rabbit, and the squirrel. By far the most numerous
of the more valuable fur animals in this region are the marten and
the mink, and to the capture of the former of these two--the sable
of English furriers--the exertions of the trapper are principally
directed. At the beginning of November, when the animals have got
their winter coats, and fur is “in season,” the trapper prepares his
pack, which he makes in the following manner:--Folding his blanket
double, he places in it a lump of pemmican, sufficient for five or
six days’ consumption, a tin kettle and cup, and, if he is rich, some
steel traps, and a little tea and salt. The blanket is then tied at
the four corners, and slung on the back by a band across the chest. A
gun and ammunition, axe, knife, and fire-bag, complete his equipment.
Tying on a pair of snow-shoes, he starts alone into the gloomy woods--
trudging silently forward--for the hunter or trapper can never lighten
the solitude of his journey by whistling or a song. His keen eye scans
every mark upon the snow for the tracks he seeks. When he observes
the footprints of marten or fisher, he unslings his pack, and sets to
work to construct a “dead fall,” or wooden trap, after the following
manner. Having cut down a number of saplings, these are divided into
stakes of about a yard in length, which are driven into the ground so
as to form a palisade, in the shape of half an oval, cut transversely.
Across the entrance to this little enclosure, which is of a length to
admit about two-thirds of the animal’s body, and too narrow to admit
of its fairly entering in and turning round, a short log is laid. A
tree of considerable size is next felled, denuded of its branches,
and so laid that it rests upon the log at the entrance in a parallel
direction. The bait, which is generally a bit of tough dried meat, or
a piece of a partridge or squirrel, is placed on the point of a short
stick. This is projected horizontally into the enclosure, and on the
external end of it rests another short stick, placed perpendicularly,
which supports the large tree laid across the entrance. The top of the
trap is then covered in with bark and branches, so that the only means
of access to the bait is by the opening between the propped-up tree and
the log beneath. When the bait is seized, the tree falls down upon the
animal and crushes him to death. An expert trapper will make forty or
fifty traps in a single day.

[Illustration: A MARTEN TRAP.

(_See page 102._)
]

The steel traps resemble our ordinary rat-traps, but have no teeth, and
the springs are double. In the large traps used for beavers, foxes,
and wolves, these have to be made so powerful that it requires all
the force of a strong man to set them. They are placed in the snow,
and carefully covered over; fragments of meat are scattered about,
and the place smoothed down, so as to leave no trace. To the trap is
attached a chain, with a ring at the free extremity, through which a
stout stake is passed, and left otherwise unattached. When an animal is
caught--generally by the leg, as he digs in the snow for the hidden
morsels--he carries off the trap for a short distance, but is soon
brought up by the stake getting entangled across the trees and fallen
timber, and is rarely able to travel any great distance before being
discovered by the trapper.

The fur-hunter’s greatest enemy is the North American glutton, or, as
he is commonly called, the wolverine or carcajou. This curious animal
is rather larger than an English fox, with a long body, stoutly and
compactly made, mounted on exceedingly short legs of great strength.
His broad feet are armed with powerful claws, and his track in the snow
is as large as the print of a man’s fist. The shape of his head, and
his hairy coat, give him very much the appearance of a shaggy brown dog.

During the winter months he obtains a livelihood by availing himself of
the labours of the trapper, and such serious injury does he inflict,
that he has received from the Indians the name of Kekwaharkess, or “The
Evil One.” With untiring perseverance he hunts day and night for the
trail of man, and when it is found follows it unerringly. When he comes
to a lake, where the track is generally drifted over, he continues
his untiring gallop round its borders, to discover the point at which
it again enters the woods, and again follows it until he arrives at
one of the wooden traps. Avoiding the door, he speedily tears open an
entrance at the back, and seizes the bait with impunity; or if the trap
contains an animal, he drags it out, and, with wanton malevolence,
mauls it and hides it at some distance in the underwood, or at the
top of some lofty pine. Occasionally, when hard pressed by hunger, he
devours it. In this manner he demolishes the whole series of traps,
and when once a wolverine has established himself on a trapping-walk,
the hunter’s only chance for success is to change ground, and build a
fresh lot of traps, trusting to secure a few furs before the new path
is found out by his industrious enemy.

Strange stories are related by the trappers of the extraordinary
cunning of this animal, which they believe to possess a wisdom almost
human. He is never caught by the ordinary “dead fall.” Occasionally one
is poisoned, or caught in a steel trap; but his strength is so great,
that many traps strong enough to hold securely a large wolf will not
retain the wolverine. When caught in this way, he does not, like the
fox and the mink, proceed to amputate the limb, but, assisting to carry
the trap with his mouth, makes all haste to reach a lake or river,
where he can hasten forward at speed, unobstructed by trees and fallen
wood. After travelling far enough to be tolerably safe from pursuit
for a time, he devotes himself to the extrication of the imprisoned
limb, in which he not unfrequently succeeds. The wolverine is also
sometimes killed by a gun, placed bearing on a bait, to which is
attached a string communicating with the trigger. La Ronde assured us
most solemnly that on several occasions the carcajou had been far too
cunning for him, first approaching the gun and gnawing in two the cord
communicating with the trigger, and then securely devouring the bait.

In one instance, when every device to deceive his persecutor had
been at once seen through, and utterly futile, he adopted the plan
of placing the gun in a tree, with the muzzle pointing vertically
downwards upon the bait. This was suspended from a branch, at such a
height that the animal could not reach it without jumping. The gun
was fastened high up in the tree, completely screened from view by
the branches. Now, the wolverine is an animal troubled with exceeding
curiosity. He investigates everything; an old moccasin thrown aside
in the bushes, or a knife lost in the snow, are ferreted out and
examined, and anything suspended almost out of reach generally offers
an irresistible temptation. But in the case related by La Ronde the
carcajou restrained his curiosity and hunger for the time, climbed the
tree, cut the cords which bound the gun, which thus tumbled harmless
to the ground, and then, descending, secured the bait without danger.
Poison and all kinds of traps having already failed, La Ronde was
fairly beaten and driven off the ground.

For the truth of this particular story we, of course, do not pretend
to vouch, but would merely observe that our own subsequent experience
fully proved the wolverine to be an animal of wonderful sagacity
and resource; and that, supposing the gun to have been set, and
afterwards found cut down as related, there is little doubt that La
Ronde interpreted the mode of procedure with perfect correctness. An
Indian or half-breed reads the signs left behind as easily and truly as
if he had been present and witnessed the whole transaction. In other
instances, where we have had ample opportunities of judging, we never
detected a mistake in their reading of the language of tracks--marks
left printed on that book the hunter reads so well, the face of Nature.

Until nearly the end of December we employed ourselves by accompanying
La Ronde on his trapping expeditions. We thus could distinguish the
track of every animal found in the forest, and learnt much of their
habits and peculiarities. Cheadle was especially fascinated by this
branch of the hunter’s craft, and pursued it with such diligence and
success, that he was very soon able to make a trap and set it almost as
quickly and skilfully as his accomplished preceptor, La Ronde. There is
something strangely attractive in the life, in spite of the hardships
and fatigues which attend it. The long, laborious march, loaded with
a heavy pack, and cumbered with a quantity of thick clothing, through
snow and woods beset with fallen timber and underwood, is fatiguing
enough. The only change is the work of making the traps, or the rest at
night in camp. Provisions usually fall short, and the trapper subsists,
in great measure, upon the flesh of the animals captured to obtain the
fur. But, on the other hand, the grand beauty of the forest, whose
pines, some of which tower up above 200 feet in height, are decked and
wreathed with snow, and where no sound is heard, except the occasional
chirrup of a squirrel, or the explosions of trees cracking with intense
frost, excites admiration and stimulates curiosity. The intense
stillness and solitude, the travelling day after day through endless
woods without meeting a sign of man, and rarely _seeing_ a living
creature, strikes very strangely on the mind at first. The half-breed
trapper delights in wandering alone in the forest; but Cheadle, who
tried the experiment for two days, found the silence and loneliness so
oppressive as to be quite unbearable.

The interest in the pursuit was constantly kept up by the observation
of tracks, the interpretation of their varied stories, and the account
of the different habits of the animals as related by our companion.
There is also no small amount of excitement in visiting the traps
previously made, to see whether they contain the looked-for prize,
or whether all the fruits of hard labour have been destroyed by the
vicious wolverine.

At night, lying on a soft, elastic couch of pine boughs, at his feet a
roaring fire of great trees heaped high, from which rises an enormous
column of smoke and steam from the melted snow, the trapper, rolled up
in his blanket, sleeps in peace. Sometimes, however, when the cold is
very intense, or the wind blows strongly, a single blanket is but poor
protection. The huge fire is inadequate to prevent the freezing of one
extremity, while it scorches the other, and sleep is impossible, or, if
obtained, quickly broken by an aching cold in every limb as the fire
burns low. On these winter nights the Northern Lights were often very
beautiful. Once or twice we observed them in the form of a complete
arch, like a rainbow of roseate hues, from which the changing, fitful
gleams streamed up to meet at the zenith.

After we had been out a day or two, our provisions generally came
to an end, and we lived on partridges and the animals we trapped.
As soon as the skins of the martens and fishers were removed, their
bodies were stuck on the end of a stick, and put to roast before the
fire, looking like so many skewered cats. These animals not only smell
uncommonly like a ferret, but their flesh is of an intensely strong and
disgusting flavour, exactly corresponding to the odour, so that a very
strong stomach and good appetite is required to face such a meal. The
trapper’s camp in the woods is always attended by the little blue and
white magpie, who, perched on a bough close by, waits for his portion
of scraps from the meal. These birds invariably “turn up” immediately
after camp is made, and are so tame and bold that they will even steal
the meat out of the cooking-pot standing by the fire.

The snow was at this time not more than eight inches deep, and we
did not as yet use snow-shoes in the woods, where the brushwood and
fallen timber rendered them somewhat awkward encumbrances. But the
walking was consequently very fatiguing, and we reached home, after
five or six days’ absence, invariably very much wearied and jaded. On
these excursions we were much struck, amongst other things, with the
great difference between the walk of an Indian or half-breed and our
own. We had before observed that, when apparently sauntering quietly
along, they went past us with the greatest ease, even when we flattered
ourselves we were going at a very respectable pace. This was now, in a
great measure, explained. In walking in the snow, in Indian file, we
observed La Ronde’s great length of stride; and Cheadle, in particular,
who prided himself upon his walking powers, was much chagrined to find
that he could not tread in La Ronde’s footsteps without springing from
one to the next. Afterwards he discovered that his longest stride was
only just equal to that of the little Misquapamayoo!

The superiority of the Indian in this respect doubtless results from
the habitual use of moccasins, which allow full play to the elastic
bend of the foot. This is impeded by the stiff sole of an ordinary
boot. The muscles of an Indian’s foot are so developed, that it appears
plump and chubby as that of a child. Misquapamayoo continually derided
the scraggy appearance of our pedal extremities, and declared there
must be something very faulty in their original construction.

The unerring fidelity with which our guide followed a straight course
in one direction in the dense forest, where no landmarks could be seen,
in days when the sun was not visible, nor a breath of air stirring,
seemed to us almost incomprehensible. La Ronde was unable to explain
the power which he possessed, and considered it as quite a natural
faculty. Cheadle, on the other hand, found it quite impossible to
preserve a straight course, and invariably began to describe a circle,
by bearing continually towards the left; and this weakness was quite
incomprehensible to La Ronde, who looked upon it as the most arrant
stupidity.

Hitherto no wolverine had annoyed us, and we succeeded in accumulating
a nice collection of furs. But at last, when starting to visit our
walk, we observed the tracks of one of very large size, which had
followed our trail, and La Ronde at once declared, “C’est fini,
monsieur; il a cassé toutes notres etrappes, vous allez voir;” and sure
enough, as we came to each in succession, we found it broken open at
the back, the bait taken, and, where an animal had been caught, it was
carried off. Throughout the whole line every one had been demolished,
and we discovered the tails of no less than ten martens, the bodies
of which had apparently been devoured by the hungry and successful
carcajou.

We had on a former occasion suspended small poisoned baits, wrapped in
old moccasins or other covering, on the bushes at different points. One
of these the wolverine had pulled down, unwrapped it, and bitten the
bait in two. Terrified at the discovery that it was poisoned, he had
rushed away at full speed from the dangerous temptation. It was useless
to set the traps again, and we thereupon returned home disconsolate, La
Ronde cursing, with all his might, “le sacré carcajou.”

One day the crows, which always announced the presence of any one
on the lake by a tremendous cawing, gave their usual signal of an
arrival. Going out on to the lake, we saw several sleighs advancing
across it, the bells on the harness jingling merrily in the frosty air,
as the dogs galloped along. Our visitors proved to be Treemiss and a
party from the Fort, on a trading expedition amongst the Wood Crees.

Treemiss had met with various adventures since we had last seen
him, and in one instance was in some danger of losing his life.
Atahk-akoohp, the hunter, came one evening, with several others, into
his hut, all half drunk, and importuned him to trade for furs. Vexed by
Treemiss’s refusal to do so, he threw a marten-skin violently into his
face. Irritated by the insult, Treemiss struck him with his fist. In an
instant all was uproar and confusion; knives flashed out, the candle
was kicked over and extinguished, and all were groping and stabbing at
Treemiss in the dark. Summarily upsetting an Indian who opposed his
passage, he made for his gun, which lay near the door, seized it, and
made good his escape outside, not, however, before receiving several
slight cuts and stabs through his clothes.

He waited, gun in hand, ready for his assailants, listening
with anxiety to a terrible commotion which was going on inside.
Atahk-akoohp, the aggressor, a man of lofty stature and powerful build,
he knew to be savage in the extreme when aroused. But he had a friend
within. He had shown much kindness to a half-breed named Tamboot, a
man of still more gigantic build and strength than Atahk-akoohp, and
this fellow now stepped forth in his might as the champion of his
friend. Seizing the huge form of Atahk-akoohp, he raised him in his
arms like a child, and dashed him on the floor with such violence,
that he lay almost senseless, and was so much injured that for above
a week afterwards he was unable to leave his bed; then, declaring he
would serve each in turn in the same manner, if they offered to lay
a hand on his benefactor, he made the rest sullenly retire. Tamboot
had previously killed two of his enemies by sheer exertion of force,
without using a weapon; and his reputation for courage and strength
stood so high, that none dared to interfere, and thus peace was once
more restored.

Our stock of flour and tea having by this time become exceedingly low,
and as but a small quantity of the latter only could be obtained at
Carlton, we decided to send the men back to Red River for a supply of
these necessaries, required for our journey forwards in the spring.
We accordingly engaged the Indian hunter, Keenamontiayoo, and his
boy, Misquapamayoo, to assist us in hunting, and perform any services
we might require during their absence. Some delay, however, occurred
before this plan could be put into execution, owing to the illness of
La Ronde. During this time we were all detained at home, and the days
passed by in somewhat dreary monotony.

CHAPTER VIII.

Milton visits Carlton--Fast Travelling--La Ronde and Bruneau set
out for Fort Garry--Trapping with Misquapamayoo--Machinations
against the Wolverine--The Animals’ Fishery--The Wolverine
Outwits us--Return Home--The Cree Language--How an Indian
tells a Story--New Year’s Day among the Crees--To the
Prairies again--The Cold--Travelling with Dog-sleighs--Out
in the Snow--Our New Attendants--Prospect of Starvation--
A Day of Expectation--A Rapid Retreat--The Journey Home--
Indian Voracity--Res Angusta Domi--Cheadle’s Journey to the
Fort--Perversity of his Companions--“The Hunter” yields to
Temptation--Milton’s Visit to Kekekooarsis--A Medicine Feast--
The New Song--Cheadle’s Journey Home--Isbister and his Dogs--
Mahaygun, “The Wolf”--Pride and Starvation--Our Meeting at
White Fish Lake.

On the morning of the 24th of December, Milton harnessed our three
Indian dogs to the little sleigh, and set out with Bruneau for the
Fort. La Ronde remained with Cheadle at the hut, engaging to join the
others at Carlton as soon as sufficiently recovered. Misquapamayoo had
also arrived, to commence his service as attendant on Cheadle. We both
spent our Christmas Eve somewhat drearily--Milton camping in the snow,
half-way to Carlton, supping on pemmican and gallette, and Cheadle,
in the hut, faring likewise; but the latter, feeling very dismal and
un-Christmaslike, he and La Ronde unearthed the hidden rum cask, and
established a weak conviviality by the aid of hot punch.

Milton and Bruneau went merrily along on their way to the Fort. The
road had just been well beaten by the passage of trains to La Crosse;
a slight thaw had followed, and the track was now frozen hard, so that
the dogs galloped away with the lightly-laden sleigh at a tremendous
pace over the ice. The two followed at speed, occasionally jumping
on to the sleigh for a time, to gain breath again. But the cold was
too great to allow a very long ride, and running was soon resumed.
They travelled with such expedition that although it was afternoon
when they left the hut, they travelled at least thirty miles before
nightfall, camping beyond the crossing of the Shell River. Milton,
eager beyond measure to arrive at the Fort in time to share the
Christmas festivities, arose in the middle of the night, and succeeded
in convincing Bruneau that it was nearly daybreak. They therefore
harnessed the dogs and started again. To their surprise, the moon rose
instead of the sun, but they kept on their way, and daybreak appeared
after several hours. They arrived at Carlton just in time to sit down
to Mr. Lillie’s Christmas dinner, having accomplished the journey of
eighty miles in the wonderfully short time of twenty-six hours. Plum
pudding and a bottle of sherry graced the board, and were both done
full justice to by the company.

La Ronde came in on the 27th, and on the following day set out with
Bruneau on their distant journey. They took with them two dog-sleighs,
and the best trains of dogs to be obtained at Carlton. The provision
they expected to bring was four sacks of flour and thirty or forty
pounds of tea; and the journey of 600 miles and back would occupy at
least two months. The snow was now so deep that a track would require
to be trodden out with snow-shoes to enable the dogs to travel, and the
undertaking was certain to be very laborious. The route they intended
to take was by Touchwood Hills and Fort Pelly on to the Manitobah Lake,
and thence to Fort Garry.

Cheadle, now left with only the Indian boy, went off into the woods to
make another attempt to circumvent his ancient enemy, the wolverine.
With pack slung on his back, gun on shoulder, and axe in belt, little
Misquapamayoo stalked along to lead the way, with all the dignity
and confidence of a practised hunter. No track or sign escaped his
observant eye, and he made and set traps, arranged the camp, cut wood,
and cooked meals, with the readiness and skill of an old trapper. The
heavier work of wood-chopping and the weightier pack fell, of course,
to Cheadle’s share; but Misquapamayoo was indefatigable in performing
everything in his power, and this was by no means contemptible, for
he could carry weights and use an axe in a manner which would have
surprised an English boy of the same age. He assumed an air of grave
superiority over his companion in all things relating to the hunter’s
or voyageur’s craft which was very amusing, although certainly
justified by the facts of the case.

The two spent their time in the woods merrily enough, for it was
impossible to be dull with such a lively, light-hearted companion
as Misquapamayoo. This may perhaps be thought strange when it is
stated that Cheadle, when he set out, did not know more than two or
three words of the Cree language. Yet this very circumstance was a
prolific source of amusement, and nothing delighted the boy more
than to instruct his companion, falling into fits of laughter at his
mispronunciations and mistakes. The easy manner in which communication
was carried on between the two, each ignorant of the other’s language,
was very astonishing. But Misquapamayoo appeared to divine by instinct
what was required, and it seemed difficult to believe at first that
he really did not understand a word of English. The perceptions of an
Indian are so nice, his attention so constantly on the alert, and his
conclusions so rapidly formed, that he draws inferences from general
signs with great readiness and accuracy.

The wolverine had renewed his visits along the line of traps, and
broken all which had been reconstructed, devouring the animals which
had been caught. Cheadle now adopted a device which he flattered
himself would catch the enemy in his own toils. All the broken traps
were repaired and set again, and poisoned baits substituted for the
ordinary ones in the traps--not in every instance, but here and there
along the line.

The forest in which we hunted commenced on the further side of our
lake, stretching away to the north apparently indefinitely. This was
broken only by numerous lakes and swamps, and patches of timber which
had been burnt. The lakes are always sought by the trapper, not only
because they enable him to travel more rapidly, and penetrate further
into the less hunted regions, but also because the edges of the lakes,
and the portages between them, are favourite haunts of the fox, the
fisher, and the mink. On one of these lakes a curious circumstance
was observed. The lake was about half a mile in length, and of nearly
equal breadth, but of no great depth. The water had seemingly frozen
to the bottom, except at one end, where a spring bubbled up, and a
hole of about a yard in diameter existed in the covering of ice, which
was there only a few inches thick. The water in this hole was crowded
with myriads of small fish, most of them not much larger than a man’s
finger, and so closely packed that they could not move freely. On
thrusting in an arm, it seemed like plunging it into a mass of thick
stir-about. The snow was beaten down all round hard and level as a
road, by the numbers of animals which flocked to the Lenten feast.
Tracks converged from every side. Here were the footprints of the cross
or silver fox, delicately impressed in the snow as he trotted daintily
along with light and airy tread; the rough marks of the clumsier
fisher; the clear, sharply-defined track of the active mink; and the
great coarse trail of the ever-galloping, ubiquitous wolverine. Scores
of crows perched on the trees around, sleepily digesting their frequent
meals. Judging by the state of the snow and collection of dung, the
consumption must have gone on for weeks, yet the supply seemed as
plentiful as ever.

This circumstance afforded an explanation of the fact that many of the
rivers and fresh-water lakes in this country are destitute of fish, as
all but the deeper ones freeze to the bottom, and therefore any fish
they contained would be destroyed.

When the trappers turned homewards they found that the wolverine had
followed them closely. On the ground which they had passed over on
the previous day, every trap was already demolished and the baits
abstracted. Cheadle fondly imagined that at last his enemy was
outwitted and destroyed, but Misquapamayoo’s sharper eyes discovered
each of the baits which had been poisoned, lying close at hand, bitten
in two and rejected, whilst all the others had disappeared. The baits
had been made with great care, the strychnine being inserted into the
centre of the meat by a small hole, and when frozen it was impossible
to distinguish any difference in appearance between them and the
harmless ones. It seemed as if the animal suspected poison, and bit
in two and tasted every morsel before swallowing it. The baits had
purposely been made very small, so that in the ordinary course they
would have been bolted whole. That the same wolverine had frequented
our path from the first, we knew perfectly well, for he was one of
unusually large size, as shown by his tracks, which were readily
distinguishable from the others we observed from time to time.

On the 28th of December, Milton left Carlton, and resting one night at
Treemiss’s hut, arrived the following day at La Belle Prairie. Cheadle
and Misquapamayoo had come in just before, and a very pleasant evening
was spent in talking over all that had happened during the separation.

Associating entirely with Indians until the return of our men, we
rapidly picked up the Cree language, and in the course of a few weeks
could speak it fluently if not grammatically. Nothing is easier than
to get a decent smattering of Cree, although the construction of the
language is extremely intricate. The name of many articles is the
explanation of their use or properties, the word being a combination of
a participle and noun, the latter generally the word _gun_, “a thing;”
as _parskisi-gun_, a “shooting thing;” _miniquachi-gun_, a “drinking
thing” or cup. This also appears in their proper names, which are
generally descriptions of some personal peculiarity; as in the names
Kekekooarsis and Keenamontiayoo, which have been mentioned before. The
consonants _d_, _f_, and _l_ are not found in the Cree alphabet, and
the Indians find great difficulty in pronouncing the two first when
trying to use English words. The appropriate gestures and expressive
pantomime with which an Indian illustrates his speech, render it easy
to understand. We soon learnt to interpret without much difficulty
the long hunting stories with which Keenamontiayoo whiled away the
evenings in our hut. The scene described was partly acted; the motions
of the game, the stealthy approach of the hunter, the taking aim, the
shot, the cry of the animal, or the noise of its dashing away, and the
pursuit, were all given as the tale went on.

We had arranged with Keenamontiayoo to start with him in a few days for
the plains, intending to pay a visit to a small camp of Wood Crees,
who we had heard were hunting buffalo about eighty miles off. We were,
however, astonished on the evening of the last day of the year, by
the arrival not only of the Hunter, but Kekekooarsis also, with their
wives, children, and relatives. They seemed very much delighted with
themselves, and were very complimentary to us. All quietly settled down
and began to smoke. It was plain they intended to stay some time with
us. As our room was so extremely small, we found it inconvenient to
accommodate so many visitors, but all our efforts to understand their
explanations were in vain, and we had to make the best of it.

On the following morning we were somewhat enlightened. At daybreak
the men got up, and fired off a great many shots in honour of the new
year. Then ensued a general shaking of hands all round, and a kissing
of the women and children. The latter part of the ceremony we, however,
very ungallantly omitted. We subsequently learnt that it is the custom
for those who have nothing wherewith to feast, to visit their friends
who may be in greater plenty; and our neighbours thought that they
could not do better than with us. As they _had_ come, we hastened our
departure, and set out with Keenamontiayoo and his son, leaving old
Kekekooarsis and the women in charge of the house until our return. We
took with us two dog-sleighs, and travelled in snow-shoes, for the snow
had now become far too deep to move without them. We had used them for
short distances for some time, and had become tolerably expert, but
found marching all day long in them very fatiguing at first. The Hunter
led the way, his son followed driving one train of dogs, and we came
next with the other.

After travelling a day and a half, we diverged from the track that La
Ronde had taken, and steered a point or two more west. The country was,
as before, a mixture of woods, lakes, and patches of open prairie,
somewhat hilly, and difficult for sleighs. The weather turned intensely
cold--far more severe than any we had before experienced. Light
showers of snow fell in minute particles, as it were frozen dew, when
the sun was shining brightly and the sky without a cloud. Clothed in
three or four flannel shirts, one of duffel, and a leather shirt; our
hands encased in “mittaines,” or large gloves of moose-skin lined with
duffel, made without fingers, large enough to admit of being easily
doffed on occasion, and carried slung by a band round the neck; our
feet swathed in bands of duffel, covered by enormous moccasins; and our
ears and necks protected by a curtain of fur, we were yet hardly able
to keep warm with the most active exercise; and when we stayed to camp,
shivered and shook as we essayed to light a fire.

Masses of ice, the size of a man’s fist, formed on Cheadle’s beard and
moustache--the only ones in the company--from the moisture of the
breath freezing as it passed through the hair. The oil froze in the
pipes we carried about our persons, so that it was necessary to thaw
them at the fire before they could be made to draw. The hands could
hardly be exposed for a moment, except when close to the fire. A bare
finger laid upon iron stuck to it as if glued, from the instantaneous
freezing of its moisture. The snow melted only close to the fire, which
formed a trench for itself, in which it slowly sank to the level of the
ground. The steam rose in clouds, and in the coldest, clearest weather,
it almost shrouded the fire from view. The snow was light and powdery,
and did not melt beneath the warmth of the foot, so that our moccasins
were as dry on a journey as if we had walked through sawdust instead of
snow. The parchment windows of our little hut were so small and opaque,
that we could hardly see even to eat by their light alone, and were
generally obliged to have the door open; and then, although the room
was very small, and the fire-place very large, a crust of ice formed
over the tea in our tin cups, as we sat within a yard of the roaring
fire. One effect of the cold was to give a most ravenous appetite for
fat. Many a time have we eaten great lumps of hard grease--rancid
tallow, used for making candles--without bread or anything to modify
it.[4]

When well sheltered by woods, and with an enormous fire blazing at our
feet, sleeping in the open air was pleasant enough. Tents are not used
for winter travelling, as the huge fire could not be made available.
On arriving at the ground we selected for a camp, every one set to
work as quickly as possible. One unharnessed the dogs and unpacked
the sleighs; another collected dry logs; a third cut fine chips, and
started the fire; whilst the fourth shovelled away the snow in front
of the fire with a snow-shoe, and strewed the bare ground with pine
branches. Then all squatted down, smoking and superintending the
cooking of supper, the hungry dogs seated round, waiting anxiously for
their share. A pipe and talk followed, and then each rolled himself in
his blankets or buffalo robe, covering head and all, placed his feet as
near to the fire as he dare, and slept. All huddled together as closely
as possible, and when silence had reigned some time, the dogs crept
softly in towards the fire, and lay between us, or at our feet. Before
sleeping, however, it was necessary to secure out of reach of the dogs
not only provisions, but snow-shoes, harness, and everything with any
skin or leather about it. An Indian dog will devour almost anything of
animal origin, and invariably eats his own harness, or his master’s
snow-shoes, if left within his reach.

Our new attendants showed us the greatest attention, and indeed were
extremely proud of serving the Soniow Okey Mow, and the Muskeeky Okey
Mow, as they had named us, which, being interpreted, signifies the
“Great Golden Chief,” and “My Master, the Great Medicine.” And we
found constant amusement over our camp-fire at night in teaching them
English words, and learning Cree. The circumstance that there were
some words which were almost identical in the two languages--words
which had been adopted from one language into the other--struck them
as very ludicrous, and they never tired of laughing over _pemmicàrn_,
“pemmican;” _mùskisin_, “moccasin;” _shùgow_, “sugar;” and the like.
And when we used wrong words for others very similar, as we frequently
did purposely--calling the old man Kekekooarsis, Kekwaharkosis, or
the “Little Wolverine;” or an Indian named Gaytchi Mohkamarn, or “The
Big Knife,” Matchi Mohkamarn, “The Evil Knife”--the joke was always
irresistible, and they rolled about and held their sides in fits of
laughter.

On the fourth day after leaving La Belle Prairie, we reached the
camping ground, where we expected to meet Indians, but found the camp
broken up, and saw by the tracks that the party had dispersed in
various directions. We therefore kept on in a straight line for the
prairie. The weather had become colder and colder, and as we passed
over a large lake just before dark, the wind blew so keenly that our
faces ached again, and our teeth chattered, although we hurried over it
into a little wood as rapidly as the dogs could go. Milton’s nose and
cheeks were frost-bitten, and required careful rubbing to restore them.
On the morrow, by the Hunter’s advice, we stayed in camp, while he went
out alone to reconnoitre, and try and kill a buffalo. Our provisions
were by this time reduced to a few handfuls of flour, and a little
pemmican--hardly more than sufficient for that day’s consumption. We
had started with a fair supply of white-fish and pemmican; but six dogs
rapidly reduced it. Two fish a day, or three pounds of pemmican, is the
regular allowance for a sleigh-dog when travelling; and the quantity
required to satisfy a man in the cold winter is greater still. We
therefore spent an anxious day, waiting for Keenamontiayoo’s return,
wondering whether he would be successful in obtaining meat. We put
ourselves upon short commons, and the dogs upon still shorter, and even
went to the length of fixing upon one useless, toothless old fellow as
a victim to our appetites, in case of extremity.

The day wore on slowly and monotonously, the cold was severe as ever,
and we diligently cut and stacked a large supply of wood for the
night fire. Night closed in around us, and we still watched in vain
for the Hunter, and speculated whether the delay was a sign of his
good luck or the reverse. Hours of darkness passed away, and yet we
listened anxiously, expecting to hear the footfall of the returning
Indian. Misquapamayoo became very uneasy, and sat silent and absorbed,
listening intently for his father’s step, and at last took to firing
his gun at short intervals, to signal our whereabouts. No answering
shot replied, but about midnight Keenamontiayoo appeared, bending
beneath a load which, on nearer view, showed to our gloating eyes the
heart, tongue, and other tit-bits of buffalo. These were soon cooked
and eaten, and over our supper he told us that he had hunted all day
without resting, but had not found a trace of buffalo. On his return,
however, just before dark, he discovered a solitary bull, which he
killed. The cold had so benumbed him that he was quite unable to cut
any meat until he had made a large fire, and afterwards was detained a
long time covering up the carcase with timber and snow, to protect it
from the wolves.

The next morning we moved camp close to the dead buffalo, and spent
that day in cutting him up, and collecting a good supply of dry wood,
which was scarce at this place.

The following day we found two more buffalo, and succeeded in badly
wounding one of them. Darkness came on before we could overtake him,
but we found him next morning, having been pulled down and partly eaten
by the wolves during the night.

At this time Milton’s face, which had been frost-bitten two days
before, swelled up with erysipelas in a most alarming manner. We were
80 or 100 miles from home, without any protection from the extreme
severity of the weather. We decided to cache a great part of the meat,
and travel back to La Belle Prairie as fast as the dogs could go.

The afternoon was spent in securing the meat which we were compelled
to leave behind, by enclosing it in a pyramid of logs, against which
we heaped a high bank of snow. This, when well beaten down and frozen,
held the timber firmly in position, and the Hunter declared it
perfectly impregnable to a whole army of wolves, although a wolverine
would certainly break it open if he found it.

The next morning a light load was placed on one sleigh, and on the
other Milton, smothered in buffalo robe and blankets, was securely
bound. Keenamontiayoo led the way, the boy followed driving one sleigh,
and Cheadle brought up the rear, in charge of his patient on the
other. The journey was very harassing and tedious. Our old track had
been completely snowed up, and the wretched dogs were not equal to
the emergency. Shushu, the leader, was willing, but young, thin, and
weak; the middle one, Comyun, was aged and asthmatic; and the shafter,
Kuskitaostaquarn, lame and lethargic. From morning to night the air
resounded with howling, and the cries of the drivers anathematising
Comyun and Kuskitaostaquarn. The sleighs constantly upset, from running
against a stump or slipping over a hill-side; and when we hauled and
strained to right them, the dogs lay down quietly, looking round at us,
and not offering to pull an ounce to help. When the driver, aggravated
beyond endurance, rushed up, stick in hand, and bent on punishment,
they made frantic exertions, which only made matters worse, resuming
their quiescent attitude the moment he returned to haul again at
the sleigh; and all the time the unfortunate Milton lay, bound and
helpless, half buried in the snow. In spite of all these hardships and
difficulties, he rapidly recovered, and by the time we reached home,
after three and a half days’ hard travelling, was nearly well.

On our arrival we found, to our surprise, that the women had made the
hut very clean and tidy, but had consumed all the provision we left
behind, and were, moreover, quite equal to a great feast on the meat we
had brought. We had providentially locked up a little flour, and this
was all that remained except the buffalo meat.

The Indians now returned to their homes, taking with them the greater
part of the fresh meat, the Hunter engaging to return in a week to
accompany us on a fresh expedition to the plains. To our astonishment,
however, he appeared on the third day, in company with Misquapamayoo
and Kekekooarsis, and informed us that provisions were exhausted. The
meat they had carried away with them three days before appeared to us
to be enough for a fortnight, but they assured us it was all eaten,
that the ice had become so thick that it was impossible to catch any
more fish, and that the only thing to be done was to be off to the
plains again immediately. We were quite taken aback and disappointed,
for we had counted on a large quantity of fish, with which old
Kekekooarsis had promised to supply us from his fishery at White Fish
Lake.

Our whole store consisted of a few pounds of meat, and a handful of
flour. The Indians brought twenty-two fish, and had left thirteen
with their families. This was, of course, absurdly insufficient for
a five days’ journey to the plains, and then have the risk of not
finding buffalo after all. We resolved upon a surer means of avoiding
starvation, by going over to the Fort for pemmican.

Milton was still quite unfit to travel, and he was therefore obliged
to remain behind, while Cheadle went to Carlton. We divided the food
equally between us, and the latter set off with the Indians at once.

They journeyed rapidly on for the first day, and Cheadle confidently
expected to reach Carlton on the evening of the second. The cold,
however, was so severe, that the Indians refused to stir in spite of
all his entreaties, and sat cooking and eating the few fish there were
until afternoon, replying to all his expostulations and suggestions
that it would be better to leave some food for the morrow, with the
eternal “Keyarm” (It’s all the same).

After they had consumed all but two, he prevailed upon them to start,
but after a few miles, they declared it was “osharm aimun” (too hard),
alluding to the bitter cold, and camped again for the night. They had
not yet got half way. Now the provisions were quite finished, and
seeing the “Okey Mow” was really angry, they rose before daylight, not
a whit uncomfortable or discontented with the knowledge that they had
forty miles to march with empty stomachs, or pity for the unfortunate
dogs who had now not tasted a morsel of food for two days. It was
otherwise, however, with Cheadle. Toiling away on snow-shoes until
noon, he experienced a wonderfully disagreeable sensation of emptiness,
and a tendency to bend double; and his walking in this stooping
attitude elicited frequent ridicule from the boy, who was vastly
delighted, and kept crying, “Keeipah, keeipah” (Quickly, quickly).
There was no help for it but to keep “pegging away,” and at dusk they
gained the well-beaten trail about five miles from the Fort. Snow-shoes
were doffed and tied on the sleighs; the dogs, knowing the end of the
journey was near, set off at a gallop; and the “Muskeeky Okey Mow,”
now quite recovered, astonished his companions by running ahead, and
arriving first at the Fort.

The next day, when the provisions were ready for the Indians to set out
with at once to the relief of Milton, Keenamontiayoo was discovered to
be in a state of intoxication. By noon he was sufficiently sobered to
start on the journey, and promised to make all possible haste. He was
very much ashamed of himself, and penitent withal, more particularly
because he had parted with a valuable hunting-knife, which he prized
very highly, for a teacupful of rum. It was one which the “Soniow Okey
Mow” had given him on our return from the plains, as a reward for his
good behaviour to us, and he had vowed never to part with it. A little
rum offered to him by one of the half-breeds, who coveted the knife,
overcame his resolution at once. The temptation is irresistible to an
Indian.

After the departure of the party for the Fort, Milton spent a few days
in monotonous solitude, eking out a scanty subsistence by the help of
his gun. Concluding, however, that the society of Kekekooarsis even
would be better than none, he put on his snow-shoes and marched over
to White Fish Lake. But there food was even scarcer than at home.
The fish were soon eaten, and the only supply then was an occasional
marten, mink, or otter, trapped by Kekekooarsis, and a few partridges
and rabbits, which Milton provided. But game was beginning to be scarce
in the immediate neighbourhood, and the strait had become more than
unpleasant when the Hunter and his son returned with the pemmican sent
off by Cheadle.

After his return, Keenamontiayoo went out into the woods to hunt
moose. For several days he had no success, and came back to perform a
solemn invocation to the “Manitou”[5] to bless his next attempt. Drums
were brought out, and rattles made of bladders with pebbles in them,
“medicine” belts of wolf skin donned, and other “medicine,” or magic
articles, such as ermine skins, and musk-rat skins covered with beads.
The Hunter and his father-in-law drummed and rattled, and sang songs,
finishing, after some hours, by a long speech which they repeated
together, in which they promised to give some of the best meat to the
Manitou if he granted success, and to compose a new song in his praise.

Before daylight Keenamontiayoo started, and at night returned in high
glee, for his prayer had proved very efficacious, and he had killed
two moose. The moose is a sacred animal, and certain portions of the
meat--such as the breast, liver, kidneys, and tongue--must be eaten
at once, and the whole consumed at a single meal. Women are not allowed
to taste the tongue, and all scraps are burnt, never given to the dogs.
The Hunter had brought the best part home with him, and Milton had
the pleasure of joining in a great feast. Tit-bits were cut off and
cast into the fire, as the promised offering to the Manitou, the men
chanting and beating drums and rattles the while. Then all feasted to
repletion, and Milton was kept from sleep by the persistency with which
Keenamontiayoo sang the new song he pretended to have composed for
the occasion, which he continued to sing over and over again without
cessation till nearly daylight. As he had been out hunting all day,
and busily engaged ever since his return, it is shrewdly suspected he
attempted to impose upon his Manitou, by making shift with an old hymn,
for he certainly could not have had much opportunity for composing the
new one he had promised.

Cheadle had remained at the Fort to await the arrival of the winter
express from Fort Garry, which comes once a year, bringing letters
for Carlton, and the more distant forts. Dog-sleighs arrived from all
quarters--Edmonton, La Crosse, Norway House, &c.--bringing letters
for England, in return for those brought for them by the Red River
train. It was a time of great excitement at the Fort, and when the
tinkling of sleigh bells gave warning of an arrival, all rushed out to
greet the new-comers and hear the latest news. We naturally expected
a large batch of letters, the arrears of all sent from home since we
left, for we had as yet received none. Dreadful was the disappointment,
therefore, when the Fort Garry express came in, and the box of letters
was seized and ransacked, to find not one for any of us. The only hope
left was that La Ronde might bring some when he returned.

Cheadle was now anxious to return as soon as possible, although without
the pleasant intelligence he had expected to carry with him. But
there was some difficulty in finding the means of transport, and the
cold was now so great that it would have been dangerous to cross open
country without a sleigh on which to carry an ample supply of robes and
blankets. At last an English half-breed, named Isbister, volunteered to
accompany him with his train of dogs, if he could travel rapidly, so as
to allow him to return to the Fort within three days, in order to join
a party of hunters going to the plains.

The offer was gladly accepted, and at noon the two set out. The north
wind blew very bitterly, the thermometer being down to thirty degrees
below zero. The track was tolerably good, although not firm enough
to allow snow-shoes to be dispensed with, and now rapidly drifting
up. Away went the dogs with the lightly-laden sleigh, and Isbister
and Cheadle strained their utmost to keep up, tearing along on their
snow-shoes, with a motion and swinging of arms from side to side, like
fen-skaters.

In spite of all this exertion, a very great many flannel shirts, a
leathern shirt, duffel shirt, and thick Inverness cape over all,
Cheadle was frost-bitten in many places--arms, legs, and face; and
when they pulled up to camp for the night in a clump of pines, he was
quite unable to strike a light, and even Isbister with difficulty
accomplished it. With a roaring fire, sleeping fully clothed, with
the addition of two buffalo robes and two blankets, it was impossible
to keep warm, or rest long without being admonished, by half-frozen
toes, to rise and replenish the fire. The dogs crept shivering up and
on to the bed, passing, like their masters, a restless night. The
thermometer on this night went down to thirty-eight degrees below zero,
the greatest cold which was experienced during this winter--the lowest
ever registered being forty-five degrees below zero.

The following morning they set forward again at a racing pace,
and reached the hut before dark--very fast travelling indeed on
snow-shoes, on a trail that was not in first-rate order. A man can,
indeed, walk much faster on snow-shoes, with a fair track, than on the
best road without them; but when the trail is frozen perfectly hard,
the voyageur casts them off, and runs behind the dogs, who are able to
gallop at great speed along the slippery path; and in this manner the
most extraordinary journeys have been made.

On entering the hut it proved to be empty, Milton being still at White
Fish Lake. They had observed strange footmarks leading to the hut as
they crossed the lake, and were puzzled whose they could be. Some one
had evidently visited the house that day, for the chimney was not yet
cold, nor the water in the kettle frozen.

After feeding the dogs, and making a hasty supper on raw pemmican and
tea, Isbister set to work to convert the sleigh into a rude cariole, or
passenger sleigh. Then wrapping himself in robe and blanket, he seated
himself therein, and in two hours after his arrival was on his way back
again to Carl ton. The dogs ran in with him by eleven o’clock on the
following morning, having accomplished upwards of 140 miles in less
than forty-eight hours, and the last seventy without stopping for rest
or food.

Cheadle meanwhile remained a prisoner at Fort Milton, being so stiff
and sore from his unusual kind of exercise, and so lame from using
snow-shoes, that he crept about slowly and painfully, to perform the
necessary duties of cutting wood and cooking. As he sat over the fire
in the evening, alone, in somewhat dismal mood, the door opened, and
in walked a French half-breed, of very Indian appearance. He sat down
and smoked, and talked for an hour or two, stating that he was out
trapping, and his lodge and family were about five miles distant. In
due time Cheadle produced some pemmican for supper, when the visitor
fully justified the sobriquet which he bore of Mahaygun, or “The Wolf,”
by eating most voraciously. He then mentioned that he had not tasted
food for two days. He had visited our hut the day before, lit a fire,
melted some snow in the kettle, and waited for a long time, in the hope
that some one might come in. At last he went away, without touching
the pemmican which lay upon the table ready to his hand. The story
was, doubtless, perfectly true, agreeing with all the signs previously
observed, and the fact that the pemmican was uncut.

With the pangs of hunger gnawing at his stomach, and viewing, no doubt,
with longing eyes the food around, he had yet, according to Indian
etiquette, refrained from clamouring at once for food, but sat and
smoked for a long time, without making the slightest allusion to his
starving condition. When, in due course, his host offered him something
to eat, he mentioned the wants of himself and family. The next day he
left, carrying with him supplies for his squaw. He was exceedingly
grateful for the assistance, and promised to return in a day with his
wife, who should wash and mend all our clothes, as some acknowledgment
of the kindness.

Cheadle, being now somewhat recovered from his late severe journey,
strapped on his snow-shoes, and set out to seek Milton amongst the
Indians at White Fish Lake. He suffered so severely from snow-shoe
lameness, however, that he with difficulty accomplished the nine or ten
miles’ journey by nightfall. Opening the door of the hut, he discovered
the old squaw--frying-pan in hand--engaged in cooking the evening
pemmican, and was warmly received by all, Milton being quite tired of
living entirely amongst savage society, and the Indians always ready
to welcome the white man hospitably. The Hunter and Misquapamayoo were
absent, having gone to bring in the meat of a moose, which the former
had killed. We returned home on the following day, leaving word for the
two Indians to join us as soon as possible.

CHAPTER IX.

Our New Acquaintances--Taking it Quietly--Mahaygun Fraternises
with Keenamontiayoo--The Carouse--Importunities for Rum--
The Hunter asks for more--A Tiresome Evening--Keenamontiayoo
Renounces us--His Night Adventure--Misquapamayoo’s Devotion--
The Hunter returns Penitent--The Plains again--The Wolverine
on our Track--The Last Band of Buffalo--Gaytchi Mohkamarn,
“The Big Knife”--The Cache Intact--Starving Indians--Story of
Keenamontiayoo--Indian Gambling--The Hideous Philosopher--Dog
Driving--Shushu’s Wonderful Sagacity--A Long March--Return
to La Belle Prairie--Household Cares--Our Untidy Dwelling--
Our Spring Cleaning--The Great Plum Pudding--Unprofitable
Visitors--Rover’s Accomplishments Astonish the Indians--Famine
Everywhere.

When we reached the hut, we found “The Wolf” and his wife already
established there. The latter was a pleasant, clean-looking woman,
and she set to work diligently to wash and mend our clothes, while
we lords of the creation, including her husband, looked on, smoking
and discussing the news brought from the Fort, speculating on the
cause of our not receiving letters, and fixing our plans for the
future. The luxury of a day’s complete idleness after severe exertion
is immense, and we now fully appreciated it. In the course of two
days, Keenamontiayoo and Misquapamayoo made their appearance with a
sleigh-load of moose meat, which we found very delicious, especially
after being so long restricted to pemmican, and having no flour, and,
greatest hardship of all, a very small allowance of tea.

The Hunter and “The Wolf” recognised each other as old friends who had
not met for many years, and they immediately fraternised tremendously.
The former at once put in a claim for half a pint of rum which Cheadle
had promised him as a reward if he made the rapid journey when carrying
back the provisions for Milton at the time of emergency. This was duly
allowed, and the two friends proceeded to make very merry indeed,
breaking forth into singing; and every now and then coming round to
shake hands with us, and proclaim what first-rate “Okey Mows” we were.
Keenamontiayoo shared his liquor fairly with his comrade, and when this
was finished, Mahaygun got up and made a speech to us, setting forth,
in the most flattering terms, the great obligations under which he felt
towards us for the hospitable manner in which we had treated him, and
stating that he really felt ashamed to ask any further favour. Still,
on the other hand, here was his dear friend Keenamontiayoo--his bosom
friend and sworn comrade--whom he had not met for so many years.
He had with great generosity treated him to rum, and how could the
kindness be properly acknowledged? There was but one way--by treating
him to rum in return, and to do that he must beg some from us. He felt
sure we should excuse him, and comply with his request, seeing there
was no other solution to the difficulty in which he felt himself to be
placed.

Feeling much pleased with the man for his wonderful honesty in not
touching our provisions when he visited our hut during our absence,
we consented to present him with the same quantity we had given to
the Hunter, extracting a solemn promise from both that they would not
ask us for more. And now the revelry waxed furious. They sang and
talked, shook hands all round, and lauded us to the skies. And, when
the pot was drained, they importuned us for more. We reminded them
of the solemn promise they had given to rest content with what they
had already received, and “The Wolf” acknowledged the justice of our
remonstrances. Keenamontiayoo, however, was by this time beyond the
reach of argument or reason. He did not seem to understand, indeed,
that he had made any such engagement, and, tin cup in hand, went from
one to the other, marking with his finger on the mug the quantity with
which he would be content. We firmly refused to give a drop, and as he
found we were obstinate, and perceived his chance of succeeding become
less and less, his finger descended until at last he vowed that he
would be satisfied with the veriest film of liquor which would cover
the bottom of the cup. Hours passed by, and he still importuned us
unwearyingly, and we as steadily denied him. Cheadle at last rather
warmly upbraided him with his want of rectitude, when in a moment
he drew his knife from his belt, and seizing Cheadle by the collar,
pressed the point of the knife against his breast, exclaiming, “Ah! if
I were an Indian of the Plains now, I should stab you to the heart
if you dared to say no.” “Yes,” said Cheadle, quietly, and without
moving, “that’s just the point of it; you are _not_ a Plains Indian,
and therefore won’t do anything of the kind. The Indians of the Woods
know better.” This touched the right string, and he removed his hands
immediately, saying, however, that he was so much disappointed with us,
of whom he had previously formed so high an opinion, and so disgusted
with our meanness, that he would have no more to do with us, and
should return home forthwith. And accordingly, in spite of the urgent
entreaties of Misquapamayoo, he staggered out of the hut, and commenced
harnessing the dogs to the sleigh.

It was by this time about midnight, the snow was falling heavily, and
the cold intensely bitter. Although the Hunter’s speech was tolerably
articulate, he walked with difficulty, and it was only by the reluctant
assistance of his son that he was able to get the sleigh ready. He
then sullenly took his departure, accompanied by Misquapamayoo, who
was in the greatest distress at his father’s misbehaviour. Their road
lay across an arm of the lake, and ere long Keenamontiayoo, overcome
by the liquor he had drunk, and benumbed by the intense cold, became
incapable of walking, and crawled along on hands and knees. Before
the lake was crossed he completely collapsed, lay down in the snow,
and fell heavily asleep. Misquapamayoo, in utter terror and dismay,
yet with unfailing readiness of resource, roused him violently, and
half dragged, half led him into a clump of trees at the side of the
lake. Here he immediately relapsed into a deep sleep, whilst his son
quickly collected wood and made a fire. Then, wrapping his father in
the blankets carried on the sleigh, he laid him alongside the fire, and
with affectionate care sat out the wearisome hours of night, sedulously
feeding the kindly flame, and though shivering and half frozen himself,
disdaining to deprive his helpless parent of a blanket. Dutifully the
boy watched whilst his father slept hour after hour, until the sun was
high in the heavens, when the man at last awoke, sober and unharmed,
and the homeward journey was renewed.

After the departure of the Hunter and his boy, we quietly retired to
rest without further disturbance. In the morning we dispatched “The
Wolf” to White Fish Lake, with a message for the erring Keenamontiayoo,
urging him to return to his duty. The day passed without either of
them making their appearance, and at night we held council together
as to what course we should pursue if we were left entirely to our
own resources. The man had carried back with him all the meat he had
brought for us, and our stock of pemmican was getting low. On the
following morning, however, we were much relieved by the arrival of the
delinquent Hunter, accompanied by his son and “The Wolf,” and bringing
a sleigh load of moose meat as before. It appeared that the two had not
reached home until long after “The Wolfs” arrival at the hut the day
before--until dark indeed--and were too exhausted to return at once.
Keenamontiayoo was exceedingly penitent, shook hands with us fervently,
exclaiming that he had been “namooya quiusk, namooya quiusk” (not
straight, not straight); _i.e._, had not acted rightly, but assured
us that it was the only time he had ever done so in all his life, and
he would never do the like again. We readily made peace, and all was
serene once more.

It was now the beginning of February, and we might look for the return
of La Ronde and Bruneau in the course of another month. Our scanty
stock of provisions, however, necessitated another excursion to the
plains in search of buffalo, and we accordingly arranged to set out in
a day’s time to fetch the meat we had been obliged to leave behind in
cache. Cheadle positively refused to agree to Milton’s again facing the
exposure and hardship which had so severely affected him before, and
he was reluctantly persuaded to remain at home, or rather take up his
quarters for the time with our Indian neighbours.

On the 10th of February Cheadle started with the Indian and his boy,
taking with them two dog-sleighs. The old path had drifted up, and
was undistinguishable in the open, so that the road again required to
be trodden out with snow-shoes; and the snow was now so deep--nearly
three feet--that it was necessary for both men to walk in advance,
before the track was beaten firm enough to bear the weight of the dogs.
In spite of this heavy work, the party travelled so industriously,
that on the morning of the fourth day they reached the old camp
by the lake, where we had spent such an anxious time waiting for
Keenamontiayoo.

On the present occasion also, as it happened, all were frost-bitten in
the face, though not very extensively, and again were reduced to one
day’s provisions. At every part of the road where the old track was
visible, there were the footmarks of the wolverine following it towards
the plains. They trembled for the cache, and as they found, day after
day, the wolverine had still followed the track, the Hunter, pointing
to the footprints, would exclaim, “Kekwaharkess maryartis! namatagun
weeash” (That cursed wolverine again! we shall not find a bit of meat).

They quite expected, therefore, to have a hard time of it, for there
was but a poor prospect of finding many buffalo, and the only chance
would be to make a run for the Fort, which they might reach in three
days. However, as the Hunter entered the little wood by the lake, his
eyes were rejoiced by the sight of the track of a buffalo. The animal
had been going at speed, probably pursued by some hunter, and had
passed the day before. The party immediately halted by Keenamontiayoo’s
order, whilst he went forward to reconnoitre the open prairie. He soon
came back with the good news that there were five bulls feeding close
by.

As they were in an open place, difficult of approach, and it was so
very important to kill one, it was decided that the Hunter should go
after them alone, whilst Cheadle and Misquapamayoo lay concealed in
the wood. They crawled to the edge of the cover, and watched anxiously
the movements of the Hunter and the buffalo. The latter continued to
graze undisturbed, and presently a puff of smoke, and the crack of the
Indian’s gun, announced the death of one, for but four went away.

As these galloped off, the spectators were astonished to see another
puff of smoke, and hear the sound of a shot, evidently fired by some
one lying in wait as they passed, and presently a figure appeared in
full pursuit. Cheadle and the boy now came out of their hiding-place,
and drove the sleighs to another copse near to the carcass, where a
camp was quickly made.

By dark the meat was all secured, and shortly after our party was
increased by the arrival of a very wild-looking Indian clad in skins,
and wearing an enormous pair of snow-shoes. He proved to be a Sauteur,
by name Gaytchi Mohkamarn, or “The Big Knife,” and informed us that
he likewise had only reached the plains that day from the Montagne du
Bois, and was stalking up to the five buffalo, the only ones to be
seen, when, before he could get within shot, he observed Keenamontiayoo
creeping close to them. He had wounded two as they passed him, but
darkness came on before he could come up with them, and he returned.

He had tasted no food for two days, and had left his squaw and
children a few miles off in a similar condition. He feasted largely on
our fresh meat, and took his ease, without attempting to carry anything
back to his suffering family. He stated that he had left the people at
the Montagne du Bois in distress for want of food. Atahk-akoohp had
gone out to the plains for meat a month before, and had not since been
heard of. He told us that Treemiss had also suffered considerably,
and could obtain no provisions at the Fort, where he had now gone in
person; and he gave but small hope of finding more buffalo, for reports
from all quarters announced their disappearance.

Next morning Gaytchi Mohkamarn went in pursuit of the wounded bulls;
Keenamontiayoo to look at our old cache, and search for more game;
whilst the other two remained in camp, preparing meat and cutting wood.

At night the Hunter returned, reporting that, to his surprise, he had
found the cache intact, the wolverine having followed the track within
half a mile of the place, and then turned back, afraid to venture into
the open country; for these animals never stray any great distance
away from cover. The wolves had attacked our storehouse with vigour,
but although they had gnawed the logs almost through in many places,
had not been able to effect an entrance. Later on, Gaytchi Mohkamarn
appeared, carrying a tongue and covered with blood. He had killed
all the four buffalo, and did not believe there was another within a
hundred miles! Cheadle, with commendable prudence, immediately bought
two animals, for which he paid a few pounds of ammunition and some
tobacco.

On the morrow Gaytchi Mohkamarn concluded it was time to look after his
wife, who had now starved for nearly four days, and after breakfast
went off with some meat for her; the rest spent the day in cutting
up the animals bought the day before. Next morning Gaytchi Mohkamarn
turned up again, with wife and dog-sleigh, with effects, moving to camp
by the animals he had killed, and reported that a good many Indians
would shortly arrive on their way to join him. All were in a starving
condition, not having tasted food for several days, and their prospects
for the remainder of the winter were very unpromising, for no buffalo
could be found. It seemed that our party, by the greatest good luck in
the world, struck exactly the place where the only buffalo left in the
district were at the time.

During the day family after family came in--a spectral cavalcade: the
men, gaunt and wan, marching before skeleton dogs, almost literally
skin and bone, with hide drawn tightly and unpadded over “crate and
basket, ribs and spine;” dragging painfully along sleighs as attenuated
and empty of provisions as themselves. The women and children brought
up the rear, who, to the credit of the men, be it recorded, were in far
better case, indeed tolerably plump, and contrasting strangely with
the fleshless forms of the other sex. Although the Indian squaws and
children are kept in subjection, and the work falls principally upon
them, it is erroneous to suppose that they are ill-treated, or that the
women labour harder or endure greater hardships than the men.

The Indian is constantly engaged in hunting, to supply his family
with food; and when that is scarce, he will set out without any
provision himself, and often travel from morning to night for days
before he finds the game he seeks; then, loaded with meat, he toils
home again, and whilst the plenty lasts, considers himself entitled to
complete rest after his exertions. This self-denial of the men, and
their wonderful endurance of hunger, was illustrated by the case of
our Hunter, Keenamontiayoo, who, several years ago, narrowly escaped
death by starvation. That winter buffalo did not come up to the woods,
and moose and fish were very scarce. After killing his horses one
after another when driven to the last extremity, the family found
themselves at last without resource. The Hunter, leaving with his
wife and Misquapamayoo a scanty remnant of dried horse-flesh, hunted
for two days without success, and at last, faint and still fasting,
with difficulty dragged himself home. All now made up their minds to
die, for the Hunter became unable to move, and his wife and boy too
helpless to procure food. After being eight days longer without tasting
food, and exposed to the fierce cold of winter, they were fortunately
discovered by some of the Company’s voyageurs, and the man tied on
a sleigh and carried to Carlton. The woman and boy had not starved
completely quite so long, nor gone through so much fatigue. They were
not, therefore, in quite such a desperate case, and were left behind
with a supply of food, and in two or three days they were strong
enough to travel on foot to the Fort. Keenamontiayoo, however, was
with difficulty brought round. He refused both food and drink, having
lost the desire for it, and his weakened stomach rejected all but the
most simple nourishment in minute quantity. His hair fell off, and for
weeks he lay helpless. He eventually recovered, owing to the careful
attention of Mr. Pruden, who was in charge of Carlton at the time, and
who endeared himself to all the Indians by his kindness and humanity.

As this miserable company came, they were invited to sit down by the
fire. Their cheerfulness belied their looks, and they smoked and
chatted gaily, without appearing to covet the meat which lay around, or
making any request for food at once. No time was lost in cooking some
meat, and offering a good meal to all, which they ate with quietness
and dignity; too well-bred to show any signs of greediness, although
they proved equal to the consumption of any quantity that was put
before them.

The Hunter was in his glory talking to his guests, most of them old
acquaintances, and after giving them food he induced three young
fellows, the dandies of the company, highly painted, gay with scarlet
leggings and sash, embroidered pouch-straps, and other Indian finery,
to commence gambling with him. This is conducted in very simple
fashion. Everything that each player intends to stake is collected.
The relative values are agreed on, and compared and divided into so
many stakes. An Indian will often risk knife, gun, ammunition, and
indeed everything he possesses, except the clothes he stands in. The
lookers on assist at the performance by beating frying-pans and tin
kettles, and singing the eternal “He he, hi hi, hay hay,” the ordinary
Indian song.

The players squatted opposite each other, with legs crossed, and
capote or blanket spread over their knees. The game consisted in one
of the players hiding in his hands two small articles, as a ramrod
screw, or brass hair-wire, whilst the others endeavoured to guess
what was contained in either hand. The holder did his best to deceive
the others, by continually keeping his hands in motion, now under the
blanket on his lap, now behind his back, or clasped together. Between
each change the hands were held out for the choice of his opponent, who
watched eagerly, in great excitement, and generally took a long time to
make his guess.

All this time the drumming and singing never ceased, and in time with
it the players swayed their bodies, and moved up and down in their
seats. As each gained or lost, the result was notched on a stick, each
notch representing a stake.

This went on for half the day, with unceasing energy and unfailing
interest to the players and spectators, except Cheadle, who was weary
of the din and monotony of the amusement. At last the Hunter cleaned
out all the rest of everything but guns and knives, and the visitors
departed, not in the least depressed by their bad fortune.

One Indian and his squaw still remained. He was a gigantic fellow, of
more than six feet high, and the bones of his huge frame stood out
conspicuous at the joints and angles, and the muscles showed distinct
in his gaunt meagreness. His aspect was positively hideous. His large
nose had been driven perfectly flat upon his face, over one eyeless
orbit was a black greasy patch, while in his gums two long canine teeth
alone remained. He had suffered this in a fight with a grisly bear,
a stroke of whose paw had torn out one eye, smashed in his nose, and
knocked out his teeth. The man was in what seemed a hopeless state
of destitution. He had gambled away literally every single thing he
possessed, with the exception of his wife, child, and a miserable dog.
A few ragged pieces of blanket were all the protection they had from
the cold, when the thermometer stood at 25° below Zero, and the north
wind blew fiercely. They possessed not a mouthful of food, nor had the
man any gun, ammunition, knife, snow-shoes, or other appliance required
by a hunter.

For two days this fellow remained in Cheadle’s camp, eating from
morning till night. His toothless gums were never at rest. He consumed
not only all they gave him, but quietly “annexed” all the offal which
was thawing at the fire for the dogs.

When the party started homewards two days afterwards, they left him
seated by the fire with his squaw, perfectly contented, engaged in
cooking the buffalo’s head, his only provision. There seemed every
probability that he would be starved to death, either by cold or
hunger; but, to our surprise, he made his appearance at our hut at the
end of the winter, hideous and gaunt as ever, but apparently in his
usual health and spirits.

There was now more meat than we required at present, and the cache was
therefore left undisturbed, some given in charge of Gaytchi Mohkamarn,
and a small sleigh and two dogs hired in addition to the two brought
to carry the rest. These were loaded with all they could carry, and
the homeward journey commenced. The track was tolerably good, but the
travelling very tedious, on account of the heavy loads. One of the
dogs in the borrowed sleigh was the skeleton belonging to the hideous
Indian; but it soon appeared he was too weak to carry even himself with
ease, and was therefore dismissed by the Hunter, and a puppy harnessed
in his place, who pulled well, but ceased not to howl until released
from his bonds at the end of the day. The work was hard for all, each
having a sleigh to look after, and the upsets being more frequent than
ever. The firm path formed by the beating down of the snow was now
a considerable height above the ground, like a rail the width of a
sleigh, running along in the soft, floury powder at the sides. At the
turns, or on hill-sides, the sleighs were apt to slip off and upset,
and required great strength and greater patience to replace them on the
“line.”

In going down hills it was necessary for the driver to lie face
downwards on the sleigh, with legs projecting behind, and act as a
drag by digging his toes into the snow as hard as he could, thus
also guiding it in the descent. At one very steep place, a descent
of several hundred yards into a lake below, Cheadle’s train got
over the brow before he could get up to act as drag. Away went the
sleigh, overriding the dogs, the whole rolling over and over in a long
succession of somersaults, until they reached the bottom, where the
dogs lay helpless, entangled in the harness and held down by the heavy
sleigh, which seemed as if it must have broken every bone in their
bodies, as it thumped upon them in their headlong fall. They were none
the worse, however, although it took a very long time to disentangle
them, and put them all right on the track again. The day’s journey was
attended by a constant succession of difficulties and disasters; the
snow was deep, the loads heavy, the dogs weak and obstinate, cunningly
taking advantage of every opportunity to shirk, refusing to pull when
it was most required, and showing wonderful speed and alacrity, rushing
off with the heavy sleigh when the distracted driver came near to
punish. Of all things in the world calculated to ruffle the most even
temper, driving a worthless train of Indian dogs stands unequalled.
It may be doubted whether the most rigidly pious evangelical would be
able to preserve his equanimity, or keep his lips free from language
unbecoming his profession, under circumstances trying almost beyond
human endurance; and indeed it is said that one of the missionaries
on the Saskatchewan, a most worthy and pious man, when travelling
with some of his flock in the winter, astonished and horrified his
companions by suddenly giving vent, in his distraction, to most
dreadful anathemas against his dogs. They were lying coolly down in
the most aggravating manner, with their heads turned round narrowly
watching him, but without making the smallest effort to help themselves
and him out of the difficulty into which they had fallen.

After three days of this more than usually harassing work, the party
found themselves at dusk about fifteen miles from La Belle Prairie.
Finding no suitable camping ground at the moment, they went forward
until night had quite closed in. A young moon, already nearly down,
lighted the travellers for a time. Cheadle’s sleigh led the way, and
he continued on until the moon disappeared and it became very dark.
Yet still Shushu, the leading dog, showed no hesitation, and kept
the track unerringly, although it was drifted up level and almost
imperceptible to the eye, even in broad daylight. The only means of
judging the line of the path was by the feel of the firm footing
beneath the snow-shoes, contrasted with the light, powdery mass on
either side. Cheadle perceiving the sagacity of the dog was equal
to the occasion, determined to reach the hut that night, and hour
after hour kept steadily on, followed by the two Indians with their
trains, wondering why the “Okey Mow” would not camp. It became at
last so dark that the drivers could not see the dogs before them, but
merely followed glimpses of the retreating sleighs. Shushu, however,
went faster and faster as he neared home, and made but one mistake,
overturning the sleigh in a deep snow drift on the banks of the river
Crochet, within half a mile of the hut. But this delayed them some
time, for they had to sound the snow with poles for the lost line of
road, which was so deeply overlaid with drift snow that it was little
disgrace to Shushu to lose it there. At last the sleighs were put on
the “line of rail” again, and in a few minutes a light streaming from
the little parchment window of Fort Milton greeted the eyes of the
jaded voyageurs. They were received by Milton with vast delight, for
he had spent the last few days there alone, waiting anxiously for the
return of the expedition, which had been absent twelve days. Being now
tolerably supplied with meat, we both remained at home, hoping daily
for the return of our men from Red River. Two months had elapsed since
their departure, the time they had estimated would be required for the
journey; but we of course anticipated that they would somewhat exceed
this.

We employed ourselves in shooting and trapping in the immediate
neighbourhood, and were occasionally visited by the Hunter and
Misquapamayoo, who failed not to bring us a good supply of moose-meat
whenever they were fortunate enough to kill one. This was a most
delightful relief to our staple of tough buffalo bull, and the only
food we possessed, except some of Chollet’s desiccated vegetables,
brought out only on the great feast days. Household cares occupied much
of our time. Milton presided over the culinary department, in which he
displayed great skill and ingenuity, severely taxed to make a variety
of dishes out of such limited resources, while Cheadle was hewer of
wood and drawer of water, or rather melter of snow and ice.

We got on tolerably well for a length of time; but at last our small
dwelling became so choked up by the accumulation of chips, wood, and
débris of various kinds, and so disorderly by reason of our untidy
habit of leaving every article where last used, instead of restoring it
to its proper place, that our domestic duties were seriously impeded.
We resolved to institute a new order of things, commencing by a regular
“spring cleaning” and tidying. The sweeping out involved a difficulty,
since we had no brush, and the level of the floor was some two feet
lower than the ground outside. However, we improvised besoms of pine
boughs, and for dust-pans used the tin dinner plates. Our labours were
frequently interrupted by fits of laughter at the ludicrous appearance
we presented, down on our hands and knees, grubbing up the waste and
dust with our primitive contrivances. The result was most satisfactory,
and we viewed with the greatest complacency the improved condition of
our establishment, which now presented a most comfortable and orderly
appearance.

Our triumphs were not confined, however, to the housemaid’s
department. Some months before, Treemiss had kindly presented us with
a few currants and raisins wherewith to make a Christmas pudding. From
a modest distrust of his own skill, Milton had hitherto hesitated to
attempt so high a flight; but encouraged by a series of successes
in the savoury branch of the culinary art, and urged by the eager
solicitations of Cheadle, he at length consented to attempt a plum
pudding.

Having discovered, some time before, that the fruit was rapidly
diminishing in quantity in an inexplicable manner, Cheadle had taken
the precaution of securing it, together with a modicum of flour and
sugar, in his strong box. This likewise contained stores of powder,
shot, caps, tobacco, soap, and various etceteras. When the materials
for the pudding were sought, it was found that they had escaped from
the paper in which they had been enclosed, and were scattered about
at the bottom of the box, mixed with loose shot, caps, fragments of
tobacco, and other heterogeneous substances.

After eliminating all foreign bodies as carefully as possible, the
pudding was duly mixed, tied up in the cloth after the established
manner, and placed in the pot. Many a time was it taken out and its
state examined by point of fork before it was at last--after boiling
nearly all day--pronounced thoroughly cooked. We had a brace of
prairie chickens also, but all interest was centred in the pudding.
No one who has not been restricted entirely to one species of food
for a long time can form any idea of the greedy eyes with which we
viewed that plum pudding. It proved delicious beyond all anticipation,
in spite of certain drawbacks in the shape of caps, buck-shot, and
fragments of tobacco, which we discovered in it. We had fondly hoped
to finish it at a sitting, but it was a very Brobdingnagian pudding,
and we were reluctantly compelled to leave a portion unconsumed. We
passed the night somewhat restlessly, partly caused perhaps by the
indigestible character of our evening meal, but principally from
impatience for the morning to arrive, that we might repeat the delights
of the previous evening. When day began to break, each watched the
movements of the other with anxious distrust, and before it was fairly
light both jumped out of bed at the same moment, each fearful he
might lose his share of the delicious breakfast. Never did schoolboy
view with such sincere regret the disappearance of his last morsel of
cake, as we did when sighing over the last mouthful of that unequalled
pudding.

The time wore on monotonously. The beginning of March had arrived,
and still La Ronde and Bruneau had not returned. Our solitude was
occasionally enlivened by visits of Indians--invariably starving--
who seriously impoverished our scanty larder. Rover also assisted
us to while away some of the dreary long winter evenings, which we
partly devoted to teaching him various additional accomplishments.
His performances were an unfailing source of wonder and delight to
our Indian visitors, who never tired of watching him stand on his
head, walk about on his hind legs, or sit up in begging attitude. But
one of his feats elicited loud “wah! wahs!” and “aiwarkakens!” their
expressions of astonishment. This was watching a piece of meat placed
on the floor, or sitting with it balanced on his nose. They could
not understand how a dog could be taught to refrain from seizing it
at once, instead of waiting for the word of command. Their own dogs,
being never fed except when at work, are always so lean and ravenously
hungry, that they steal everything they can get at. When meat is being
cut up, the squaw keeps a huge stick ready to her hand, with which she
thwacks unmercifully the starving curs, which seize every opportunity
of abstracting a morsel unperceived.

During this period the only civilised person who visited us was
Mr. Tait, a half-breed in the Company’s service at Carlton, who
came over in a dog cariole, to collect furs from the Indians in our
neighbourhood. He brought us a few cakes and potatoes, luxuries we had
not tasted for many weeks. From him we learnt that almost everywhere
there had been great scarcity of food. At the Fort at Egg Lake the
people had been obliged to boil down buffalo hides for subsistence.
Two men, sent over to the nearest port, Touchwood Hills, for succour,
arrived almost dead with famine; but there they found the inmates at
the last extremity, and unable to afford them any assistance. At Fort
La Come the men had been half-starved for a long time; and even at
Carlton the hunters were sent out so scantily provided, that they were
driven to eating their dogs on the way. We considered ourselves very
fortunate in having escaped so well from the general dearth.

The buffalo have receded so far from the forts, and the quantity of
white fish from the lakes, one of the principal sources of supply, has
decreased so greatly, that now a winter rarely passes without serious
suffering from want of food. This deficiency has become so urgent,
that the Hudson’s Bay Company contemplate the immediate establishment
of extensive farms in the Saskatchewan district, which is so admirably
adapted for agricultural and grazing purposes.

The days when it was possible to live in plenty by the gun and net
alone, have already gone by on the North Saskatchewan.

CHAPTER X.

La Ronde’s Return--Letters from Home--A Feast--The Journey to
Red River and back--Hardships--The Frozen Train--Three Extra
Days--The Sioux at Fort Garry--Their Spoils of War--Late
Visitors--Musk-rats and their Houses--Rat-catching--Our
Weather-glass--Moose Hunting in the Spring--Extreme Wariness
of the Moose--His Stratagem to guard against Surprise--
Marching during the Thaw--Prepare to leave Winter Quarters--
Search for the Horses--Their Fine Condition--Nutritious
Pasturage--Leave La Belle Prairie--Carlton again--Good-bye
to Treemiss and La Ronde--Baptiste Supernat--Start for Fort
Pitt--Passage of Wild-fowl--Baptiste’s Stories--Crossing
Swollen Rivers--Addition to our Party--Shooting for a Living--
The Prairie Bird’s Ball--Fort Pitt--Peace between the Crees
and Blackfeet--Cree Full Dress--The Blackfeet--The Dress
of their Women--Indian Solution of a Difficulty--Rumours of
War--Hasty Retreat of the Blackfeet--Louis Battenotte, the
“Assiniboine”--His Seductive Manners--Departure for Edmonton--
A Night Watch--A Fertile Land--The Works of Beaver--Their
Effect on the Country--Their Decline in Power--How we crossed
the Saskatchewan--Up the Hill--Eggs and Chickens--Arrive at
Edmonton.

On the 11th of March, as we were sitting in the hut talking to two
young Indians who had just arrived from the plains with a message
from Gaytchi Mohkamarn, to the effect that he should be compelled,
by hunger, to eat the meat we had left in cache, if we did not fetch
it immediately, the door opened, and in walked La Ronde. He was very
emaciated, and appeared feeble and worn-out. Bruneau arrived soon
after with a dog-sleigh, on which were a pemmican, a sack of flour,
a small chest of tea, and, above all, letters from home. How eagerly
we seized them, and how often we read and re-read them need hardly be
told. We made a feast in honour of the arrival; pancakes were fried in
profusion, and kettleful after kettleful of tea prepared. The latter we
had not tasted for many days, the former not for weeks. We sat up until
long after midnight listening to La Ronde’s account of his journey,
and the news from Red River. They had accomplished the journey of 600
miles to Fort Garry in twenty-three days, and, after a week’s rest, set
out on their return on the last day of January. This and the 1st of
February were the two days on which Cheadle and Isbister travelled from
Carlton, the period of greatest cold, when there was seventy degrees of
frost.

The two sleighs were laden with four sacks of flour, the tea, and
pemmican for themselves and the dogs. The snow was so deep, that
they were frequently obliged to tread out a track twice over with
snow-shoes, before it was firm enough to bear the dogs, who were even
then only able to drag the heavy sleighs by the help of the men pushing
behind with poles. They travelled thus slowly and laboriously for some
200 miles, when the pemmican gave out, and they were obliged to feed
the dogs upon the precious flour.

When within two days’ journey of Fort Pelley, the dogs were so
exhausted, that one of the sleighs had to be abandoned, and one
miserable animal lay down to die by the road-side. Soon afterwards
they passed a sleigh with a team of dogs standing frozen, stark and
stiff in their harness, like the people suddenly turned to stone
in the story of the Arabian Nights. Some passer-by had found the
deserted sleigh, with its dead team, and placed them upright, as if
still drawing the load. Upon arriving at Fort Pelley they found the
inhabitants starving, with but half a bag of pemmican left. Here they
left a sack of flour. After this La Ronde was attacked by bronchitis,
and had great difficulty in finishing the journey, arriving in the weak
and emaciated condition described.

We found, to our surprise, that we had, somehow or other, contrived
to manufacture three days since our last visit to the Fort six weeks
before. By our reckoning we made the day of their return Saturday, the
14th of March, whereas it proved to be Wednesday, the 11th.

We now heard the particulars of the Sioux outbreak, and how the stage
to Georgetown had been attacked by them, the driver and passengers
scalped, and the wagon thrown into Red River. This occurred only a few
days after our journey by it. Two thousand Sioux had come to Fort Garry
for ammunition, and the greatest terror and excitement reigned in the
settlement.

These Indians were rich in the spoils of war; strings of twenty-dollar
gold pieces adorned their necks, and they had bags of coin, officers’
epaulettes, and women’s finery, swords, rifles, revolvers, and
bowie-knives; horses, and even buggies were amongst their trophies.

La Ronde also brought the provoking intelligence that all the valuable
horses we sent back to Fort Garry, in charge of Voudrie and Zear,
had perished on the road through the carelessness of these worthless
fellows.

Shortly after we were all comfortably asleep, we were aroused by the
yelping of dogs, and presently heard some one stealthily entering the
hut. It was pitch dark, and Milton hastily jumped out of bed and struck
a light, which disclosed the Hunter, his father-in-law, and the whole
family. They had heard of La Ronde’s return from the two young Indians
who had visited us that day, and lost no time in coming to welcome
him, and share in the good things which he had brought. We were very
sulky at the disturbance, and they slunk quietly to sleep on the floor,
dreadfully ashamed of themselves.

La Ronde continued seriously ill for several days, but when he became
convalescent, we resumed the trapper’s life, varying it at times by
spearing musk-rats, now in full season, and although somewhat strong
flavoured, by no means despicable food. These animals are very numerous
on all the lakes, and their houses of reeds dot the surface of the ice
in winter like so many haycocks. They build these as soon as the water
is frozen over, lining them with soft moss and grasses, and storing
them with the aquatic plants on which they feed. A hole through the
ice communicates with the water beneath, and at various distances
breathing holes are kept open, covered with smaller mounds of cut
reeds, about the size of mole-hills. As long as the frost remains
severe the musk-rat’s house is impregnable; but when the sun shines on
it with greater power, enemies force an entrance through the softening
walls. The fox, the wolverine, and the mink prey upon the musk-rats
towards the end of winter; and the Indian, armed with a long, slender
spear, barbed at the point, approaches stealthily the family dwelling,
and plunging the weapon through the middle of it, often impales two or
three at a single thrust.

When the skunk-skin which served us as a weather-glass informed us
through our noses that the thaw was at hand,[6] we looked eagerly
forward to the prospect of hunting moose. We had found many tracks
within a few miles of our house, and expected to have some good sport
with the assistance of Rover. The surface of the snow thawed by the
sun during the day is frozen into a firm crust by the night-frosts of
the early spring. This is strong enough to bear a man on snow-shoes,
or a dog of no great size, but breaks through beneath the small feet
and gigantic weight of the moose. When pursued by a dog, the animal
tries to escape; but sinking through up to the hocks at every stride,
and wounded about the legs by the sharp ice, he soon turns to bay, and
is easily shot by the hunter when he comes up. This is almost the only
way, except by watching their bathing-places in the rivers and lakes in
summer, that this wary animal can be killed by any but the most skilful
hunters. Few half-breeds, and not every Indian, is expert enough to
track and kill a moose under ordinary circumstances, and it is a saying
amongst them that a man may follow moose all his life, and never even
catch sight of one. Frequenting the thickest forests, where he can
only be seen when close at hand, his sense of hearing is so acute that
the snapping of the smallest twig or the crackling of a dry leaf is
sufficient to give him warning. A windy day offers the best chance of
approaching him, when the noises of the woods drown the sound of the
hunter’s stealthy footsteps. The moose adopts a cunning stratagem to
guard against surprise. When about to rest, he walks in a circle and
lies down within it, close to the commencement of the curve. Thus the
hunter following the track unconsciously passes close beside him as
he lies concealed, and whilst his pursuer follows the trail ahead, he
dashes away on one side unseen. This year, however, on the 30th of
March, the thaw set in suddenly and completely, so that no firm crust
formed on the snow, and our anticipations of sport were altogether
disappointed.

Cheadle was at this time far away in the woods with Bruneau, and
immediately started homewards. They were only able to travel at night,
when it was frosty, for snow-shoes are useless in a thaw. On the second
evening these broke down, from being continually wet, and they were
obliged to flounder along as they could without them. Nothing can be
more fatiguing than walking through deep snow at the commencement of
the thaw. The thin crust on the surface will bear the weight of a man
in some places, and you walk on triumphantly for a few yards, and then
are suddenly shaken to pieces by crashing through up to your middle.
Struggling on, wading through the mass until you come to another
stronger portion, you step on to it, and are again let down with a run.
Travelling like this all night brought them to the edge of the lake,
only two miles from the hut. But they were too exhausted to proceed
further, and lighting a good fire, lay down and slept for several
hours, after which they were sufficiently restored to be equal to the
walk home across the lake.

We now prepared to leave our winter quarters, as soon as the snow had
disappeared sufficiently to admit of travelling with carts. The first
thing to do was to find the horses, which had been turned loose at
the commencement of the winter. We had seen them or their tracks from
time to time, and knew in what direction they had wandered. La Ronde
followed their trail without difficulty, and discovered them about
eight or ten miles away. We were very much astonished at their fine
condition when he drove them back to La Belle Prairie. Although very
thin when the snow began to fall, and two of them had been used for
sleigh work in the early part of the winter, they were now perfect
balls of fat, and as wild and full of spirit as if fed on corn--a most
unusual condition for Indian horses. The pasture is so nutritious that
animals fatten rapidly even in winter--when they have to scratch away
the snow to feed--if they find woods to shelter them from the piercing
winds. No horses are more hardy or enduring than those of this country,
yet their only food is the grass of the prairies and the vetches of the
copses. The milch cows and draught oxen at Red River, and in Minnesota,
feeding on grass alone, were generally in nearly as fine condition as
the stall-fed cattle of the Baker Street Show.

On the 3rd of April we loaded our carts and turned our backs on La
Belle Prairie, not without feelings of regret. Our Indian friends
were all away, and we reluctantly set out without saying good-bye to
either the Hunter or Misquapamayoo. On the 6th of April we reached the
Saskatchewan, which we found still firmly frozen over, and crossed on
the ice. At Carlton we found Treemiss, on his way back to England, and
he started with La Ronde the next day for Red River. We sent Rover with
them, as we were afraid of losing him after reaching British Columbia--
a mistake we have never ceased to regret. As our guide forward we
engaged Baptiste Supernat, a tall, powerful, French half-breed, who
professed to know the route we intended to follow as far as Tête
Jaune’s Cache, on the western side of the main ridge of the Rocky
Mountains. After resting three days at the Fort, we re-crossed the
river on the ice, already beginning to break up, and journeyed quietly
along the northern bank, towards Fort Pitt. We took two carts and two
horses with us, and as Baptiste was our only attendant, one of us
drove, while the other walked ahead to look for game. The weather was
beautifully bright and fine, and the snow had almost gone. Flocks of
ducks and geese passed continually, and the whistling of their wings,
as they flew overhead on their way northwards, went on incessantly all
night, almost preventing sleep. The country we passed through was of
the usual rich character--mingled woods, rolling prairies, and lakes
and streams--except for one day’s journey, when we crossed a bleak
and barren tract. This was a level plain, backed by an amphitheatre of
bare, rugged hills. But beyond this, at a place called the Source, from
a river which springs out of the ground there, the country resumed its
former character.

Baptiste proved, like all his race, very talkative, and told us many
curious stories, in the truth of which, perhaps, not very great faith
could be placed. One of these tales was the following:--Many years
ago, but within the memory of people still living, an Indian found a
piece of native iron in the neighbourhood of Edmonton, which he carried
out to the plains, and placed on the top of a hill. Since that time
it had regularly increased in size, and was now so large that no man
could lift it! The only thing which makes this tale worth mentioning,
is that it obtains universal credence amongst the half-breeds. Many of
them profess to have seen it, and one man told us he had visited it
twice. On the first occasion he lifted it with ease; on the second,
several years afterwards, he was utterly unable to move it! The man
most solemnly assured us this was perfectly true.

Baptiste also told us that many years ago a nugget of gold was brought
to Mr. Rowand, of Edmonton, by an Indian, who stated he had found it
near the foot of the Rocky Mountains. The gold was forwarded to the
Company in England, and the Indian strictly enjoined to tell no man,
lest something evil should happen unto him.

At Jack Fish Lake we met Gaytchi Mohkamarn and some Wood Crees of our
acquaintance. The former apologised for eating our meat in the winter,
urging the dire necessity which compelled him. After accompanying us
for a day, they left us, seeming really sorry that they would see us no
more. The principal difficulty we met with in this part of our journey
was the crossing of rivers, which were now bank full from the melted
snows. We generally adopted the plan of making a small raft, on which
one of us crossed; then, with a rope from either bank, we hauled the
raft backwards and forwards, until the baggage was all ferried over.
The horses were made to swim the stream, and the carts dragged across.
This we found rather miserable work, standing up to our knees in the
icy water, sometimes in the chilly evening, or the raw cold of early
morning.

One river we crossed on a narrow bridge of ice which had not yet broken
up. A large fissure extended down the middle, through which we could
see the waters boiling along beneath. Taking the wheels off one of
the carts, we pushed the body before us on the ice, and placed it as
a bridge across the dangerous portion. As we removed the cart, when
everything had been brought over, the ice broke up in great masses,
which were whirled away down stream, and in a few minutes the river was
open.

Some days before we reached Fort Pitt, we were overtaken by a party
of the Company’s men from Carlton, who accompanied us for the rest of
the journey. They travelled on foot, and their baggage was carried on
“travailles,” drawn by dogs. A “travaille” is an Indian contrivance,
consisting of two poles fastened together at an acute angle, with
cross-bars between. The point of the angle rests upon the back of the
dog or horse, the diverging ends of the poles drag along the ground,
and the baggage is tied on to the cross-bars. The Indians use these
contrivances instead of carts. The new-comers were out of provisions
and ammunition, and depended upon our liberality for subsistence. We
had little left, and had to work hard to kill a sufficient number of
ducks and prairie chickens, for ten hungry men will eat a great many
brace of birds.

A peculiarity of the prairie grouse enabled us to procure a good
supply of them. In the spring of the year these birds assemble together
at sunrise and sunset, in parties of from twenty to thirty, at some
favourite spot, generally a little hillock, or rising ground, and
dance--yes, dance like mad! The prairie grouse is a running bird,
and does not ordinarily progress by hopping; but on these festive
occasions, they open their wings, put both feet together, and hop like
men in sacks, or the birds in a pantomime, or “The Perfect Cure,” up
to one another, waltz round, and “set” to the next! A prairie chicken
dance is a most ludicrous sight, and whilst they are engaged in it,
they become so absorbed in the performance that it is easy to approach
them. Their places of rendezvous are recognisable at once from the
state of the ground, the grass being beaten perfectly flat in a
circular patch, or worn away by the constant beating of feet.

At the present juncture we took advantage of their weakness for
a social hop, and broke up the ball in a most sanguinary manner,
justified, we hope, by the dire necessity. We never, however, took this
mean advantage of them except when driven by actual hunger to obtain
food in the best manner we could.

The prairie was at this time very beautiful, being covered with the
large blue flowers of a species of anemone. The grouse feed greedily
upon them when in bloom, and we always found their crops full of them.

On the 20th we made a forced march, in order to get in that night,
travelling very fast and hard all day, and we were very weary before
we saw the welcome stockade, and gained the hospitable quarters of Mr.
Chantelaine, who reigned at this time at Fort Pitt.

Fort Pitt stands, like Carlton, on the flat below the high old bank
of the river Saskatchewan, and is a similar building, but of smaller
size. This establishment furnishes the largest quantity of pemmican and
dry meat for the posts more distant from the plains. The buffalo are
seldom far from Fort Pitt, and often whilst there is famine at Carlton
and Edmonton, the people of the “Little Fort,” as it is called, are
feasting on fresh meat every day.

The farming, although carried on in somewhat primitive fashion, is very
productive. Potatoes are abundant, and attain an immense size; carrots
and turnips grow equally well, and wheat would no doubt flourish as
luxuriantly here as at Edmonton or Red River, were there sufficient
inducement to sow it.

We stayed several days visiting the Indians who were encamped around,
and trading a few horses from them. Cheadle was fully employed, for
the advent of a white medicine man is so rare an event, that every
one seized the opportunity to employ his services, or ask his advice;
and he was expected not only to cure present ailments, and prophesy
concerning prospective ones, but also, with retrospective view, declare
what course ought to have been pursued in various cases long gone by.
The little community in and around the hut was in a state of intense
excitement. Peace had just been concluded between the Crees and the
Blackfeet; large camps of both nations were within a day or two’s
journey of the Fort. From these there was a continual going and coming
of visitors, all anxious to avail themselves of the rare occasion of
a peace, generally only of very short duration. On these state visits
by the members of one tribe to those of the other, the men adorned
themselves in gaudiest finery and brightest paint. Scarlet leggings and
blankets, abundance of ribbons in the cap, if any were worn, or the
hair plaited into a long queue behind, and two shorter ones hanging
down on each side the face in front, each bound round by coils of
bright brass wire; round the eyes a halo of bright vermilion, a streak
down the nose, a patch on each cheek, and a circle round the mouth of
the same colour, constituted the most effective toilet of a Cree dandy.

During our stay here a party of Blackfeet arrived to trade. They were
fine-looking fellows, generally better dressed and cleaner than other
Indians. They appeared of a less stature than the Crees, but still tall
and well made. Their faces were very intelligent, their features being
strongly marked, the nose large, well formed, straight or slightly
Roman, the cheek-bones less prominent, and the lips thinner than in
the Cree. The mouth was large, and the teeth beautifully white, as in
all Indians. The dress of the men differed but little from that of
their ancient enemies, the Crees, except being generally cleaner and
in better preservation. The faces of both men and women were highly
painted with vermilion. The dress of the latter was very singular
and striking. It consisted of long gowns of buffalo skin, dressed
beautifully soft, and dyed with yellow ochre. This was confined at the
waist by a broad belt of the same material, thickly studded over with
round brass plates, the size of a crown piece, brightly polished. These
Indians were very dignified in manner, submitting with great composure
to the gaze of an inquisitive crowd of half-breeds and Crees, who
looked with eager interest at a race seldom seen by them, except when
meeting on the battle-field.

Although peace had been proclaimed, it was not by any means improbable
that some of the young Cree braves might attempt to steal the Blackfeet
horses. Mr. Chantelaine, therefore, had them secured for the night
together with ours, within the Fort. On the morrow a Cree came in from
the camp on the plains with the news that hostilities were imminent, on
account of a Cree woman having been killed in the Blackfoot camp. She
had gone there to be married to a Blackfoot chief, but on her arrival
another took a fancy to her. A quarrel arose, and, to put an end to the
matter, one of them stabbed the woman to the heart. Mr. Chantelaine
immediately communicated the news to the Blackfoot chief, and advised
him to be off at once. He agreed to this, and in a few minutes they
crossed the river. As they landed on the other side, a Blackfoot
runner, stripped to his breech cloth, breathless and excited, met them,
having been sent to warn them of impending danger. Eventually the alarm
turned out to be a false one, and the peace continued unbroken for the
few weeks we remained on the Saskatchewan.

At Fort Pitt we engaged another man, who, like Baptiste, expressed
his willingness to go with us as far as we might require. Our new
attendant, Louis Battenotte, more generally known by the sobriquet
of “The Assiniboine,” from his having been brought up in childhood
by that tribe, was a middle-sized though athletic man, of very
Indian appearance. His hair was long and black, and secured by a
fillet of silk, his nose prominently aquiline, his mouth small, and
with unusually thin and delicate lips. His manner was very mild and
pleasing, and the effect of this was increased by the singular softness
and melody of his voice.

At the time we were at Fort Pitt, his youngest child fell ill and died,
and he and his wife became so unhappy and unsettled on account of the
loss, that they became anxious to leave the scene of their misfortune,
and volunteered to accompany us. We were willing enough, and indeed
anxious, to secure the services of the man, who had the reputation of
being the most accomplished hunter and voyageur of the district, but
demurred for a long time to his proposal to take with him his wife
and son--the latter a boy of thirteen. We were, however, so charmed
with the fellow, that we at last agreed, not without many misgivings
as to the wisdom of allowing what we thought would be supernumeraries
on a journey so difficult as ours would be across the mountains, and
through a country where food would be difficult to obtain. But this
arrangement, which appeared of such doubtful wisdom at the time,
eventually proved our salvation.

“The Assiniboine,” although he possessed but one hand--the left
one having been shattered by the bursting of a gun, which left but
two fingers--was as useful and expert as if he were unmaimed. His
gentle and insinuating manners, which had so fascinated us, belied
his character, for he was passionate and violent, and although his
countenance beamed forth benevolent, and he cooed softly as any
dove when at peace, yet, when angry and excited, his aspect became
perfectly fiendish, and his voice thundered like the roar of a
lion. But he proved a valuable servant in our many difficulties
afterwards, and we never regretted being misled by his seductive
manners. We learnt subsequently that he had killed another half-breed
in a drunken squabble, and had been dismissed the Company’s service
and excommunicated by the priest in consequence. The murdered man
was, however, a notorious bully, the dread and terror of all the
half-breeds. Every one agreed, moreover, that the provocation had been
excessive, and the deed done in a moment of passion.

We left Fort Pitt on the 28th of April, choosing the road on the
north side of the river, as it was not advisable to encounter the
vast numbers of Plains Indians now collected together on the south.
The first night after our departure we kept careful watch over our
horses, fearful lest the Indians from whom we had purchased them might
attempt to steal them back. For it is common enough for them to repent
having parted with their horses, and ease their minds by again taking
possession of their former property. The night passed quietly, and we
turned in with daylight for a few hours’ rest before starting again.

We now entered a most glorious country--not indeed grandly
picturesque, but rich and beautiful: a country of rolling hills and
fertile valleys, of lakes and streams, groves of birch and aspen, and
miniature prairies; a land of a kindly soil, and full of promise to the
settler to come in future years, when an enlightened policy shall open
out the wealth now uncared-for or unknown.

Our live stock was increased before reaching Edmonton by the birth of a
foal, but this did not delay us in the least. The foal was tied on to a
“travaille” for the first day, and thus drawn along by its mother; and
after that marched bravely all day, swimming the rivers we had to cross
in gallant style.

On the way we frequently met with marks of the labours of the beaver in
days long gone by, when they were a numerous and powerful race; and at
one place we found a long chain of marshes, formed by the damming up
of a stream which had now ceased to exist. Their dwelling had been
abandoned ages ago, for the house had become a grassy mound on the dry
land, and the dam in front a green and solid bank.

[Illustration: SWAMP FORMED BY BEAVER, WITH ANCIENT BEAVER HOUSE AND
DAM.

(_See page 179._)
]

On Dog River, a small tributary of the Saskatchewan, a colony of these
animals still survived. We found fresh tracks along the bank, and a few
small trees cut down; and following these indications up the stream,
we came upon the dam. This was a weir of trunks and branches, over
which the water poured gently, to resume a more rapid course below. In
the quiet pool above, and close to the opposite bank, stood the beaver
house, a conical structure of six or seven feet in height, formed
of poles and branches plastered over with mud. We watched long and
silently, hid amongst the bushes which fringed the stream, hoping for
a sight of some of the tenants, but in vain. This settlement must have
been in existence a very long time, for we saw stumps of trees which
had been cut down by them, now moss-grown and rotten. Some of these
were of large size, one measuring more than two feet in diameter. The
beaver had fallen off wofully from the glory of their ancestors, not
only in the number and size of the communities, but in the magnitude of
their undertakings.

The trees cut down more lately were all comparatively small, and it
would seem as if a number of beaver worked at the same tree, and a
weak colony felt unequal to attempt one of the giants which their
forefathers would not have hesitated to attack. Nor did we ever
discover any considerable stream dammed up by beaver of this present
time--a work requiring large timber, and numerous workmen; yet we
frequently met with the grass-grown banks described, works of the
golden age gone by, stretched across what had been streams of thirty or
forty yards in width.

At a place called Snake Hills, we again struck the banks of the
Saskatchewan; and as the road on the north side beyond this point
was merely a pack trail through the woods, we prepared to cross the
river, in order to follow the regular cart track along the southern
bank. We were at first rather puzzled how to get over, for the river
was deep and wide, and we were unable to find any timber wherewith to
make a raft. But the ingenuity of “The Assiniboine” was not long at
fault. He built a slender framework of green willows, tied together
with strips of hide, and covered this with a buffalo skin tightly
stretched and well greased at all the seams. This frail canoe was but
six feet long, two in breadth, and about the same in depth. Baptiste
acted as ferryman, and transferred the baggage safely across. Then came
Cheadle’s turn, and his thirteen stone, added to the weight of the
ponderous Baptiste, sunk the light craft to the water’s edge. A log of
wood was attached on one side to prevent the canoe from capsizing, and
the two pushed off on their uncertain voyage. The slightest rocking
caused the boat to ship water, which also soaked rapidly through the
pervious skin, and Cheadle viewed with some anxiety the gradual sinking
of one of the most fragile vessels mortal ever embarked in. The
leakage went on rapidly, and the water crept up outside until it really
appeared to overhang the brim. It was already nearly dark, and the
prospect of immersion appeared so imminent that the passenger became
seriously uncomfortable. The bank was reached only just in time, for
the water was already beginning to trickle over the side.

Milton was next brought over, and the rest remained behind to
superintend the passage of the horses and carts in the morning. The
latter were brought over in a very easy and simple manner. Each cart
was attached by a rope from one of the shafts to the tail of a horse,
the animals driven into the water, and the carts pushed after them.
Being built entirely of wood, these floated in their proper position,
and the horses swam across with them without difficulty.

When the carts were again loaded, we found the bank so steep that the
horses were unable to drag them up the ascent. We possessed no extra
harness by which to attach another horse, but made shift after the
fashion of the country, by a rope from the shaft to a horse’s tail. It
was necessary to start gently, in order not to dislocate the caudal
vertebræ, but with Milton and the boy as postillions on the leaders,
and the rest of the party pushing behind, we went bravely up the hill.

When we gained the level plain above, dense clouds of smoke on every
hand told that the prairie was on fire, and we soon reached the
blackened ground which the fire had passed over. The only pasture we
found for our horses was a large marsh where we encamped for the night.

Before we reached Edmonton, our stock of provisions, as usual, began
to fall short; but wild-fowl were so plentiful, and we collected their
eggs in such quantity, that we were never short of food. Baptiste and
the Assiniboine family were indifferent as to the condition of the
eggs, or indeed rather preferred those which contained good-sized
chickens. They would hold up the downy dainty by a leg or wing, and
drop it into their mouths, as we should eat asparagus.

On the 14th of May we came in sight of the Fort, prettily situated on a
high cliff overhanging the river on the northern side. We were quickly
fetched over in the Company’s barge, and took up our quarters in the
building, where we received every kindness and hospitality from the
chief trader, Mr. Hardisty.

[Illustration: FORT EDMONTON, ON THE NORTH SASKATCHEWAN.

(_See page 183._)
]

CHAPTER XI.

Edmonton--Grisly Bears--The Roman Catholic Mission at St.
Alban’s--The Priest preaches a Crusade against the Grislies--
Mr. Pembrun’s Story--The Gold Seekers--Perry, the Miner--Mr.
Hardisty’s Story--The Cree in Training--Running for Life--Hunt
for the Bears--Life at a Hudson’s Bay Fort--Indian Fortitude--
Mr. O’B. introduces Himself--His Extensive Acquaintance--The
Story of his Life--Wishes to Accompany us--His Dread of Wolves
and Bears--He comes into the Doctor’s hands--He congratulates
us upon his Accession to our Party--The Hudson’s Bay People
attempt to dissuade us from trying the Leather Pass--Unknown
Country on the West of the Mountains--The Emigrants--The other
Passes--Explorations of Mr. Ross and Dr. Hector--Our Plans--
Mr. O’B. objects to “The Assiniboine”--“The Assiniboine”
protests against Mr. O’B.--Our Party and Preparations.

The establishment at Edmonton is the most important one in the
Saskatchewan district, and is the residence of a chief factor, who has
charge of all the minor posts. It boasts of a windmill, a blacksmith’s
forge, and carpenter’s shop. The boats required for the annual voyage
to York Factory in Hudson’s Bay are built and mended here; carts,
sleighs, and harness made, and all appliances required for the
Company’s traffic between the different posts. Wheat grows luxuriantly,
and potatoes and other roots flourish as wonderfully here as everywhere
else on the Saskatchewan. There are about thirty families living in
the Fort, engaged in the service of the Company, and a large body of
hunters are constantly employed in supplying the establishment with
meat.

At Lake St. Alban’s, about nine miles north of the Fort, a colony
of freemen--_i.e._, half-breeds who have left the service of the
Company--have formed a small settlement, which is presided over by
a Romish priest. Some forty miles beyond is the more ancient colony
of Lake St. Ann’s, of similar character, but with more numerous
inhabitants.

Soon after our arrival Mr. Hardisty informed us that five grisly bears
had attacked a band of horses belonging to the priest at St. Alban’s,
and afterwards pursued two men who were on horseback, one of whom being
very badly mounted, narrowly escaped by the stratagem of throwing down
his coat and cap, which the bear stopped to tear in pieces. The priest
had arranged to have a grand hunt on the morrow, and we resolved to
join in the sport. We carefully prepared guns and revolvers, and at
daylight next morning rode over with Baptiste to St. Alban’s. We found
a little colony of some twenty houses, built on the rising ground
near a small lake and river. A substantial wooden bridge spanned the
latter, the only structure of the kind we had seen in the Hudson’s Bay
territory. The priest’s house was a pretty white building, with garden
round it, and adjoining it the chapel, school, and nunnery. The worthy
father, M. Lacome, was standing in front of his dwelling as we came up,
and we at once introduced ourselves, and inquired about the projected
bear-hunt. He welcomed us very cordially, and informed us that no day
had yet been fixed, but that he intended to preach a crusade against
the marauders on the following Sunday, when a time should be appointed
for the half-breeds to assemble for the hunt.

Père Lacome was an exceedingly intelligent man, and we found his
society very agreeable. Although a French Canadian, he spoke English
very fluently, and his knowledge of the Cree language was acknowledged
by the half-breeds to be superior to their own. Gladly accepting his
invitation to stay and dine, we followed him into his house, which
contained only a single room with a sleeping loft above. The furniture
consisted of a small table and a couple of rough chairs, and the
walls were adorned with several coloured prints, amongst which were a
portrait of his Holiness the Pope, another of the Bishop of Red River,
and a picture representing some very substantial and stolid-looking
angels, lifting very jolly saints out of the flames of purgatory.
After a capital dinner on soup, fish, and dried meat, with delicious
vegetables, we strolled round the settlement in company with our host.
He showed us several very respectable farms, with rich cornfields,
large bands of horses, and herds of fat cattle. He had devoted himself
to the work of improving the condition of his flock, had brought out
at great expense ploughs, and other farming implements for their use,
and was at present completing a corn mill, to be worked by horse power.
He had built a chapel, and established schools for the half-breed
children. The substantial bridge we had crossed was the result of his
exertions. Altogether this little settlement was the most flourishing
community we had seen since leaving Red River, and it must be confessed
that the Romish priests far excel their Protestant brethren in
missionary enterprise and influence. They have established stations at
Isle à La Crosse, St. Alban’s, St. Ann’s, and other places, far out in
the wilds, undeterred by danger or hardship, and gathering half-breeds
and Indians around them, have taught with considerable success the
elements of civilisation as well as religion; while the latter remain
inert, enjoying the ease and comfort of the Red River Settlement, or at
most make an occasional summer’s visit to some of the nearest posts.

In the evening we rode back to Edmonton, and there found Mr. Pembrun,
of Lac La Biche, who had arrived to take command of the Company’s
brigade of boats going with the season’s furs to Norway House, and Mr.
Macaulay, of Jasper House, who had come to fetch winter supplies. Mr.
Pembrun had crossed the Rocky Mountains several times in years gone
by, by Jasper House and the Athabasca Pass, and on one occasion in the
winter.

He related several stories of these journeys, and amongst them one
which bears a strong resemblance to a well-known adventure of the
celebrated Baron Munchausen, but which will be readily believed by
those acquainted with the locality in which it occurred.

The snow accumulates to a tremendous depth in the valleys, and at his
first camp in the mountains he set to work to shovel away the snow
with a snow-shoe, after the usual manner of making camp in the winter;
but having got down to his own depth without coming to the bottom, he
sounded with a long pole, when, not finding the ground, he desisted,
and built a platform of green logs, upon which the fire and beds were
laid. Passing the same place afterwards in the summer, he recognised
his old resting-place by the tall stumps of the trees cut off twenty
or thirty feet above the ground, showing the level of the snow at his
former visit.

A party of miners came in from White Mud Creek, about fifty miles
further up the Saskatchewan, where a number of them were washing gold.
The captain of the band, a Kentuckian, named Love, brought with him a
small bag of fine gold-dust as a specimen, and informed us that they
had already made £90 a-piece since the beginning of the summer. From
what we heard from other sources afterwards, however, there seems
little doubt that this statement was greatly exaggerated. Love had been
in California and British Columbia, and had reached the Saskatchewan
by ascending the Fraser in a boat, and thence crossing the mountains
on foot, by the Leather Pass to Jasper House. He was very sanguine of
finding rich diggings on the eastern side of the mountains, and three
of his company had started on an exploring expedition to the sources
of the North Saskatchewan. Nothing had been heard of them since their
departure, two months before.

Mr. Pembrun told us that he had found gold in a small stream near
Jasper House, having been confirmed in his discovery by Perry, the
miner, a celebrated character in the western gold regions, the story
of whose adventurous life he related to us. Perry was a “down-east”
Yankee, and at the time of the gold fever in California, crossed the
plains and Rocky Mountains alone. His means being too limited to enable
him to purchase horses, he put all his effects in a wheelbarrow, which
he trundled before him over the 2,000 miles to Sacramento. Tiring of
California, he returned to the Eastern States, but on the discovery of
gold on the Fraser River, resolved to try a miner’s life once more. His
sole property on reaching Breckenridge, on the Red River, consisted of
a gun, a little ammunition, and the clothes he wore. He borrowed an
axe, hewed a rough canoe out of a log, and paddled down the river to
Fort Garry, 600 miles. From thence he proceeded on foot to Carlton, 500
miles further, supporting himself by his gun. At Edmonton he joined the
party of miners about to cross the mountains, and succeeded in reaching
British Columbia, having travelled about the same distance he had
formerly done with his wheelbarrow.

This story brought out another from Mr. Hardisty, of an episode in
frontier life at Fort Benton, a trading post of the American Fur
Company, on the Missouri, in the country of the Blackfeet. One day
a solitary and adventurous Cree made his appearance at the Fort on
foot. Shortly after his arrival, a body of mounted Blackfeet arrived,
and discovering the presence of one of the hostile tribe, clamorously
demanded that he should be given up to them to be tortured and scalped.
The trader in command of the Fort was anxious to save the life of the
Cree, yet afraid to refuse to surrender him, for the Blackfeet were
numerous and well armed, and had been admitted within the stockade.
After much discussion, a compromise was agreed to, the white man
engaging to keep the Cree in safe custody for a month, at the end of
which time the Blackfeet were to return to the Fort, and the prisoner
was to be turned loose, with a hundred yards’ start of his pursuers,
who were bound to chase him only on foot, and with no other arms but
their knives.

The Blackfeet took their departure, and the Cree was immediately put
into hard training. He was fed on fresh buffalo-meat, as much as he
could eat, and made to run round the Fort enclosure, at full speed, for
an hour twice every day.

At the expiration of the stipulated month, the Blackfeet came to the
Fort, according to their agreement. Their horses were secured within
the walls, all their arms except their knives taken from them, and
then the expected victim was escorted to the starting-place by the
whole staff of the establishment, who turned out on horseback to
see fair play. The Cree was placed at his post, 100 yards ahead of
his bloodthirsty enemies, who were eager as wolves for their prey.
The word was given, and away darted the hunted Indian, the pursuers
following with frantic yells. At first the pack of Blackfeet gained
rapidly, for terror seemed to paralyse the limbs of the unfortunate
Cree, and his escape seemed hopeless. But as his enemies came within
a few yards of him, he recovered his presence of mind, shook himself
together, his training and fine condition began to tell, and, to their
astonishment and chagrin, he left them with ease at every stride. In
another mile he was far in advance, and pulling up for an instant,
shook his fist triumphantly at his baffled pursuers, and then quickly
ran out of sight. He eventually succeeded in rejoining the rest of his
tribe in safety.

In the course of a few days we again went over to St. Alban’s to look
for the bears. M. Lacome provided four half-breeds to accompany us, and
we spent the whole day in a fruitless hunt. We found, indeed, places
where the ground had been turned up by the animals in digging for
roots, but none of the signs were very fresh.

The next day we made another search, assisted by a number of dogs, but
the bears had evidently left the neighbourhood, and we returned to
Edmonton vastly disappointed.

We were obliged to stay some time longer at the Fort, for the road
before us lay through dense forest, affording but little pasturage,
and it was necessary that the horses should be quite fresh and in
the highest condition before setting out on such a journey. The
time passed monotonously, the life in a Hudson’s Bay fort being most
uneventful and “ennuyant.” We wandered from one window to another, or
walked round the building, watching for the arrival of Indians, or the
sight of some object of speculation or interest. At dusk the scores
of sleigh dogs set up their dismal howling, and disturbed us in the
same manner at daybreak, from slumbers we desired to prolong as much
as possible, in order to shorten the wearisome day. In this habit
of howling in chorus at sunset and sunrise, the Indian dogs present
another point of likeness to wolves, which they so closely resemble
in outward form. One of the pack commences with short barks, and the
others gradually join in, and all howl with might and main for about
five minutes. Then they cease as gradually as they began, and all is
quiet again.

We found some amusement in visiting the tents of the Indians and
half-breeds who were encamped near the Fort, and were much interested
in a little Cree girl, who was a patient of Cheadle’s. She had been out
to the plains with her family, and on the conclusion of peace between
the Crees and Blackfeet, a party of the latter came on a visit to the
Cree camp. On taking leave, a Blackfoot playfully snapped his gun at
the child; the piece proved to be loaded with two bullets, which,
entering the thigh of the unfortunate girl, shattered it completely.
When we saw her she was wan and deathlike, but bore with wonderful
fortitude the pain of the probe and knife. The parents were greatly
disappointed with the Doctor’s skill, for common report had told them
that he would be able not only to remove the broken bone, but also to
replace it by an efficient substitute, and thus restore the limb to its
original condition.

At this time we made the acquaintance of Mr. O’B., a gentleman of
considerable classical attainments, on his way to British Columbia,
whither, however, he progressed but slowly, having left Red River
twelve months before. Mr. O’B. was an Irishman of between forty and
fifty years of age, of middle height and wiry make. His face was long
and its features large, and a retreating mouth, almost destitute of
teeth, gave a greater prominence to his rather elongated nose. He was
dressed in a long coat of alpaca, of ecclesiastical cut, and wore a
black wideawake, which ill accorded with the week’s stubble on his
chin, fustian trousers, and highlows tied with string. He carried
an enormous stick, and altogether his appearance showed a curious
mixture of the clerical with the rustic. His speech was rich with the
brogue of his native isle, and his discourse ornamented with numerous
quotations from the ancient classics. He introduced himself to us with
a little oration, flattering both to himself and us, remarking that he
was a grandson of the celebrated Bishop O’B., and a graduate of the
University of Cambridge; we should readily understand, therefore, how
delightful it must be for him, a man of such descent and education, to
meet with two members of his own beloved university so intellectual
as ourselves. He informed us that he was a man of peaceful and
studious habits, and utterly abhorred the wild and dangerous life to
which he was at present unfortunately condemned. He next astonished
us by telling us almost as much about our relations, friends, and
acquaintances as we knew ourselves; their personal appearance, where
they lived, what property they had, their families, expectations,
tastes, peculiarities, and his opinion of them generally. All his
statements were correct, and a rigid cross-examination failed to
confound him. He then proceeded to relate the history of his wandering
and eventful life.

After leaving the university, he studied for the bar, and became
connected with the press; then went out to India and edited a paper
at Lahore. After a year or two he returned to England. Finding it
somewhat difficult to succeed in the old country, by the advice of an
old college friend, who had settled in Louisiana, he went out to seek
his fortune there. Before long he obtained a situation as secretary to
a wealthy planter, and for a time lived in happiness and ease. But the
vicissitudes of his career had as yet only commenced. The civil war
between the Northern and Southern States broke out, and the peaceful
Mr. O’B. was startled out of his dream of rest and safety by the bustle
and din of warlike preparations. Although sufficiently alarmed at the
prospect of hostilities, he yet flattered himself that he would be
considered a non-combatant. One day, however, his friend the planter
came up to him in a great state of delight and excitement, and warmly
shaking him by the hand, said, “My dear O’B., allow me to congratulate
you most heartily on the compliment which has been paid you; you have
been unanimously elected Captain of the Home Guard.”

The newly-elected captain was horror-struck--visions of sharp-pointed
bayonets directed against his abdomen, and keen swords flashing in
descent upon his cranium, rose before his mental eye; the roar of
cannon and musketry, and the whistle of bullets, seemed already to
sound in his affrighted ears; wounds, agony, and death to stare him in
the face. Stammering out thanks, less warm than seemed appropriate to
the warlike Southerner, he stole away from his disappointed friend, and
secretly made preparations for escape. That night he took what little
money he had in hand, and, leaving all the rest of his property behind,
fled from the honour proposed for him. He succeeded in getting across
the lines into the Northern States, and there obtained an appointment
as Classical Professor at one of the colleges. This institution was,
however, supported by voluntary subscriptions, which failed under the
pressure of the war, the staff was reduced, and Mr. O’B. again cast
adrift. He next anchored for a short time near St. Paul, in Minnesota,
and thence proceeded to Fort Garry, with the intention of establishing
a school in the Red River Settlement. Classics were, however, at a
discount amongst the half-breeds, and consequently Mr. O’B.’s merits
as a pedagogue were not properly appreciated by the colonists. The
projected academy utterly failed, and after spending some time in Red
River, at a dead lock, he was fitted out by the kindness of Archdeacon
Cockran, the veteran missionary of this country, with necessaries for a
journey across the mountains, in search of a more congenial community
on the Pacific coast.

He set out with the band of Canadian emigrants before alluded to, but
they appear to have discovered that he was helpless and requiring, and
left him at Carlton. From thence he was forwarded by the Company’s
boats going back to Edmonton. A prejudice against him arose amongst
the men, and they refused to proceed with him further than Fort Pitt.
He was therefore left behind at that place, and afterwards reached
Edmonton by a train of carts. At Edmonton he had remained nearly a year
when we met him, unable either to advance or to return, and in a state
of complete destitution. He had, however, received every kindness from
the officers of the Fort, who supplied him with food and tobacco.

Having narrated his history, he propounded the real object of his
visit, which was to beg of us to allow him to accompany our party to
British Columbia. Had it been an ordinary journey, or had we possessed
the means of obtaining a proper number of men and horses, and plenty of
provisions, we should not have hesitated to take him with us, in spite
of his helplessness. But such an addition to our company was anything
but desirable, and we accordingly begged to reserve our decision.
Mr. O’B. had wintered with some miners, who had built a cabin about
a quarter of a mile from the Fort. Left alone by their departure in
the spring, he lived a solitary and anxious life, oppressed by fears
of wolves, which howled close by every night, and of grisly bears,
reported to be in the neighbourhood. He assured us that it was not
safe for him to remain longer at the cabin, since it was built near
some willows which were known to be much frequented by these dangerous
animals, and he accordingly took up his quarters under one of our carts.

He was now attacked by a number of ailments which required the Doctor’s
advice daily, and seized these opportunities to urge his request. After
submitting unflinchingly to active treatment for several days, he at
last confessed that his malady was imaginary, and merely assumed as
an excuse for obtaining private interviews. But Cheadle maliciously
refused to believe it, assured him he was really seriously unwell, and
compelled him to swallow a tremendous dose of rhubarb and magnesia.

After holding out several days, we were overcome by his importunity,
and agreed that he should form one of our party, in spite of the
rebellious grumbling of Baptiste and the Assiniboine. Mr. O’B. thanked
us, but assured us that we had in reality acted for our own interest,
and congratulated us upon having decided so wisely, for he should be
very useful, and ask no wages.

Mr. Hardisty, and the other officers of the Fort, tried earnestly to
dissuade us from attempting to cross by the Leather Pass, alleging that
the season was not yet far enough advanced, and the rivers would be
at their height, swollen by the melting of the mountain snows. They
assured us that many of the streams were fierce and rocky torrents,
exceedingly dangerous to cross, except when low in the autumn, and that
the country on the West of the mountains, as far as it was known, was
a region rugged and inhospitable, everywhere covered with impenetrable
forest; and even if we descended the Fraser, instead of attempting to
reach Cariboo, we should find that river full of rapids and whirlpools,
which had often proved fatal to the most expert canoemen. This pass,
known by the several names of the Leather, Jasper House, Cowdung Lake,
and Yellow Head Pass, had been formerly used by the voyageurs of the
Hudson’s Bay Company as a portage from the Athabasca to the Fraser, but
had long been abandoned on account of the numerous casualties which
attended the navigation of the latter river.

We were able to learn but little of the country on the west of the
mountains, nor could we obtain any certain information of the course
which the Canadian emigrants intended to follow.

From Andrè Cardinal, the French half-breed who had guided the party
across, we learned that on reaching Tête Jaune’s Cache, on the Fraser,
at the western part of the main ridge, the band divided, part of them
descending the Fraser in large rafts, and the remainder turning south
for the Thompson River. Cardinal accompanied them until they reached
the main branch of the North Thompson, having been guided thither by
a Shushwap Indian from the Cache; and he further stated that, from
a lofty eminence, they had, like the Israelites of old, viewed the
promised land, the hills of Cariboo being visible in the far distance.
But, in cross-examination, his answers proved very contradictory and
obscure. He acknowledged that the Indian knew the gold country only by
vague report, and had never visited the region he pointed out as the
land they sought. And he was uncertain whether the emigrants intended
to try and reach Cariboo direct, or steer for Fort Kamloops on the
Thompson. He furnished us, however, with a rough outline of the road
as far as he had gone, which, except as to relative distances, proved
tolerably correct.

In addition to the large band which Andrè Cardinal had guided across
the mountains, another party of five had left Edmonton late in the
autumn of the same year, 1862, with the intention of procuring canoes
at Tête Jaune’s Cache, and descending the Fraser to Fort George.

Of the ultimate fate of any of these men, nothing whatever was then
known; the only regular means of communication between the eastern and
western side of the mountains being by the Company’s brigade, which
goes every summer from Fort Dunvegan on Great Slave Lake, by the Peace
River Pass, to Fort McLeod; and news brought by this party on their
return would not arrive until next year.

With the exception of the Peace River Pass, which lies far away to the
north, all the other routes across the Rocky Mountains, as yet known,
lie south of the Leather Pass, and lead to the valley of the Columbia.
The Kicking Horse Pass, Howse’s Pass, the Vermilion Pass, the Kananaski
Pass, and the Kootanie Pass were all explored by Captain Palliser’s
expedition, and found to be practicable routes. But all these are far
to the south of the gold regions. The Athabasca Pass, used occasionally
by the Hudson’s Bay Company, strikes the Columbia River where it is
joined by the Canoe River, supposed to take its rise in Cariboo. But
the latter river, and the head waters of the north branch of the
Thompson, were entirely unexplored.

Mr. Ross indeed reached Canoe River in one of his daring expeditions,
but finding the country covered with the densest forest, he turned back
at once. And Dr. Hector, who appears to have been the most enterprising
of all the members of Captain Palliser’s expedition, although he made
a determined attempt to reach the head waters of the North Thompson
from the sources of the North Saskatchewan, was unable to get through.
He encountered a forest-growth so dense, and so encumbered with fallen
timber, that he had “neither time, men, nor provisions to cope with it,
and was nearly overtaken by the snows of winter.” He expected to be
obliged to abandon his horses, and was thankful to escape by turning
south to the more open region of the Columbia valley.

We therefore determined to adhere to our original design of taking
the Leather Pass, following the emigrants’ trail as far as might seem
desirable, and then trusting to our imperfect maps and the sagacity of
our men, to reach either Cariboo or Fort Kamloops at the grand fork of
the Thompson, as circumstances might render advisable.

Mr. O’B. utterly ignored the difficulties of the long journey before
him in his delight at the prospect of escaping from the wilds of the
Saskatchewan, so uncongenial to his classical tastes and peaceful
habits, to the more civilised society of British Columbia. But although
insensible to the more obvious dangers of penetrating through an
unknown country, without road or guide, his peace of mind was seriously
disturbed by the reflection that a man so savage as the Assiniboine
would form one of the party. He came to us one day, with most serious
aspect and lengthened visage, requesting a private interview on
business of great importance. We immediately went aside with him, and
he began: “My lord, and Dr. Cheadle, I am sure you will thank me for a
communication which will enable you to escape the greatest danger. I
have been credibly informed that this ‘Assiniboine’--the man you have
engaged--is a cold-blooded murderer, a villain of the deepest dye, who
has been excommunicated by the priest, and is avoided by the bravest
half-breeds.” We assured him that we already knew all about it, and
as the deed had been done in a fit of anger, and under the greatest
provocation, we had decided that we were not justified in depriving
ourselves of the services of a man so eminently qualified for the
undertaking we had in hand.

“What!” said Mr. O’B., “you don’t mean to tell me that you really
intend to trust your lives with such a man?” We said we really did
intend it. “Then,” said he, “in the name of your families, I beg to
enter my most solemn protest against the folly of such a proceeding;”
and declared that, although he still intended to go with us, it was
with the firm conviction that we should all fall victims to the
bloodthirsty Assiniboine.

The Assiniboine, on his side, had an equally strong prejudice against
Mr. O’B., for he had learnt from the men who had travelled with him
from Fort Pitt how very helpless and troublesome he was, and protested
long and loudly against his being allowed to go with us. We overruled
all objections, however, and by the beginning of June were prepared
to set out. Our party, a motley company, consisted of seven persons--
viz., ourselves, Mr. O’B., Baptiste Supernat, the Assiniboine, his wife
(commonly called. Mrs. Assiniboine), and the boy. We had twelve horses,
six of which carried packs. Our supplies comprised two sacks of flour,
of a hundred pounds each; four bags of pemmican, of ninety pounds each;
tea, salt, and tobacco. These last were the only luxuries we allowed
ourselves, for as we could obtain no provisions or assistance until we
reached some post in British Columbia, 700 or 800 miles distant, we
sacrificed everything to pemmican and flour. But little food of any
kind could be obtained from the country through which we had to pass,
and we were ignorant how long the journey might take. We had calculated
on fifty days as the extreme limit, with what accuracy will be seen
hereafter.

We had some difficulty in procuring what we required for the journey,
having but little money left, but by judicious barter we at length
overcame the difficulty, although, when we came to pay our bill at the
Fort, we were compelled to beg off 3s. 4d., by which it exceeded the
contents of our purse! By the kindness of the residents of the Fort,
Mr. O’B. was fitted out for the journey with horse and saddle, forty
pounds of pemmican, and some tea and tobacco.

The horses were by this time in fine condition, and we resolved to set
out at once, in order that we might have plenty of time before us in
case of unforeseen delays, although we should thus encounter the rivers
at their highest flood, and the morasses in their spongiest condition.

CHAPTER XII.

Set out from Edmonton--Prophecies of Evil--Mr. O’B.’s Forebodings--
Lake St. Ann’s--We enter the Forest--A Rough Trail--Mr. O’B.,
impressed with the Difficulties which beset him, commences the
study of Paley--Pembina River--The Coal-bed--Game--Curious
Habit of the Willow Grouse--Mr. O’B. en route--Changes wrought
by Beaver--The Assiniboine’s Adventure with the Grisly Bears--
Mr. O’B. prepares to sell his Life dearly--Hunt for the Bears--
Mr. O’B. Protects the Camp--The Bull-dogs--The Path through
the Pine Forest--The Elbow of the McLeod--Baptiste becomes
Discontented--Trout Fishing--Moose Hunting--Baptiste Deserts--
Council--Resolve to Proceed--We lose the Trail--The Forest
on Fire--Hot Quarters--Working for Life--Escape--Strike
the Athabasca River--First View of the Rocky Mountains--Mr.
O’B. spends a Restless Night--Over the Mountain--Magnificent
Scenery--Jasper House--Wild Flowers--Hunting the “Mouton Gris”
and the “Mouton Blanc.”

On the 3rd of June, 1863, we left Edmonton, amid the good wishes of the
kind friends we had made there. But although they cheerfully wished us
God speed, we found from the men that public opinion at the Fort had
decided that our expedition would certainly end most disastrously,[7]
for they considered that the party was too small, and comprised too
many ineffectives, to succeed in overcoming the difficulties we
must necessarily encounter. We were not much disheartened by these
croakings, however, and started for St. Alban’s in the afternoon.
Here we were joined by our friend Mr. O’B., who had walked on the
night before to see the priest, and suffered dreadful anxiety at our
non-appearance until dusk. The next day we stayed at St. Alban’s,
exchanging some lean horses for fatter ones. Just before dark Mr. O’B.
came to us, and begged us to move on that evening, as the next day
would be the 5th of June, the anniversary of his departure from Red
River, in the first portion of his journey to British Columbia, which
had proved so unfortunate, and he felt a superstitious dread of the
coincidence. However, it was already too late, and Mr. O’B. had the
opportunity of verifying the truth of his presentiments.

The road to Lake St. Ann’s passed through a fertile and park-like
country for about fifty miles, but at St. Ann’s the thick forest
commences, which extends far to the north, and westward to the
mountains. St. Ann’s was, doubtless, chosen as the site for a
settlement on account of the immense number of the _core-gonus_, or
white-fish, furnished by the lake, forming the staple food of the
inhabitants; but it is ill adapted for farming, on account of the
timber, which has been very partially cleared away for little fields
of potatoes and grain. This disadvantage has already been felt by the
settlers, many of whom have migrated to the more promising site of St.
Alban’s. The lake is a pretty sheet of water, several miles in length,
its shores dotted on the western side by forty or fifty houses, and
a church. Mr. Colin Fraser, the Company’s officer, treated us very
kindly, gave us milk, potatoes, and delicious fresh white-fish, and
amused us over our evening pipes by stories of the good old times,
when the wood buffalo were found in plenty as far as Peace River, and
game so abundant that starvation was unknown. He had been thirty-eight
years in the country, seventeen of which he had spent as the solitary
host of Jasper House, and told us that Cariboo deer and bighorns were
so numerous when he first went there, that a “green hand” and a boy
supplied the establishment with ample provision during one winter, when
the regular hunter had died. Mr. Fraser had not seen Fort Garry for
thirty years, and for fifteen had not been further than Edmonton, yet
he was happy and contented as possible.

When we left Lake St. Ann’s the track led us immediately into the
densest forest, where the ground was boggy and rotten, thickly covered
with fallen timber. The horses sank in up to their girths, and every
few yards were obliged to jump over the obstruction in the path. Mr.
O’B. was now deeply impressed with the difficulties he encountered, and
declared that, although he had visited many countries, he had never
known what travelling meant before. His assistance was limited to good
advice, for he was afraid to approach a horse, and when his help was
required to load the animals, he was invariably missing. We generally
ferreted him out, and found him, hidden in the bushes, quietly smoking
his pipe, and diligently studying the last remnant of his library, the
only book he took with him--Paley’s “Evidences of Christianity.”

On the second day after we left Lake St. Ann’s, the road became rather
better, there being a few patches of open country, and the timber
smaller, clustering in the swells of the low undulations. At noon we
reached a large lake, and travelled along its banks for the remainder
of that day. It appeared to be well stocked with wild fowl and fish,
the latter lying basking in the shallows, hardly moving away as our
horses approached along the shore. The mosquitoes were exceedingly
troublesome, obliging us to put up the Indian lodge we carried with
us, and we were frequently compelled to get up in the night to light a
fire, in order to smoke them out before we were able to sleep.

On the 11th of June we struck the Pembina River, a clear, shallow
stream flowing to the N.E., over a pebbly bed, between perpendicular
banks of some eighty feet high. These showed the section of a
magnificent coal-bed, from fifteen to twenty feet in thickness. We
easily crossed the river by fording, and on the further bank met a
couple of half-breeds, who were returning to St. Ann’s from trapping
beaver. We stayed an hour or two examining the coal, and prospecting
the sand of the river for gold.

The coal was not of first-rate quality, having an earthy fracture,
and burning with dull flame and much smoke, yielding a quantity of
yellowish-grey ash. The piece we examined was not, however, a fair
specimen, being one we picked up from the bed of the river, which was
strewn with blocks and fragments. Coal has also been discovered on the
McLeod, Athabasca, Smoky, Peace, and Mackenzie Rivers to the north;
and on the Saskatchewan, Battle, and Red Deer Rivers to the south. A
section of it appears in the cliff of the river-bank at Edmonton, where
it is used for the forge. The lignite strata have been thus observed at
numerous points, scattered over more than ten degrees of latitude, but
invariably in nearly the same longitude.

A line drawn from Mackenzie River to the point where Red Deer River
joins the South Saskatchewan would give the line of coal formation
observed with tolerable accuracy. These coal-fields are of enormous
extent, and will doubtless one day form a large element of wealth in
this richly-endowed country of the Saskatchewan.

After investigating the coal, we set to work to wash for gold in the
sand bars, and were rewarded by finding what miners call “the colour,”
_i.e._, a few specks of the finest gold-dust which remain with the
black sand left behind when the rest of the “dirt” is washed away.

For the next two or three days the country presented the same slightly
undulating character, thickly wooded, with hardly a single break, and
without any eminence from which a view could be obtained. The only
sound ground was on the low narrow ridges which separated the wider
shallow valleys. These latter are occupied by “muskegs,” or level
swamps, the surface of which is covered with a mossy crust five or
six inches in thickness, while a thick growth of pines and the fallen
timber add to the difficulties of the road. No one but a Hudson’s Bay
voyageur would dream of taking horses into such a region.

We met with occasional tracks of the moose and black bear, and at first
a few ducks on the streams and lakes; but as we pierced further into
the forest, the waters were untenanted by wild fowl. Pigeons, wood
partridges, and pine partridges became very plentiful, and we shot
them at first in great numbers. The wood partridge, or willow grouse,
frequents the thick woods and the low grounds, and is found on both
sides of the Rocky Mountains; when disturbed, it generally flies up
into a tree, and if there are several together, they tamely sit to
be shot, one after the other. In the spring, the male bird exhibits
himself for the delight of the female in the following manner. He sits
upon a branch, and ruffling his feathers, and spreading his tail like
a turkey-cock, shuts his eyes, and drums against his sides with his
wings, producing a sound remarkably like distant thunder. When thus
engaged, he becomes so absorbed in the performance, that he will allow
any one to approach him near enough to snare him with a noose attached
to a short stick. By the middle of June, the partridges were surrounded
by broods of young, and we ceased to hunt them. When we encountered
them, the hen bird, and often the cock also, would come rushing up
to within a couple of yards of us, with wings spread, and feathers
erect, just like a barn-door hen protecting her chickens. The pine
partridge is rather larger than the willow grouse, darker-feathered,
like an English grouse, with a scarlet patch over the eyes, and is
found only in the “muskegs” or pine swamps. The pigeon is the beautiful
long-tailed passenger pigeon, so common in the American woods; we
found this bird as far west as the sources of the North Thompson.

A curious bird, which we met with only between the Pembina and
Athabasca, and which we called the “booming swallow,” attracted our
attention, but we were never able to obtain a specimen of it. It was
about the size of a pigeon, with long, narrow wings, like those of the
swift. It careered about in the air after the same fashion, apparently
catching flies, and, when at a great height, would dart down like an
arrow, making a strange booming sound, which can only be compared
to the swelling hum of a thrashing machine at the time when a sheaf
of corn is put into it. We never saw this bird in any other part of
America.

Mr. O’B. employed his time in increasing the enmity which the men
had conceived for him by his dislike for work, and his imperative
manner when demanding their services. He did not attempt to assist in
packing his own horse, but required the help of the men to roll up his
blanket, or stow away his pemmican. Obstinately persisting, in spite
of all remonstrances, in marching last of the single file in which we
travelled, he frequently lagged behind; when he found that the party
ahead were out of sight, which was the case every few yards, from the
closeness of the trees, terror took possession of him, and he sat
down, without attempting to seek the path, making the woods ring again
with his cries for help. The first time this occurred, we stopped the
train in some alarm, and Baptiste hurried back to see what could have
happened, when, to his disgust, he simply found Mr. O’B., seated on a
fallen tree, bawling with all his might. After this, neither of the men
would go back for him, and the duty devolved upon us. Mr. O’B. was a
man of most marvellous timidity. His fears rendered his life a burden
to him. But of all the things he dreaded--and their name was legion--
his particular horror was a grisly bear. On this point he was a
complete monomaniac. He had never yet seen a grisly bear, but he was in
the daily expectation of meeting one of these terrible animals, and a
sanguinary and untimely end at the same time. As he walked through the
forest, the rustle of every leaf and the creaking of the trunks seemed,
to his anxious mind, to herald the approach of his dreaded enemy. The
Assiniboine, taking advantage of his weakness, cured him for a time
of his carelessness in losing sight of the party, by lying in wait,
hid amongst the trees close to the track, and as Mr. O’B. passed by,
set up a most horrible growling, which caused him to take to his heels
incontinently, and for several days he kept near protection. As we sat
round the camp-fire one evening, a rustling in the bushes attracted
our attention, and we were startled for a moment by the sight of a
dark, shaggy object moving along, which, in the dim, fitful fire-light,
looked very like a bear. Mr. O’B. rushed up to us in abject terror,
when the animal, passing into clearer view, disclosed a foot clothed in
a moccasin, and we recognised the boy, enveloped in a buffalo robe, and
creeping on all fours, to practise on the fears of “Le Vieux.”

On the third day after leaving Pembina River, we rested to dine at
a marshy meadow formed by the damming up of the stream by beaver,
exactly similar to those we noticed near Dog River and at Edmonton. But
now these places were of the greatest value to us, for they afforded
almost the only open grassy spaces we found with pasturage for our
horses until reaching the mountains. They were very common along our
track, the grassy mound and bank across showing the old beaver house
and dam in most cases. Nearly every stream between the Pembina and
the Athabasca--except the large river McLeod--appeared to have
been destroyed by the agency of these animals. The whole of this
region is little more than a succession of pine swamps, separated by
narrow ridges of higher ground, and it is a curious question whether
that enormous tract of country, marked “Swampy” in the maps, has
not been brought to this condition by the work of beaver, who have
thus destroyed, by their own labour, the streams necessary to their
existence.[8]

On the evening of this same day we encamped early in a little open
space on the bank of a small stream, one of the very few we met with in
this part. Cheadle and The Assiniboine started up the river in search
of beaver, but the former, seeing some trout rising, turned back in
order to fish for them, and The Assiniboine went on alone. The camp
was made, Cheadle came in at dark with some fish, and we had supper.
Mr. O’B. went to bed, and the rest sat smoking and wondering what made
The Assiniboine so late, when the door of the lodge was lifted, and
he entered, literally trembling with excitement, and for some time
hardly able to explain the cause, merely saying, in his French patois,
“J’etais en pas mal de danger. J’ai vu les ours gris, proche--proche!”
and devoted himself to smoking a pipe, which his son immediately filled
and handed to him. When sufficiently calmed down by the composing weed,
he related his adventures. He had found beaver up the stream and shot
one, which sunk, and he was unable to secure it. Wandering on for some
time without meeting with anything more, he turned back, just before
dusk, and retraced his steps. When he arrived within a few hundred
yards of the camp, he heard a rustling in some underwood near by, and
thinking the horses had strayed there, turned aside into the cover to
drive them back. Instead of seeing the horses he expected, he found
himself face to face with an enormous grisly bear, which was engaged in
tearing open a rotten trunk in search of insects. On the appearance of
The Assiniboine, the animal desisted from its employment, and advanced
towards him with a terrible growling and lips upcurled, displaying
her great teeth and enormous mouth. The first bear was now joined by
two others of rather smaller size, who came running up, attracted by
the growling. The Assiniboine, an old and practised hunter, stood his
ground firmly, and as the old bear came within two or three yards,
suddenly threw up his arms. This, a usual device in hunting the grisly
bear, caused the animal to stop for a moment and sit up on her hind
legs, giving an opportunity for a steady shot. The Assiniboine took
a deliberate aim, and pulled the trigger, but, to his dismay, the
snapping of the cap only followed. He pulled the second trigger, and
that missed fire also. Strange to say, the bear did not attack him,
and as he continued to show a firm and immovable front, retired with
the others, and all three stood watching him. At every attempt he made
to move, one or other rushed towards him, growling fiercely. This
continued, for some time, but at length they resumed their occupation
of breaking up the rotten logs, and he stole off unperceived. He was
not, however, content to leave them undisturbed after his narrow
escape. When well out of sight he stopped, poured fresh powder into
the nipples of his gun, and re-capped it. He then crept cautiously
round, so as to approach them from an opposite quarter. He found them
still in the same place, occupied as before. Crouching behind a natural
barricade of fallen trees, he took a fair deliberate shot at the old
bear. Again both barrels missed fire, and the three, aroused by the
snapping of the caps, looked round, and quickly perceiving him, rushed
up, growling and showing their teeth, but stopped as they came to the
barrier of trees, which they fortunately made no attempt to pass.
The same scene previously described was now re-enacted, the animals
resenting any sign which the man showed of retiring, but refraining
from actual attack. At last they all suddenly set off at speed,
and after a time the Assiniboine reached the camp without further
molestation. The man probably owed his life to his courageous bearing,
and the circumstance that his gun missed fire, for had he wounded one
of them, all three would certainly have attacked and, undoubtedly,
killed him.

Whilst The Assiniboine was relating his exciting adventure, Mr. O’B.
lay rolled in his blanket, quite unconscious that anything unusual
had occurred, not understanding a word of the mixed patois of Cree
and French in which the Assiniboine spoke. Milton therefore said in
English, “Mr. O’B., The Assiniboine has been attacked by three grisly
bears, close to camp.” At the word _bears_ he sat bolt upright, his
countenance betraying the greatest anxiety, and eagerly asked if it
was really true, and how it happened. We told him the story, and as
he listened his jaw fell ruefully, and his face assumed an agonised
expression. “Doctor,” said he, when we had finished, “we are in a
very serious position--in very great danger. This is a most terrible
journey; will you do me a great favour, and lend me your revolver? for
I am resolved to sell my life dearly, and how can I defend myself if
the bears attack us in the night? I’m an unarmed man.”

“Oh, certainly,” replied Cheadle, producing the pistol, and playfully
working the hammer up and down with his thumb; “with the greatest
pleasure; here it is: oh, yes, if you like: perhaps, under the
circumstances, you had better take it; but I ought to tell you that you
must be extremely careful with it, for it is in the habit of going off
of its own accord.”

Mr. O’B. hastily drew back his hand stretched out to take the pistol,
considered--hesitated--and at last decided that perhaps he had
better not meddle with so dangerous a weapon. He contented himself
with taking the large axe to bed with him, although it may be doubted
whether he would have used it very effectually if occasion had
required. We were all much excited at The Assiniboine’s story, and at
once resolved to go in pursuit of the bears at daybreak next morning.
As soon as it became light we prepared for the hunt. The woman and
boy were to accompany us in order to search for the beaver which
Assiniboine had killed the night before, Mr. O’B., to his infinite
dismay, being left alone in charge of the camp. He remonstrated
strongly, and dilated upon the probability of the bears taking
advantage of our absence to attack the undefended position. Finding we
were inflexible, “Delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi,” said Mr. O’B.
disconsolately, and immediately retired within the lodge, let down the
door, made up a tremendous fire to scare away the enemy, and remained
seated, with the axe by his side, in anxious expectation until our
return. We proceeded under the guidance of The Assiniboine to the scene
of his adventure the previous evening. There we found every detail of
his narrative confirmed--the rotten trunks torn asunder, the huge
footprints of the bears in the soft soil or long grass, worn into a
beaten track where they had so repeatedly charged up to him, his own
track as he took the circuitous route to his second position behind
the logs; and leading away from the place, the marks of the three
bears going off at speed. It appeared, however, that they had not left
the neighbourhood until that morning, for we found very fresh tracks
crossing the stream, and on the opposite bank, a wet line marked by the
drippings from the shaggy coats of the animals after emerging from the
water.

We followed on, The Assiniboine leading, at a great pace, yet with
wonderful stillness, through the thick underwood, finding from time to
time fresher and still fresher signs--a rotten log newly torn open, a
bees’ nest just dug up, and footmarks in which the grass seemed still
rising after the removal of the pressure. We were in a high state of
excitement, stealthily advancing, with guns cocked and bated breath,
expecting every moment to see their terrible forms close to us, when
we came upon a hard, grassless stretch of ground, where the men were
unable to follow the tracks, and, after a long search, were, much to
our chagrin, compelled to give up the pursuit.

Milton and Baptiste returned to camp to pack up and proceed on the
journey, Cheadle and Assiniboine being bent on following a fresh
moose-track which we had crossed. They rejoined the party before
nightfall, without having succeeded in finding the animal they had
followed.

When Milton arrived near the camp, he observed Mr. O’B.’s head
cautiously protruded from the lodge door, taking an observation, and
when he perceived that human beings, and not bears, were approaching,
he ventured forth, welcoming them with great glee, and discoursing on
the dreadful suspense he had endured during their absence.

On the following day, when Cheadle was about to start ahead of the
party, for the sake of meeting with game, Mr. O’B. warned him to be
very careful, advising him to load both barrels with ball, and carry
his gun on full cock, ready for emergency. Cheadle, however, told him
it was necessary to have one barrel loaded with small shot for the
feathered game, and marched off laughing, Mr. O’B. looking after him
with an expression of pity, and shaking his head ominously. Milton and
the rest travelled on nearly the whole day, wondering that they did not
find Cheadle at mid-day, as usual, waiting for them in some convenient
camping ground. Cursing his folly for leading them so far, they at last
pulled up in despair, and waited, in the belief that he must have lost
his way. Mr. O’B., however, took a different view. “My lord,” said he
to Milton, “you may depend upon it the Doctor has met those bears.
I’ve warned him repeatedly against the rashness of walking alone in
this way. It was only this very morning, as you heard, I advised him
to be careful, and load both barrels with ball. But he only laughed at
me, and walked off with his gun on half-cock, carelessly thrown over
his shoulder. And now you see the terrible consequences. There is not
the slightest doubt that he has been surprised by those three bears,
and torn to pieces, poor fellow!” Mr. O’B.’s prophecies of evil were,
however, upset by the appearance of the missing man. He had lost his
way in a series of swamps, and with some difficulty retraced his steps
to the right track. Then he had a long, stern chase to catch the rest,
who had, in the meantime, passed on before him.

A short stage in the afternoon, passing through firmer ground, still
thickly covered with pines, and ankle-deep in a profusion of oak and
beech fern, brought us to the banks of the McLeod, where we camped for
the night.

The McLeod is a fine stream, about 150 yards broad, flowing over a
rocky, pebbly bed, and clear and shallow like the Pembina. The channel
of the latter where we crossed it was clean cut through soft strata,
with perpendicular cliffs on either side; whilst the banks of the
McLeod are wider apart, rising steeply, but not vertically, to a
greater height, and richly clothed with pine and aspen. The McLeod
is subject to great floods at certain seasons, as evidenced by the
great boulders strewn high along the shore, and the collections of
driftwood accumulated at different points and turns of the river. On
the following day we forded it without difficulty, and sending the
men forward with the pack animals, hitched our horses to a tree, and
stopped to prospect for gold.

After washing two or three pans of “dirt,” we found but slight and
doubtful traces of the precious metal, and re-ascended the bank
to follow our party. Our horses had, however, broken loose and
disappeared, but after a short distance, we discovered Milton’s, pulled
up by the bridle, which had caught on a stump. The other horse was not
to be found. We came up with the train, resting at a beaver swamp, and
found that Cheadle’s horse had joined the rest, but without bridle.
The large axe, too, had tumbled out of one of the packs, and we were
compelled to delay a couple of hours whilst the men went back in
search of the missing articles. The bridle was found, but the axe--far
more important, since it was the only large one we possessed--we did
not recover.

The heat was very great, and the mosquitoes and gad-flies--called
“bull-dogs” by the half-breeds--tormented the horses to such an
extent that, in spite of the large green-wood fire which we made for
their benefit--the smoke keeping off the insects--they were unable
to feed, and rushed madly about in their distress. The “bull-dog,” or
_tabanus_, is a large fly, about twice the size of a “bluebottle,”
with a long body, banded with yellow, like that of the wasp, and its
mouth is armed with a formidable cutting apparatus of four lancets.
They are very numerous in wooded or swampy country, and are very
fierce and persistent in their attacks on both men and animals. The
“bull-dog” settles lightly and unnoticed on any exposed portion of the
skin, and the first warning of his presence is a sharp stab, like that
of a needle, which makes the sufferer wince again. There is, however,
no after-irritation or swelling, as is the case with the sting of a
mosquito. The horses suffer dreadfully from these creatures in the
summer, and their necks--a part which they cannot reach with either
head or tail to brush off their tormentors--are covered with great
clusters of these vampires, and dripping with blood.

After crossing the McLeod, we continued to follow the western bank
pretty closely, the road being worse than any we had yet encountered,
the ground very boggy, and the pines closely set. The trail is merely
cut of sufficient width to allow of one horse with his pack to pass,
and this is encumbered with roots and fallen trees, for the travellers
in this region never delay to remove any obstructions a horse can
possibly be forced to jump or scramble over. The mossy crust having
been broken through by repeated tramplings, the horses sink up to their
hocks in the boggy substratum, while the thick wall of timber on either
side prevents any escape to firmer ground. A day’s journey on the road
to Jasper House generally consists of floundering through bogs, varied
by jumps and plunges over the timber which lies strewn, piled, and
interlaced across the path and on every side. The horses stick fast in
the mire, tumble crashing amongst the logs, or, driven to desperation,
plunge amongst the thickly-growing trees at the side, where they are
generally quickly brought up by the wedging of their packs in some
narrow passage between contiguous trunks.

On the 16th we reached a point where the river makes a great bend to
the south, and the trail turns off at right angles to avoid it. Here a
small river enters the McLeod, and the hills are seen swelling higher
towards the west. In the smaller stream we observed some fish rising
at the fly, and on the banks fresh beaver “sign,” with here and there
tracks of moose and bear. As the horses had had little food for two or
three days, and some burnt ground offered better pasturage than usual,
we decided to rest for a day, and try our luck in hunting and fishing.
Cheadle and The Assiniboine set out at daybreak in search of moose,
while Milton and the rest devoted themselves to the trout. Mr. O’B.
also, attracted by the prospect of a meal on something more savoury
than pemmican, essayed to fish; but he splashed about so restlessly,
and met with so little encouragement, that he soon wearied of his
employment. Baptiste showed a most discontented and rebellious spirit
at this time, refusing to put up the lodge where Milton directed him,
and, after some altercation, sulkily packed up his small property,
declaring he should leave at once. However, he changed his mind, and
took to fishing with the rest. A nice dish of fish was caught before
evening, amongst which were two or three large white trout, from the
McLeod, several of the small banded trout, and some fish resembling
dace. Before dark Cheadle and The Assiniboine came back again, without
having met with any large game. They had followed a fresh moose track
a long distance, found the place where the animal had been recently
lying down, and as he lay pulled the twigs within his reach, the sap
being still moist where the bark had been abraded by his teeth. The
sagacity with which the hunter followed the tracks was very wonderful.
Without hesitation he passed rapidly and noiselessly amidst the thick
wood, and over the thickly-piled fallen trunks, at a pace which his
companion found it difficult to keep up with, never overrunning or
neglecting the footprints, which to Cheadle’s less instructed eye were
quite invisible, except on the closest scrutiny. The hunter has not
only to keep his eye on the trail, but also to look out constantly
for the animal he is following, which he may come upon at any moment,
and carefully avoid breaking a dry twig, or making a rustling in the
underwood through which he passes. Amongst the few qualities of the Red
Indian, good or evil, which have not been exaggerated are his power of
sight, sagacity in following a track, and interpreting the signs he
meets with. He will often follow a moose for days, and in winter, when
the sound of the breaking through of the crust on the snow beneath his
feet would betray his approach, will carefully cut out each footstep
with his knife. The moose in this case had changed his quarters, and
the pursuit was given up.

Our dish of fish in the evening was an immense treat, and but for the
ominous taciturnity of Baptiste, we should have been jolly enough. In
the morning affairs looked brighter, Baptiste cheerfully helped to
pack the horses, talked away as usual, and seemed quite contented.
Cheadle started in advance of the party, and after an hour or two
pulled up to await the arrival of the train. When it came up, Baptiste
was missing, and Milton was the first to perceive his absence. The
Assiniboine declared he knew nothing more than that he stayed behind
after the train started to light his pipe, as he said, and he expected
him to make his appearance very shortly. We travelled on till noon,
and then, as Baptiste did not come, we felt convinced that he really
had deserted, and stopped to hold a solemn council on the course to
be taken under this change of circumstances. Baptiste had probably
never intended to go with us further than this point, and had taken
the opportunity to raise a dispute in order to have some excuse for
his conduct. He had carried off one of the most valuable horses, and
a small amount of provision. It was useless to attempt to follow him,
unless we determined to turn back to Edmonton. But we were firmly
resolved to proceed with our expedition, come what might, although we
could not conceal from ourselves that the work would be very heavy.
We had thirteen horses to pack and drive through the thick woods;
the one-handed Assiniboine, with his wife and boy, were our only
assistants; and Mr. O’B. represented a minus quantity. At least six or
perhaps seven hundred miles of the most difficult country in the world
lay before us, and not one of the party had ever previously set foot
in this region. But we resolved to trust to The Assiniboine, if he
would give his solemn promise to stand by us in every emergency, having
confidence that his wonderful sagacity would be sufficient to find the
road. We therefore at once proposed to him that he should be raised to
Baptiste’s position, and greater emoluments, as guide--requiring only
his solemn engagement to go through with us to the end. We sent him to
consult his wife, and after a short conversation with her, he came back
to say that they were both determined to stick to us faithfully, and
he felt no doubt about being able to find the emigrants’ track without
difficulty.

On the next morning we again struck the McLeod, and continued to
follow it for a couple of days. In a small tributary we caught a few
trout in a somewhat novel manner. Whilst dinner was being prepared,
we went down to the stream with the boy, to fish with some of the
gad-flies which we caught on the horses. A number of trout were lying
in the shade of a large overhanging willow, and we disposed ourselves
along the trunk, in order to drop the tempting fly before the noses
of the fish. Cheadle, in his eagerness to accomplish this, fell head
first into the water with a tremendous splash, and the boy, in his
amusement at his companion’s misfortune, slipped also, and splashed in
after him. Finding that the fish immediately returned to the protecting
shade, in spite of their fright, and were even then too sleepy to take
the bait, we set the boy to manage the fly, whilst we stirred up the
fish judiciously with a long pole. They were then sufficiently roused
from their lethargic state to notice the bait, and a good dish of them
secured. Not one had been taken before this device was adopted.

[Illustration: THE FOREST ON FIRE.

(_See page 223._)
]

The trail now led along the bed of the river, and, becoming fainter and
fainter, The Assiniboine began to suspect that we had strayed from the
main track to Jasper House, and were following some casual hunter’s or
miner’s path. We therefore encamped at noon in the middle of a thick
forest of young pines. The trees grew very closely together, and we
were obliged to cut a clear space for the horses and our own camp.
The Assiniboine started off to search for the proper path, the woman
and boy to the river to wash some clothes, and we remained behind
with Mr. O’B. The “bull-dogs” were very numerous, and we built a large
fire, for the benefit of the horses, in the little open space we had
cleared. We then proceeded to make a smaller one for ourselves, and
were quietly seated round it cooking our pemmican, Mr. O’B. having
divested his feet of his boots, lying at his ease, and smoking his
pipe with great satisfaction. Suddenly a louder crackling and roaring
of the other fire attracted our attention, and, on looking round, we
saw, to our horror, that some of the trees surrounding the little
clearing we had made had caught fire. The horses, in their pushing and
struggling to supplant one another in the thickest of the smoke, had
kicked some of the blazing logs among the closely-set pines, which,
although green, burn more fiercely than the driest timber. The moment
was critical enough. Cheadle, seizing an axe, rushed to the place,
and felled tree after tree, to isolate those already fired from the
rest, whilst Milton ran to and fro, fetching water in a bucket from
a little pool, which was fortunately close at hand, and poured it on
the thick, dry moss through which the fire was rapidly spreading along
the surface of the ground. We were, by this time, nearly surrounded
by blazing trees, and the flames flared and leapt up from branch to
branch, and from tree to tree, in the most appalling manner, as they
greedily licked up, with a crackle and splutter, the congenial resin of
the trunks, or devoured with a flash and a fizz the inflammable leaves
of the flat, wide-spreading branches. The horses became frightened
and unmanageable, some of them burst through the thick timber around,
in spite of the flames, and one, severely burnt about the legs, threw
himself down, and rolled in his agony in the very hottest of the fire.
We dropped axe and bucket, hauled at him by the head and tail in vain,
and at last, in desperation, beat him savagely about the head, when he
sprang up, and bolted away. But the delay caused by this incident had
nearly been fatal. The fire had rapidly gained head, the air became
hot, and the smoke almost stifling, the flames raged fiercely, with
terrific roar, and for a moment we hesitated whether we should not
abandon all, and make for the river. But we took courage, snatched up
hatchet and pail once more, and as each tree fell, and patches of moss
were extinguished, we began to hope. While we were thus busily engaged
in our frantic exertions, it occurred to us that our friend Mr. O’B.
had hitherto given us no assistance, and, looking round, descried him
still seated where we had left him, feebly tugging at a boot which he
appeared to have great difficulty in pulling on. We shouted to him,
for God’s sake, to come and help us, or we should all be burnt to
death. He replied, in a doubtful, uncertain manner, that he was coming
directly, when he had got his boots on. Roused at length by our fierce
objurgations, and struck by the suggestion that he would burn as easily
with his boots off as when properly shod, he ran up, trembling and
bewildered, bringing a tardy and ineffectual assistance in the shape
of half-pints of water in his little tin mug! Gradually, however, we
succeeded in cutting off the fire, which still raged fiercely away
from us, recovered our horses, and found that even the one which had
caused us such anxiety was not seriously injured, although singed all
over, and much burnt about the legs.

The Assiniboine came back soon after, having found the road, and we
therefore re-packed the horses, rapidly retraced our steps to the point
where the trails diverged, and camped there for the night. Clouds of
smoke, visible during this and the following day behind us, showed
that the fire was still burning furiously. The next day we turned off
at right angles from the McLeod, passing through the usual routine of
muskeg and pine forest, and before night came were drenched through
and through by the rain of the most tremendous thunder-storm we ever
encountered, with the exception of the memorable one on Red River. At
our evening’s camping place we found an inscription on a tree, to the
effect that the three miners who had left the party in the Saskatchewan
to find out the sources of that river, discovering that they were
close to the Athabasca, had turned back to prospect the sources of
the McLeod. Heavy rain continued to fall without intermission the
following day, and we were obliged to remain under shelter of our
lodge. But the following morning broke clear and bright, and a good
trail of about half a mile brought us to the banks of the Athabasca,
flowing like the Saskatchewan, in a channel cut in the flat bottom of
the wide river-valley, the steep sides of which, 200 feet in height,
were thickly clothed with pine, spruce, and poplar, resembling those
of the McLeod. The river-valley of the Athabasca is, however, deeper
and wider, and its waters turbid, deep, and rapid. At this time it was
tremendously swollen--at the height of the summer flood--and formed a
striking contrast to the clear, shallow stream we had crossed before.
Full to the overflowing of the present banks, the stream, some 200
yards in breadth, rushed along, swelling in great waves over the huge
boulders in its bed, and bearing along large pine-trees of five or
six feet in diameter, which played about like straws in the powerful
current. This river is called by the Indians Mistahay Shakow Seepee,
or the “Great River of the Woods,” in distinction to the Saskatchewan,
the Mistahay Paskwow Seepee, or “Great River of the Plains.” We viewed
it in some dismay, for there seemed little hope of rafting across it in
safety in its present condition. We were relieved, however, by finding
that the track still followed the bank of the river, and from a little
bare and rounded knoll we had our first view of the Rocky Mountains.
The prospect was a glorious one, and most exhilarating to us, who had
lived so long in level country, and for the last three weeks had been
buried in dense forest, which shut out every prospect, and almost the
light of day.

Ranges of pine-clad hills, running nearly north and south, rise in
higher and higher succession towards the west, and in the further
distance we could see parallel to them a range of rugged, rocky peaks,
backed by the snow-clad summits of some giants which towered up
beyond. The snow which crowned the loftier peaks, and still lingered
in the hollows of the lower hills, glittered in the brilliant sunlight
through the soft blue haze which mellowed the scene, and brought
the far-distant mountains seemingly close before us. A cleft in the
ridge, cut clean as if with a knife, showed us what we supposed to be
the opening of the gorge through which we were to pass. The singular
rock on the left or eastern side of this gateway, somewhat like the
half of a sponge-cake cut vertically, we knew must be one of which we
had heard as La Roche à Myette, close to Jasper House. Following the
river-valley, we travelled through thick timber, marshes, and boggy
ground, pleasantly varied occasionally by beautiful park-like oases of
an acre or two in extent, and crossed several small streams, swollen
into muddy torrents.

In the evening we encamped on a tiny prairie, rich with vetches in full
bloom. The frost set in keenly, so that water left standing in the cups
overnight showed an incrustation of ice one-eighth of an inch thick in
the morning; and Mr. O’B., who persisted in wearing boots in preference
to moccasins, found them frozen so hard that we were compelled to delay
our start until they were thoroughly thawed. The next day, at noon, we
reached a very picturesque little lake, circular in shape, and shut in
on every side by lofty mountains, with rugged, precipitous sides. A
solitary loon, resting alone on the surface of the lake, sent forth its
melancholy wail, and added to the wildness of the place.

The flowers in the open glade were very gay; tiger lilies, roses,
the _Gallardia picta_, the blue borage, the white and purple vetch,
red orchis, and the marsh violet were the most conspicuous. After
leaving the lake, tracks diverged in various directions, and the one
we followed ended at the river’s edge. We, however, discovered an old,
grown-up track, which also came to an end very quickly, where was a
rough log structure, which appeared to have been used as a cache for
meat, for it was too small to have served as a dwelling. The river
here widened into a lake about a mile in length, and some half a mile
in breadth. We encamped for the night, hoping to recover the right
trail on the morrow. The mosquitoes and gad-flies were more tormenting
than ever, and the horses wandered restlessly about all night long.
Mr. O’B., who chose to make his bed in the open air, passed a wakeful
time, in expectation of being trampled to death by the horses, who
persisted in walking over him in spite of the thumpings they received
from a long pole which he invariably kept beside his bed for the
purpose, and before daylight he crept into the lodge for safety.
Milton, dreaming at the time, woke up with a shout, and Mr. O’B. cried
out in terror, “Oh, dear! oh, dear! this is perfectly horrible--what
has happened? _It’s only me--O’B.--don’t shoot, my lord!_” Every one
then woke up, and there was a general commotion; but finding the alarm
groundless, all returned to their blankets, except the unhappy cause of
the disturbance, who remained sitting out the hours of darkness, too
discomposed for sleep.

[Illustration: OVER THE MOUNTAIN, NEAR JASPER HOUSE.

(_See page 231._)
]

On the morrow we remained in camp, mending moccasins, and fruitlessly
fishing, whilst The Assiniboine searched for the right trail. He
returned in the evening, having found the path, still following the
river. The trail began to ascend the river bank, and we presently
encountered a thick smoke. A little further we found the path
completely obstructed by fallen trees, and obliterated by the effects
of a fire which was still smouldering. Although this was encouraging,
as evidence of the recent presence of man, we made very slow progress;
now chopping through the trees which barred the road, now descending to
seek the very brink of the river, now again ascending the steep hill
side, so as to avoid as much as possible the difficulties which beset
us. The Assiniboine brought us out about noon where the path showed
clearly on a little open plateau, covered with wild flowers, at the
base of the “Roche à Myette,” which rose perpendicularly above. Here we
unpacked the horses and stayed to rest.

In the afternoon we saw numerous fresh tracks of the bighorn, or
“mouton gris,” the wild sheep of the Rocky Mountains,[9] and The
Assiniboine and Cheadle scaled the steep sides of the mountains, which
now closely shut in the valley, in pursuit. The rest passed on along
a well-marked trail, which ascended abruptly, to avoid a precipitous
cliff overhanging the river at this point. Higher and higher still it
led them, along rocky ledges or up steep, green, slippery slopes, until
it reached the point where vegetation ceased, separated by a rocky
precipice from the height of perpetual snow. The horses frequently
stopped, and tried to turn back from their arduous task, and Mr.
O’B.’s steed, a powerful roan stallion, in high condition, coolly
lay down and refused to proceed. Mr. O’B. slipped off with great
celerity, remarking, “Poor fellow! my weight is too much for him.”
The horse took advantage of the opportunity and began to descend,
his owner remarking, indifferently, that it was no use attempting to
fetch him, as he was far too exhausted to proceed further. Milton and
the boy, however, speedily brought him back to the rest, and before
long the utmost height was reached. We were now fairly in the Rocky
Mountains, and even the woman and boy cried out, “Aiwakarken!” with
delight and admiration at the magnificent scenery around. On every
side a succession of peaks towered up, of strange fantastic shape. To
the west, the Priest’s Rock, a pyramid of ice, shone brightly above a
dark pine-clad hill; to the east, the remarkable Roche à Myette; in
front and behind, conical, pinnacled, and rugged mountains. Hundreds of
feet immediately beneath rushed the torrent of the Athabasca. Emerging
from the heart of the mountains through a narrow gorge into the wider
valley, the river expands into a lake three or four miles in length;
then again narrowing, flows in several channels round wooded islands,
to open out once more into a second lake, smaller than the first.
On the further bank of the river, between the two lakes, they had the
satisfaction of seeing, like a mere speck in the valley below, the
little wooden building we had been so anxiously expecting to reach,
for until it lay actually in view, it was very uncertain that we were
really following the road to Jasper House, and not some mere hunter’s
track into the mountains.

[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE HILL OPPOSITE JASPER HOUSE.--THE UPPER
LAKE OF THE ATHABASCA RIVER AND PRIEST’S ROCK.

(_See page 232._)
]

Descending into the valley again by a similar path, Milton and his
party camped in a little sandy plain opposite the Fort, to await the
arrival of Cheadle and The Assiniboine. Jasper House is a neat white
building, surrounded by a low palisade, standing in a perfect garden of
wild flowers, which form a rich sheet of varied and brilliant colours,
backed by dark green pines which clustered thickly round the bases
of the hills. Above, a zone of light green shrubs and herbage still
retained their vernal freshness, and contrasted with the more sombre
trees below, and the terraced rocks above with their snow-clad summits.
In the neighbourhood of Jasper House the flowers were very beautiful
and various. Here grew Cinerarias, in the greatest profusion, of every
shade of blue, an immense variety of Composite, and a flower like
the lychnis, with sepals of brilliant scarlet, roses, tiger lilies,
orchids, and vetches.

While Milton, with Mr. O’B., the woman, and boy, were taking the train
of horses over the mountain, Cheadle and his companion clambered up
the crags close to the Roche à Myette, following the tracks of the
_mouton gris_. Along narrow ledges of a precipice of limestone rock,
up to a giddy height, the hunters struggled on--breathless, and
their legs aching with the exertion of climbing such as they had long
been strangers to--without catching sight of a bighorn. When they
had ascended 700 or 800 feet, they espied a mountain goat--_mouton
blanc_--feeding quietly, along with a kid by its side, a few hundred
yards in advance. Making a long detour, and going higher yet, to get
above the animal, they crawled cautiously along to the point where
they had last seen the goat, and, peering over the edge of a rock,
saw its face looking upwards, about twenty yards below. The rest of
the body was hidden by a projecting stone, and Cheadle fired at the
forehead. The animal tumbled over, but got up again, bewildered, making
no attempt to escape. The Assiniboine now got a sight of the shoulder
and fired, when the animal scrambled away, with difficulty, a short
distance. They quickly followed and found it almost dead. Having no
more ball, The Assiniboine killed the kid with a charge of shot. On
going up to the game, it appeared that the first shot had merely struck
the frontal bone, close to the root of the horn, which it tore off
without further damage; but the shock had so stunned the beast, that
it was unable to move away. The hunters pushed the goat and kid over
the precipice, and scrambled down after it. Looking up at the precipice
from below, it seemed as if not even a goat could find footing, and
Cheadle wondered he had ever dared to venture there. They found also,
now the excitement of the chase was over, that their moccasins were
cut to shreds, and they had been walking nearly barefoot over the sharp
rocks, without noticing it at the time. The best portions of the meat
were cut off, the goat slung, together with the kid, on a pole, and
each shouldering an end, the two started after the rest of the party.
They had now to ascend the mountain-side, to which Mr. O’B.’s horse
had so objected--a very arduous task, with their heavy load. Many a
halt was made before they gained the summit. It was nearly dusk, and
far below, two or three miles away, they saw the light of the camp
fire. Being thoroughly done, and feeling almost unable to carry their
prize much further, they sat down and fired a number of signal shots
for the others to bring a horse for the meat. These were presently
answered, and the pair took up their load again to descend, hoping to
meet assistance before long. This was almost more harassing than the
climbing up, the grass and “Uva Ursi,” on the lower slopes, being very
slippery; but at last they reached the bottom, and coming to a stream,
The Assiniboine, thoroughly beaten, dropped the load, and plunged his
head in the water to refresh himself. Soon after, Milton and the boy
came up with a horse, to carry the meat, and that night we all enjoyed
the most delicious supper we had eaten since leaving Edmonton. Since
that time--three weeks before--we had not tasted any fresh meat,
with the exception of a few wood partridges, and the roast kid was an
immense treat, causing even Mr. O’B. to forget his troubles for a time.

CHAPTER XIII.

Making a Raft--Mr. O’B. at Hard Labour--He admires our “Youthful
Ardour”--News of Mr. Macaulay--A Visitor--Mr. O’B. Fords
a River--Wait for Mr. Macaulay--The Shushwaps of the Rocky
Mountains--Winter Famine at Jasper House--The Wolverine--
The Miners before us--Start again--Cross the Athabasca--The
Priest’s Rock--Site of the Old Fort, “Henry’s House”--The
Valley of the Myette--Fording Rapids--Mr. O’B. on Horseback
again--Swimming the Myette--Cross it for the Last Time--
The Height of Land--The Streams run Westward--Buffalo-dung
Lake--Strike the Fraser River--A Day’s Wading--Mr. O’B.’s
Hair-breadth Escapes--Moose Lake--Rockingham Falls--More
Travelling through Water--Mr. O’B. becomes disgusted with his
Horse--Change in Vegetation--Mahomet’s Bridge--Change in
the Rocks--Fork of the Fraser, or original Tête Jaune Cache--
Magnificent Scenery--Robson’s Peak--Flood and Forest--Horses
carried down the Fraser--The Pursuit--Intrepidity of the
Assiniboine--He rescues Bucephalus--Loss of Gisquakarn--Mr.
O’B.’s Reflections and Regrets--Sans Tea and Tobacco--The
Extent of our Losses--Mr. O’B. and Mrs. Assiniboine--Arrive at
the Cache.

We arrived opposite Jasper House on the 29th of June. The Fort was
evidently without inhabitants, but as the trail appeared to lead there
only, we purposed to cross the river at this point, and set to work to
cut timber for a raft. On the 30th we laboured hard with our two small
axes, felling the dry pine-trees, while Mr. O’B. devoted himself to
the study of Paley, over a pipe. It was late in the afternoon before
sufficient timber was cut down, and it had then to be carried several
hundred yards to the river’s edge. Mr. O’B. was required to assist in
this, but he had disappeared. We made diligent search for him, and at
last found him, squatted behind a bush, still enjoying his book and
pipe. We apologised for interrupting his studies, and informed him
that all hands were now required in order to get the wood down to the
river’s edge as quickly as possible, so as to be able to cross before
dark. Mr. O’B. assured us that he had been looking forward with eager
impatience for an opportunity of giving his assistance, but got up and
followed us with evident reluctance, and impressed upon us that his
weak and delicate frame was quite unfit for heavy work. A few of the
largest trunks were carried with difficulty by the united strength of
our whole party, and we were then detailed into parties of two, for
the transport of the rest. Milton paired off with O’B., Cheadle with
The Assiniboine, and the woman with the boy, for the lesser trees.
Mr. O’B. shouldered, with a sigh, the smaller end of the log, his
fellow-labourer the other, and they proceeded slowly towards the shore.
After the first few steps O’B. began to utter the most awful groans,
and cried out, continually, “Oh, dear! Oh, dear! this is most painful--
it’s cutting my shoulder in two--not so fast, my lord. Gently, gently.
Steady, my lord, steady; I _must_ stop. I’m carrying all the weight
myself. I shall drop with exhaustion directly--_triste lignum te
caducum_.” And then, with a loud “Oh!” and no further warning, he let
his end of the tree down with a run, jarring his unhappy partner most
dreadfully. A repetition of this scene occurred on each journey,
to the great amusement of every one but the unfortunate sufferer by
the schoolmaster’s vagaries. At last, hurt repeatedly by the sudden
dropping of the other end of the load, Milton dispensed with Mr. O’B.’s
assistance, and dragged the trunk alone. The Assiniboine coming up at
the moment, indignantly vituperated Mr. O’B., and, shouldering the log,
carried it off with ease. The sun was setting when this portion of our
task was over, and we decided to defer crossing until the morning. As
we were engaged in discussing Mr. O’B.’s delinquencies, and commenting
rather severely upon his pusillanimity, he overheard us, and came up,
with the imperturbable confidence which he always displayed in all
social relations, remarking it was all very well for Cheadle, who had
“shoulders like the Durham ox, to treat gigantic exertion of this
kind so lightly, but I assure you it would very soon kill a man of my
delicate constitution.” Cheadle remarked that Milton was of slighter
build than himself, and he did his share without complaint. “Ah! yes,”
replied Mr. O’B., “he is fired with emulation. I have been lost in
admiration of his youthful ardour all the day! but you see I am older,
and obliged to be cautious; look how I have suffered by my exertions
to-day!”--showing us a small scratch on his hand. We exhibited our
palms, raw with blisters, which caused him to turn the conversation by
dilating on his favourite topic--the hardships of the fearful journey
we were making.

Milton and the boy had volunteered to swim across with horses, in
order to carry ropes to the other side with which to guide the raft--
a somewhat hazardous adventure, as the river was broad, and the stream
tremendously rapid; but before our preparations were completed on the
following morning, a half-breed made his appearance in our camp--a
welcome sight after our solitary journey of three weeks. He informed us
that he was one of Mr. Macaulay’s party who were out hunting. The party
had divided at McLeod River, and were to meet at the Fort that day. He
advised us to cross the river some miles higher up, beyond the lake,
where the stream was more tranquil, and thereby avoid the River Maligne
on the other side, which it was very hazardous to attempt to ford at
this season.

We accordingly raised camp, and proceeded, under his guidance, along
the bank of the river for four or five miles. On the way we forded
several streams, or more probably mouths of one river, flowing into the
Athabasca from the south, very swollen and rapid. We crossed them on
horseback without much difficulty, by carefully following our guide;
but Mr. O’B., having taken a rooted dislike to equitation, since
his horse lay down with him when ascending the mountain, perversely
resolved to wade across. We pulled up on the further side and watched
him, as he followed, cautiously and fearfully, steadying himself by the
stout stick which he invariably carried. He went on with great success
until he gained the middle of the stream, when he suddenly plunged into
a hole, where the water was nearly up to his arm-pits. He cried out
wildly, “I’m drowning! Save me! save me!” then, losing his presence of
mind, applied, in his confusion, the saying of his favourite poet, “_In
medio tutissimus ibis_,” and struggled into deeper water still, instead
of turning back to the shallow part. He was in imminent danger of being
carried off, and Milton hastened to the rescue, and brought him out,
clinging to his stirrup. He was dreadfully frightened, but gradually
recovered composure when assured we had no more rivers to ford for the
present.

In a short time we reached a sandy plain, richly clothed with flowers,
and camped close to a clear shallow lake, communicating by a narrow
outlet with the upper Athabasca Lake. Here we decided to remain until
Mr. Macaulay arrived. On scanning the heights beyond the lake with a
glass, we saw a large flock of bighorns on the loftiest crags, and The
Assiniboine and his son went out to hunt, but returned unsuccessful,
having been so enveloped in the mountain mists that they found it
impossible to proceed.

During the day several more half-breeds arrived with their wives
and families, and in the evening two Shushwap Indians made their
appearance, and set to work to spear white-fish by torchlight. The few
they obtained they gladly sold us for a little ammunition and tobacco.
These were the first specimens of their tribe which we had seen. They
were lean and wiry men, of middle stature, and altogether of smaller
make than the Indians we had met before; their features were also
smaller, and more finely cut, while the expression of their faces was
softer and equally intelligent. They were clothed merely in a shirt and
marmot robe, their legs and feet being naked, and their long black
hair the only covering to their heads. These Shushwaps of the Rocky
Mountains inhabit the country in the neighbourhood of Jasper House, and
as far as Tête Jaune Cache on the western slope. They are a branch of
the great Shushwap nation, who dwell near the Shushwap Lake and grand
fork of the Thompson River in British Columbia. Separated from the main
body of their tribe by 300 or 400 miles of almost impenetrable forest,
they hold but little communication with them. Occasionally a Rocky
Mountain Shushwap makes the long and difficult journey to Kamloops
on the Thompson, to seek a wife. Of those we met, only one had ever
seen this place. This was an old woman of Tête Jaune Cache, a native
of Kamloops, who had married a Shushwap of the mountains, and she had
never re-visited the home of her youth.

When first discovered by the pioneers of the Hudson’s Bay Company, the
only clothing used by this singular people was a small robe of the
skin of the mountain marmot. They wandered barefoot amongst the sharp
rocks, and amidst the snow and bitter cold of the fierce northern
winter. When camping for the night they are in the habit of choosing
the most open spot, instead of seeking the protection of the woods. In
the middle of this they make only a small fire, and lie in the snow,
with their feet towards it, like the spokes of a wheel, each individual
alone, wrapped in a marmot robe, the wife apart from her husband, the
child from its mother. They live by hunting the bighorns, mountain
goats, and marmots; and numbers who go out every year never return.
Like the chamois hunters of the Alps, some are found dashed to pieces
at the foot of the almost inaccessible heights to which they follow
their game; of others no trace is found. The Shushwaps of Jasper House
formerly numbered about thirty families, but are now reduced to as many
individuals. Removed by immense distances from all other Indians, they
are peaceable and honest, ignorant of wickedness and war. Whether they
have any religion or not, we could not ascertain; but they enclose the
graves of their dead with scrupulous care, by light palings of wood,
cut with considerable neatness, with their only tools--a small axe
and knife. They possess neither horses nor dogs, carrying all their
property on their backs when moving from place to place; and when
remaining in one spot for any length of time, they erect rude slants of
bark or matting for shelter, for they have neither tents nor houses. As
game decreases the race will, doubtless, gradually die out still more
rapidly, and they are already fast disappearing from this cause, and
the accidents of the chase.

The half-breeds who had arrived at our camp were all short of
provisions, and eagerly offered moose-skins and various articles in
exchange for small quantities of pemmican and flour. We were very
anxious to husband our supplies, but could not see them want, or
refrain from asking them to share our meals.

On the 3rd of July Mr. Macaulay arrived, and set up his tent close
to our lodge. His hunt had not been a very successful one, and as he
had only a few days’ supply of bighorn mutton, would be compelled to
set out again almost immediately. He was therefore quite unable to
replenish our stock, but invited us to sup on some delicious trout
which he had caught in one of the mountain lakes the day before. He
informed us that a winter rarely passed now without a great scarcity
of provisions at Jasper House, and their being driven to horse-flesh
as a last resource. From him we also heard another anecdote of our
old enemy, the wolverine. When returning to the Fort from a hunting
expedition at the beginning of the previous winter, Mr. Macaulay was
surprised to find that all the windows of the building, which are of
parchment, were gone. He fancied that some one had broken in to rob the
place. On entering he searched about, yet found nothing; but hearing
a noise in the room overhead, he went up, and there discovered a
wolverine, which was chased and killed. He had lived on the parchment
windows in default of more usual food, and had been so satisfied with
his diet, that his natural curiosity had slept, and strangely enough,
he had not investigated the packages of goods which lay about.

We learnt from Mr. Macaulay that the three miners, of whom we had
heard at Edmonton as having gone to prospect the sources of the North
Saskatchewan, and whose notice we had seen on the tree when we first
struck the Athabasca, had already passed on their way across the
mountains to Cariboo. At Mr. Macaulay’s suggestion, we engaged an old
Iroquois half-breed to accompany us as far as Tête Jaune Cache. As
we had no money, he was to receive one of our pack-horses in payment.
We tried to persuade him to go forward to the end; but he did not
know anything of the country beyond The Cache, and would not venture
further.[10]

At this point Mr. O’B.’s provisions came to an end. His 40lbs. of
pemmican, which he was very positive would last him until the end of
the journey, had rapidly disappeared before his vigorous appetite. Mr.
Macaulay kindly furnished him with a little tea and tobacco, and we
supplied the necessary pemmican, with many exhortations to him to use
it carefully, for a prospect of starvation was discernible even now.

On the 4th of July, we started again, under the guidance of the
Iroquois, and were accompanied by Mr. Macaulay and two of his men to
the point where we were to cross the Athabasca. The path lay through
water, often up to the horses’ girths, or along the steep sides of
the narrowing valley, and it was already dusk when we reached our
destination. We camped for the night by the river’s edge, at a place
where was plenty of dry timber, some of which had been already cut down
for a raft by the Canadian emigrants. On one of the trees the names of
those of whom we had heard from Mr. Macaulay as being just before us,
were inscribed, and a statement that they crossed on the 16th June,
or nearly three weeks before.

[Illustration: CROSSING THE ATHABASCA RIVER, IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

(_See page 245._)
]

In the morning all set to work, cutting and carrying timber, Mr.
Macaulay working with the rest; but Mr. O’B., as before, could not
be found. As the last log was carried down to the water, he suddenly
came up with--“Oh! dear, _can_ I be of any use, my lord?--can I help
you, Doctor?” We expressed our sorrow that he was too late, but The
Assiniboine was very angry, and vowed he should not come on board the
raft. It required the exercise of all our authority to overrule his
determination, and we saw in this occurrence signs pregnant of future
trouble. By noon the raft was ready, and we drove our horses into the
stream. When we had seen them safely across, we rewarded our half-breed
friends by dividing the last remains of our rum amongst them--a treat
they appreciated above everything--and bidding a hearty good-bye to
Mr. Macaulay and the rest, pushed off on our adventure. The stream
at this place was deep, wide, and tranquil, and we crossed without
difficulty or mishap. Before we were fairly over we found that we had
left one of our two remaining axes behind; but we did not turn back to
regain it, since it was no light matter to navigate so large a raft.
Had we known how sorely we should need this axe afterwards, we should
not have spared any trouble to obtain it.

We landed on a sparsely timbered flat, where the trees had all been
destroyed by fire, packed the horses, and travelled a few miles before
sundown. By noon on the following day, still following the Athabasca,
we reached a beautiful little prairie, surrounded by pine hills green
almost to their summits, and overtopped by lofty snow-clad peaks. One
of these, which has received the name of the Priest’s Rock, was of
curious shape, its apex resembling the top of a pyramid, and covered
with snow. The prairie was richly carpeted with flowers, and a rugged
excrescence upon it marked the site of the old Rocky Mountain Fort,
Henry’s House.

The track, leaving the valley of the Athabasca at this point, turned
towards the north-west, and entered a narrow rocky ravine, the valley
of the river Myette. The stream was not more than thirty yards in
width, but deep and rapid, and its bed beset with great rocks and
boulders. The path was obstructed by large stones and fallen timber,
lying so thickly that our two men were kept hard at work all the
afternoon, and the horses progressed only by a succession of jumps. We
made but a short distance with great labour, and camped for the night
on the banks of the stream.

For the whole of the next morning the road presented the same
difficulties, and our advance was as slow as on the preceding day. At
mid-day we reached the place where we were to cross the river, and
pulled up to make a raft. After crossing by this means, we toiled on
through a ravine so narrow, and where the mountains came down so close
to the water’s edge, that, in order to pass them, we were compelled
to traverse the stream no less than six times more before evening.
In each of these cases we crossed on horseback, the river now being
a succession of rapids, not more than four or five feet deep. These
passages of the river were difficult, and many of them dangerous, for
the water was very high, and the current extremely powerful.

At the last fording-place, the waters rushed down a swift descent in
a foaming cataract, raging and boiling so fiercely round great rocks
which studded the channel, that we hesitated before we ventured to urge
our horses forward. But the Iroquois led the way, and crossed safely,
although his horse staggered about and hardly held his own. We then
drove the pack-horses before us, and plunged in. The water streamed
over our horses’ shoulders, as they struggled against the current, and
slipped amongst the smooth boulders, tumbling about and regaining their
footing in the most wonderful manner. Mr. O’B. was compelled to mount
his steed again for this occasion, and, judging from the despairing
expression of his countenance, he did so with little hope of reaching
the other side in safety. He was exhorted carefully to follow the line
taken by the guide, and Milton and the woman rode on either side of
him. Clutching the mane with both hands, he did not attempt to guide
his horse, but employed all his powers in sticking to the saddle, and
exhorting his companions, “Steady, my lord, please, or I shall be
swept off. Do speak to Mrs. Assiniboine, my lord; she’s leading us
to destruction; what a reckless woman! ‘_varium et mutabile semper
femina!_’ Mrs. Assiniboine!--_Mrs. Assiniboine!_ oh, dear! oh, dear!
what an awful journey! I’m going! I’m going! Narrow escape that, my
lord! very narrow escape, indeed, Doctor. We can’t expect to be so
lucky every time, you know.” And the moment he gained the shore, he
scrambled off and left his horse to its own devices.

Many of the pack-horses were carried off far down the stream, and we
fully expected some of them would be lost, but they eventually all
struggled ashore. The only damage we suffered was the wetting of the
flour and pemmican, but by immediate care the injury was in great
measure repaired.

The next day we followed the south bank of the Myette, the narrow
strip of bank between the mountain sides of the valley and the river
being very boggy, and much of it under water. A few hours of this
disagreeable travelling brought us to the last crossing of this
aggravating river, where we expected to have to construct a raft. On
reaching the place, however, we observed a small “cajot,” or raft,
moored by willows to the opposite bank, left there doubtless by the
three Americans who had passed a few weeks before.

The boy volunteered to swim his horse over and fetch it across, and,
stripping to his shirt, mounted, and rode into the water. The horse
soon swam to the other side, but the bank was steep, and he reared
and fell back in attempting to scramble up. The boy slipped off,
but regained his seat, and, becoming frightened, turned the horse’s
head and swam back again to us, without accomplishing anything. The
Assiniboine now resolved himself to try and bring the raft over, and
by his direction we drove all the horses across, with the exception of
one. They all succeeded in climbing up the bank at various points, and
then The Assiniboine, having tied the end of a long rope to the tail of
the remaining horse, stripped and drove him in, holding on to the mane
with his only hand. They crossed and landed with little difficulty,
but the rope had become unfastened, and we were yet in a quandary how
to bring the raft across at once, for the river was too deep for any
pole, and too wide for the rope to be thrown across. In this dilemma
we fastened one end of the rope round the body of the dog Papillon,
which The Assiniboine had brought with him, and when called by his
master he swam across with it. We then ferried all the baggage over in
a few voyages, and bade final adieu to the unkindly Myette with immense
satisfaction. We pursued our way along the base of the pine-clad hills,
now beginning to diverge more widely, and through scenery which bore a
strong likeness to the beautiful vale of Todmorden, in Yorkshire. One
of the snowy peaks closely resembled the pyramidal Priest’s Rock, and
white-topped mountains rose up more thickly around us.

Extensive fires had swept over this portion of country years before,
and great trees lay fallen across the path, tangled and interlaced on
every side. We had great difficulty in driving the horses along, for
they continually forked out of the track, to escape the barriers across
it, and hid themselves in the thick wood. We met with many severe
falls, in jumping our horses over the fallen trees, which were often
so close together that there was barely standing room between for the
horse, from which to take a second spring over the succeeding trunk.
We camped that night on the banks of a small stream, a source of the
Myette, which our Iroquois told us was named Pipestone River. The place
was very pretty, a tiny plain, covered with flowers, and surrounded by
the Rocky Mountains in all their grandeur.

The path proved easier the next day, the 9th of July, the fifth day
after leaving Jasper House, and in the course of our morning’s journey
we were surprised by coming upon a stream flowing to the westward. We
had unconsciously passed the height of land and gained the watershed of
the Pacific. The ascent had been so gradual and imperceptible, that,
until we had the evidence of the water-flow, we had no suspicion that
we were even near the dividing ridge.

The next afternoon found us encamped at Buffalo-dung Lake, which the
Iroquois assured us was well stocked with trout; and several Shushwap
slants of bark, and frames for drying fish, bore out his assertion.
The lake consists of two portions, connected by a short, narrow
channel. The mountains appeared to rise immediately out of the water
on the further or southern shore of the lake, whilst close behind
us on the northern side, commenced verdant and swelling hills, the
bases of loftier heights, which rose up further back in many a naked,
ragged rock or ice-crowned peak. Two of these on opposite sides of the
lake were particularly fine, one to the north-west, the other to the
south-west; and the Iroquois assured us that they should be known from
that time forth as “Le Montagne de Milord” and “Montagne de Docteur.”
We, however, took the liberty of naming them Mount Fitzwilliam and
Mount Bingley. The lake was drained by a small stream issuing from the
western extremity, and ultimately falling into the Fraser.

On the 10th we struck the Fraser River, sweeping round from the
south-west through a narrow gorge, to expand some miles lower down
into Moose Lake. Our route now lay along the north bank of the Fraser,
and the travelling was exceedingly difficult and harassing. The river
had overflowed its banks up to the almost perpendicular sides of the
straitened valley in which it is confined. The track was completely
under water up to the horses’ girths, and we spent the greater part of
the day in wading and the rest in toiling through swamps beset with
fallen timber. It was impossible to stop, for there was neither dry
place in which to camp nor pasture for the horses, and we therefore
travelled on until dark, very thankful to find a place of rest at last.
All agreed that it was the hardest day we had yet gone through, and Mr.
O’B. had two of his hair-breadth escapes, which formed a text for him
to discourse about the perils and sufferings which he encountered “on
this most extraordinary journey.” Since his successful crossing of the
Myette, he had been somewhat more reconciled to horseback, and on this
day mounted his steed rather than wade on foot.

Soon after we set out, he dropped behind the rest of the cavalcade, and
before long, Cheadle, who was driving some of the hindmost horses, was
arrested by a most tremendous bawling for help from the rear. He ran
back in haste, and found Mr. O’B., in rather muddy condition, and with
very disconsolate air, leading his horse by the bridle. It appeared
the horse had shied and pitched him off amongst the logs and _débris_
around, and he imagined himself severely hurt. But no important injury
could be found, and, by dint of great persuasion, and some assistance,
Cheadle induced him to re-mount, and exhorted him to keep close up to
the rest. But he was too much afraid of his horse to urge him on by
any but the most gentle, verbal persuasion, and tender pattings on the
neck. He was soon left behind again, and the ears of the party saluted
by another succession of piteous cries from the rear. Cheadle again
went back to his assistance, in very unamiable mood, but was unable
to resist a burst of laughter when he came upon the unfortunate Mr.
O’B. He was driving his horse before him, with the saddle under its
belly, and the bridle trailing on the ground. He was covered with mud,
his long visage scratched and bleeding, and his clerical coat, split
asunder to the neck, streamed from his shoulders in separate halves.
“Very nearly killed, Doctor, this time. I thought it was all over.
‘_Semel est calcanda via lethi_,’ you know. My horse fell and rolled
on to me, tearing my coat, as you see. I’ve had a most providential
escape.” He could not be persuaded to mount again, and had a wearisome
time with his horse, which, if he offered to lead it, hung back and
refused to budge, and when he drove it before him, persisted in going
the wrong way.

But if this 10th of July was a hard and harassing day, the 11th was
still worse. In the first place, we were delayed a long time in
starting, for Bucephalus was not to be found. He was, at length,
discovered by The Assiniboine on the other side the Fraser, and the man
was obliged to strip and swim the ice-cold river to fetch him back.
Soon after we started, we came to Moose River, which was somewhat
difficult to ford, for the water was high and rapid, pouring over the
horses’ shoulders in the deepest part. Mr. O’B. lost nerve and steered
badly, his horse lost its footing, and nearly took a voyage into the
Fraser; the rider, however, gripped mane and saddle firmly, and both
got ashore together, adding another “hair’s-breadth escape” to Mr.
O’B.’s list.

We reached Moose Lake before noon, and travelled along it until dark
without finding any resting-place. The lake was high, and the sides
of its basin mountains, up to the base of which the waters spread. It
was again a day of marching through water, and the horses perversely
wandered off into the deeps, and floated about, soaking flour and
pemmican. Accumulations of driftwood barred the passage along the shore
in many places, and we were compelled to scale the mountain-sides.
Horse after horse rolled back in the attempt, and we had to cut off
their packs in the water, and carry up the loads on our backs, to
enable the animals to scramble up the steep ascent. We worked hard in
the hope of reaching the end of the lake before dark, but the sun went
down when we were still several miles distant, and we were compelled
to spend the night in a bare sand-pit, where there was not a blade of
grass for our hungry and tired animals, who ranged restlessly to and
fro until the morning.

Moose Lake is a fine sheet of water, about fifteen miles in length, and
not more than three miles in breadth at the widest point. The scenery
was very wild and grand, and forcibly reminded us of Wast Water. On
the south side, the hills rose perpendicularly out of the water for
perhaps 2,000 feet, beyond which was the usual background of rocky and
hoary peaks. Over the edge of this mighty precipice a row of silver
streams poured with unbroken fall, the smaller ones dissipated in mist
and spray ere they reached the lake below. This beautiful series of
cascades we named the Rockingham Falls.

Continuing to follow the Fraser on the morrow, we reached an open
space a few miles beyond the end of the lake, and stayed there the
remainder of the day. The place was rich in grass and vetches, and
our horses ate greedily after their long fast, whilst we overhauled
our provisions. The flour and pemmican had been greatly injured by
the repeated wettings of the last few days, but the greater part of
it we rendered available by careful drying in the sun. Our desiccated
vegetables were, however, past redemption, but we made the best of the
misfortune by living almost entirely upon them for the next few days.
Mr. O’B. was missing for some time after we arrived, and we learnt from
The Assiniboine that he had heard frequent calls for help coming from
“Le Vieux,” as he called him, who had, as usual, fallen behind, but
he had utterly disregarded them. In course of time, Mr. O’B. appeared
in his shirt sleeves, carrying his coat, blanket, and saddle, and most
thoroughly disgusted with his horse, which had driven him to the verge
of distraction by its vagaries, and the misfortunes into which it led
him. He told us he had come to the conclusion that he should be much
happier on foot, and wished to lend him to us to use as a pack animal
for the rest of the journey.

The descent on the western slope was very rapid and continual, although
nowhere steep, and a change in the vegetation marked the Pacific side.
The cedar, the silver pine, and several other varieties now first
appeared, and became more and more frequent. A species of aralea,
a tall prickly trailer, many kinds of rosaceæ, and new deciduous
shrubs, showed strangely to our eyes. The timber was altogether of a
larger growth, and the huge trunks which barred the path rendered our
progress very laborious. The pack horses wearied us by breaking away
into the forest, rather than leap over the obstructions in the way,
and from morning till night we were incessantly running after them
to drive them back. Then they rushed about in every direction but
the right one, crashing and tumbling amongst the timber, and often
involving themselves in most serious embarrassment, jamming their packs
between adjacent trees, trying to pass under an inclining trunk too
low to admit the saddle, or jumping into collections of timber where
their legs became helplessly entangled. On the afternoon of the 13th
we came to a place where the trail passed along the face of a lofty
cliff of crumbling slate. The path was only a few inches in width,
barely affording footing for the horses, and midway a great rock had
slipped down from above, resting on the narrow ledge by which we had
to pass. This completely barred the way, and the perpendicular cliffs
rendered it impossible for us to evade it by taking any other route.
We therefore cut down a number of young pine trees, and using them as
levers, set to work to dislodge the obstacle. After an hour’s toil, we
succeeded in loosening it from its position, and with a single bound
it rolled down with sullen plunge into the deep river, far below. We
then led the horses past, one by one, with the greatest caution. The
path was so narrow and dangerous, that we gave it the name of Mahomet’s
Bridge.

The scenery at this point was very fine; the mountains shutting in
the valley very closely on either side, and the river below tearing
and roaring along over its rocky bed with great velocity. The cliff
just mentioned was the first slate-rock we met with, joined with the
carboniferous limestone, which indicated the approach to the auriferous
region. Slate is the “bed-rock” with which gold is invariably found
associated in the Cariboo mines, and therefore this first appearance of
it, in passing from east to west, is of considerable interest. Bearing
upon this is the curious fact, that east of the Rocky Mountains gold in
any quantity has only been found, we believe, in those streams which
rise on the _western_ side of the main ridge, as in the Peace River,
which rises far to the west, or those which come from the very heart of
the range, as the North Saskatchewan.

A few hours’ travelling in the morning of the 14th brought us to the
Grand Fork of the Fraser, where an important branch from the north
or north-east flows by five separate mouths into the main body of
the Fraser, which we had been following thus far. Here we pulled up,
in order to search carefully for safe fords by which to cross these
numerous swollen streams. This Grand Fork of the Fraser is the original
Tête Jaune Cache, so called from being the spot chosen by an Iroquois
trapper, known by the _sobriquet_ of the Tête Jaune, or “Yellow Head,”
to hide the furs he obtained on the western side. The situation is
grand and striking beyond description. At the bottom of a narrow
rocky gorge, whose sides were clothed with dark pines, or, higher
still, with light green shrubs, the boiling, impetuous Fraser dashed
along. On every side the snowy heads of mighty hills crowded round,
whilst, immediately behind us, a giant among giants, and immeasurably
supreme, rose Robson’s Peak. This magnificent mountain is of conical
form, glacier-clothed, and rugged. When we first caught sight of it,
a shroud of mist partially enveloped the summit, but this presently
rolled away, and we saw its upper portion dimmed by a necklace of light
feathery clouds, beyond which its pointed apex of ice, glittering in
the morning sun, shot up far into the blue heaven above, to a height of
probably 10,000 or 15,000 feet. It was a glorious sight, and one which
the Shushwaps of The Cache assured us had rarely been seen by human
eyes, the summit being generally hidden by clouds. After leaving the
old Cache, we entered upon fresh difficulties--deep streams to cross,
timber to jump every ten yards, and the whole valley flooded. The horse
which carried our flour took to swimming about in deep water, and one
packed with pemmican wandered into the Fraser, and was borne down the
stream for some distance. However, he managed to find foothold at last
under the bank, and we were able to haul him out with ropes.

The next day, the 15th of July, still found us struggling through
floods, logs, and _débris_, and was signalised by the occurrence of
an irremediable misfortune. In order to prevent the possible loss or
damage of provisions by the horses disporting themselves in deep water,
we led those which carried flour and pemmican. Two of the others,
however, who were running loose--a horse most aptly named Gisquakarn,
or “The Fool,” and Bucephalus--strayed over the true river-bank into
the stream, and were swept off in a moment. They soon disappeared from
our view, and the Iroquois and boy went in pursuit, whilst we followed
with the rest of the horses. About a mile down stream we caught sight
of the animals, standing in a shallow in the middle of the stream,
and as we came just at this time to one of the rare natural gardens
of the mountains, brilliant with flowers and rich in strawberries, we
camped in the open ground. We were in full view of the two animals in
the river, and hoped they would be tempted to join their companions on
shore. Bucephalus began to neigh, and eventually commenced swimming
towards us; but Gisquakarn, “The Fool,” instead of following in
the right direction, steered down mid-stream, and Bucephalus, after
a moment’s hesitation, turned away and followed him into the fiercest
strength of the irresistible flood. Away both went, far outstripping
our utmost speed in pursuit, their packs only being visible in the
distance, bobbing about like corks in the rolling waters.

[Illustration: THE ASSINIBOINE RESCUES BUCEPHALUS.]

The Assiniboine led the chase, and soon left all the rest of us far
behind, for he had a wonderful facility in getting over obstructions,
and the way in which he vanished amidst the closely-set trunks, and
past the barriers of fallen timber, was marvellous. He did not rush
and tear along, but glided out of sight, apparently unhindered by
the obstacles which opposed our progress. We struggled on far in the
rear, and occasionally caught a glimpse of the horses like specks in
the distance, still borne down the middle of the torrent. About two
miles below, another shallow gave them resting ground for a moment,
and enabled The Assiniboine to come up. The current was so strong,
however, that they were soon swept off again; but Bucephalus, observing
The Assiniboine, attempted to reach the shore. The place was a fearful
rapid, where the water poured madly in rolling billows over immense
boulders. As the horse neared the land for an instant in passing, The
Assiniboine leaped in, threw his arms round the animal’s neck, who
neighed gratefully when he saw his deliverer come to the rescue, and
the two, mutually supporting each other, eventually gained the shore.
The escape of The Assiniboine seemed marvellous, and we did not fail
amply to reward him for the intrepidity he had displayed. Few men would
have dared to plunge into such a boiling torrent, and as we looked at
the huge rolling waves after it was over, we could hardly believe it
possible that the thing had in reality occurred.

Having unpacked Bucephalus, and spread all the soaked baggage out to
dry in the sun, we started forward again to learn the fate of the other
horse Gisquakarn, who had obstinately pursued the middle course--
in this case certainly not the safest. After another mile’s run, we
descried him under the opposite bank, where it was too abrupt to climb,
his head buried in the bushes which fringed the shore, and hardly able
to stand against the rush of water. It seemed madness to attempt to
cross the stream on a raft in its present swollen state, and we were
reluctantly compelled to abandon him to his fate for the present. The
Iroquois started immediately for Tête Jaune Cache, which he calculated
could not be more than seven or eight miles distant, in order to obtain
the assistance of the Shushwaps there, who possessed canoes in which
the river might be crossed. The rest of us returned to camp with our
injured property, and employed ourselves in investigating the extent
of our losses. Early the next morning the Iroquois returned with two
young Shushwaps, who crossed the river, and proceeded to the place
where the horse had been last seen. From the marks on the bank it was
evident that the animal had made frantic but futile endeavours to climb
the bank, but had at last rolled back and been carried off, nor did we
ever find any further traces of him.

This misfortune was no light one. We had now neither tea, salt, nor
tobacco, for our whole store of these luxuries had been carried by
the horse which was lost. All our clothes, matches, and ammunition
were gone, except what we carried on our persons at the time. All our
papers, letters of credit, and valuables, Milton’s buffalo robe and
blanket, Cheadle’s collection of plants, the instruments and watches,
had set out on their voyage towards the sea. But there was much reason
for congratulation as well as lamentation. No actual necessaries of
life had gone; we had still the pemmican and flour. The journals,
too, without which the present valuable history could never have been
published, were saved with Bucephalus.

Mr. O’B. lost his letters of introduction, his tin kettle, and a pair
of spectacles; but his Paley, carefully carried in his breast-pocket,
still remained to him. The loss of the spectacles, however, obliged him
to pursue his studies under great disadvantages, for he was now reduced
to reading with one eye only, for the only pair he had left boasted
of but a single glass. As we sat over the camp fire at night, talking
about our losses, drinking the last of our tea, and smoking some of the
last pipes we were destined to enjoy for many weeks, Mr. O’B. improved
the occasion with a certain characteristic philosophy. He directed
our attention to the consideration of how much worse the misfortune
would have been if he, or one of us, had been riding the animal
which was lost. Then the loss of his kettle was, after all, of little
consequence, for the tea to use in it was gone too. “No,” said he,
“what grieves me is the loss of your tobacco; it’s a very serious thing
to me, as well as you; for, do you know, my own was just finished,
and I was on the very point of asking you to lend me some till we get
through.” Milton being the only man who had any tobacco left, some four
small plugs, smilingly took the hint, and shared it with the rest of
the party.

On the following day we moved on towards The Cache with the Iroquois
and Shushwaps, whilst The Assiniboine and his son searched the river
closely for traces of the lost horse or baggage. As we were following
along the track with the train of horses, in single file, Cheadle,
who was driving some of the rearmost pack-horses, heard loud cries
behind--“Doctor, Doctor! Stop, stop!” and was presently overtaken by
Mr. O’B., who came up out of breath, gasping out, “Doctor, Doctor! You
had better go back directly, something’s happened; don’t you hear some
one shouting for assistance? I expect it is Mrs. Assiniboine with one
of the horses fast in a bog.” Anathematising Mr. O’B. for not having
himself gone back to help her, and receiving in reply a tribute to the
greater value of his own aid, Cheadle ran hastily back a few hundred
yards, and there came upon the woman, endeavouring perseveringly, but
vainly, to extricate a horse, which was almost buried in a morass, by
first beating him vigorously, and then hauling at his tail. By cutting
off the packs, and one hauling at the head and the other the tail,
the horse was at last got out, and then Mrs. Assiniboine relieved her
feelings by a torrent of violent language in the Cree tongue, eminently
abusive of Mr. O’B., who she declared was close behind her when the
accident happened, but instead of coming to her, took to his heels
and bolted, afraid lest he should be left behind with only a female
protector! She was very indignant, and declared she would never lift
a finger to help him in anything for the future; and from that time
neither the man, his wife, or son could ever be induced to oblige “Le
Vieux” in the smallest matter, and were quite unable to understand the
considerations of humanity which prevented us once from abandoning Mr.
O’B. to his fate--far the wisest course, they assured us, to take
with so timid and useless a member of the party.

In the evening we arrived at The Cache, and saw the bark slants of
the Shushwaps on the opposite side of the river; but waited till next
morning before attempting to cross.

CHAPTER XIV.

Tête Jaune Cache--Nature of the Country--Wonderful View--West of
the Rocky Mountains--Rocky Mountains still--The “Poire,” or
Service Berry--The Shushwaps of The Cache--The Three Miners--
Gain but little Information about the Road--The Iroquois
returns to Jasper House--Loss of Mr. O’B.’s Horse--Leave The
Cache--The Watersheds--Canoe River--Perilous Adventure with
a Raft--Milton and the Woman--Extraordinary Behaviour of Mr.
O’B.--The Rescue--The Watershed of the Thompson--Changes by
Beaver--Mount Milton--Enormous Timber--Cross the River--
Fork of the North Thompson--A Dilemma--No Road to be Found--
Cross the North-west Branch--Mr. O’B.’s presentiment of Evil--
Lose the Trail again--Which Way shall we Turn? Resolve to try
and reach Kamloops--A Natural Bridge--We become Beasts of
Burden--Mr. O’B. objects, but is overruled by the Assiniboine--
“A hard Road to Travel”--Miseries of driving Pack-horses--An
Unwelcome Discovery--The Trail Ends--Lost in the Forest--Our
Disheartening Condition--Council of War--Explorations of The
Assiniboine, and his Report--A Feast on Bear’s Meat--How we had
a Smoke, and were encouraged by The Assiniboine.

We reached Tête Jaune Cache on the 17th of July, and on the morning
of the 18th were ferried across the Fraser by the Indians. The water
rolled over the bed of boulders at a great pace, swelling into large
waves, on which the light dug-out of the Shushwaps tossed like a
nutshell. Mr. O’B., at our suggestion, lay on his back at full length
at the bottom of the canoe, for we were really afraid he might upset
such a very frail craft. When we reached the middle of the stream, we
saw his head suddenly rise up, and his hands making frantic endeavours
to loosen his cravat and shirt collar. When we cross-examined him after
he had safely landed, it appeared that he suffered great anxiety when
rocking about on the waves, expecting to be swamped, and had a misty
idea that he could swim ashore with greater ease without a necktie.

A few miles below Tête Jaune Cache the Fraser, after running almost due
west from Moose Lake, receives a tributary from the south-east, then
suddenly turns almost due north; and, according to Indian report, is
joined a little lower down by an important branch from the north-east.
The Cache is situated in a valley of triangular form, with the apex to
the south, and enclosed by lofty mountains. The valley is some fifteen
miles in length, and not more than five in width at the broadest part.
Across the base runs the Fraser, from east to west, turning north,
when it meets the range of hills which forms the western side. The
commencement of a bold range of mountains, running nearly north and
south, and dividing the watershed of the Columbia from that of the
Thompson, closes up the point of the valley. The main chain of the
Rocky Mountains forms the eastern boundary. Part of the valley of The
Cache appears to be rich; but immediately to the south is a stretch
of sandy, undulating country, partially covered by small spruce, and
terminated by the range of hills mentioned as dividing the watersheds.
Then commence the dense forests of the North Thompson.

The view from The Cache looking westward is, we imagine, one of the
most wonderful in the world. Away as far as the eye can reach, north,
south, and west, are mountains packed behind mountains, separated
only by the narrowest valleys, most of them snow-clad, and apparently
stretching away to the Pacific.

Although we had crossed the main chain of the Rocky Mountains, and were
now in British Columbia, we were surprised to find we were still really
in the midst of Rocky Mountains. For, in truth, the mountains which
rise like a wall from the prairies of the eastern side extend to the
western ocean. The exact reverse of this view may be seen from the Bald
Mountain in Cariboo, and we were assured by Mr. Fraser, of Victoria,
who had visited both the Andes and Himalayas, that nothing there could
compare with these hundreds of miles of mountains in British Columbia.

As there was very good pasturage for the horses, we resolved to rest
a day here, in order to thoroughly overhaul our provisions, after
their recent wettings, and obtain what information we could from the
Shushwaps concerning our future course. The Indians brought in a
plentiful supply of the poire, wild pear, or service berry, which we
purchased for some needles and thread. This fruit grows on a shrub, two
or three feet in height, with leaves resembling that of a pear-tree,
but smaller, and it is said by the Hudson’s Bay people that wherever it
flourishes wheat will also grow to perfection. The berry is about the
size of a black currant, pear-shaped, and of delicious sweetness and
flavour. They are much used by the Indians on both sides the mountains,
who dry them for winter use. From these Indians also Milton, who had
lost his buffalo robe by the recent misfortune, obtained a couple of
marmot robes wherewith to cover himself at night, some large cubes of
iron pyrites used instead of flints, and two curious stone pipes, which
they willingly parted with, being as destitute of tobacco as ourselves.
From them we learnt that there were but two families of them at this
place, and the two old men of the society had three days before started
in their canoes down the Fraser, to convey the miners, mentioned as
having crossed the mountains just before us, to Fort George. These
men had arrived in very destitute condition nine days before, without
any clothing but their shirts, and having lived for a long time on
partridges and squirrels. The Shushwaps could give us no information
about the party of emigrants who had sought the Thompson valley the
summer before. Whether they intended to strike direct for Cariboo or
follow the river down to Kamloops, we could not ascertain. They told
us that it was but six days’ journey on foot to the gold country--
probably meaning Cariboo--or not more than eighty or a hundred miles,
but that the country was very difficult. An old squaw, a native of
Kamloops, who had left there as a girl to become the wife of a Rocky
Mountain Shushwap, assured us that we could reach that fort in eight
days, and traced a rude map of the route for us. The correctness and
value of her information will be appreciated from the sequel.

On the 19th we prepared to start, but heavy rain coming on, we remained
until the following day. With the exception of two thunder-storms, the
weather had been uniformly bright and warm since we left Edmonton,
seven weeks before. The next morning proving fine, the Iroquois set
out on his return to Jasper House, and we shortly after went in search
of our horses, to prepare for the commencement of our journey forward
to Cariboo. But we were delayed for several hours searching for Mr.
O’B.’s horse, which was nowhere to be found. The Assiniboine evidently
chuckled over the loss, although he declared he could not for the life
of him imagine what had become of the horse. Mr. O’B. was indignant,
and vituperated the Iroquois and Assiniboine, but did not attempt to
assist in the search; and we abandoned it at length with the conviction
that the Iroquois was the thief, and it was useless to pursue him.

One of the young Shushwaps agreed to accompany us for a day’s journey,
in order to show us the emigrants’ trail, and we determined to follow
it as far as practicable, hoping to reach Cariboo in the end. The track
led us through an easy country, sandy and undulating, and lightly
timbered with small spruce. We crossed a small tributary of the Fraser,
skirted the shores of a small lake, and by evening had imperceptibly
passed the height of land between the watershed of the Fraser and that
of the Columbia. The Shushwap stayed the night with us, put us on the
trail of the emigrants the next morning, and then returned. We said
good-bye, little knowing the long and weary time we should pass before
we again saw the face of man.

The track here bore to the right, to enter the most westerly of the
two narrow valleys, into which that of The Cache is divided by the
line of hills to the south marked Malton Range in the map. A mile or
so brought us to Canoe River, a tributary of the Columbia, running
towards the south-east. The stream has worn a deep channel in the sandy
ground, and we descended a steep cliff to gain the valley of the river,
which we cut nearly at right angles. The waters were at high flood,
and the current very strong; the banks were beset with driftwood and
overhanging trees, and we moved some way up the stream in search of a
place where it would be possible to raft across. We found a small open
space at last, near which stood some dead pines, and where the opposite
bank was for a short distance more free than usual from fallen trunks,
rocks, and brushwood. We then drove the horses across, and commenced
cutting down wood for the raft. By the loss of the two axes previously
we were now reduced to one small one, and had to work hard in relays
until afternoon before we had felled enough timber for our purpose.
Then came the task of carrying it down to the edge of the river, and
Mr. O’B.’s services were called into requisition amongst the rest. We
arranged that on the present occasion he should be put in for some
really hard work, as Cheadle’s partner. The sight was a most ludicrous
one: Mr. O’B. staggering along under one end of a heavy log, with loud
cries and fearful groans, trying to stop, but driven forward by the
merciless Cheadle, who could hardly carry his load for laughter at the
exclamations and contortions of his companion. Mr. O’B. sat down after
delivering his load, and vowed he was utterly incapable of any further
exertion, but Cheadle induced him to make another attempt, and managed
to find a tree as heavy as the first. Mr. O’B. entreated, groaned,
begged for mercy, and implored Cheadle to stop for a moment, only one
moment; but he was obliged to push on to the end, where he sat down,
declaring he was regularly broken down. Yet he was not too exhausted
to talk and complain very loudly. Finding, however, that too much time
was lost by keeping him at hard labour, we detailed him to carry the
light poles for the cross pieces of the raft. When all the wood was
brought down, the logs were securely lashed together, and we prepared
to cross. The stream was so strong that it was with great difficulty
all got on board, and the raft had drifted some distance before we
fairly got to work with the poles we all carried. Away we went down
stream at a fearful pace. At first it appeared certain that we must
run foul of some rocks, and a tree overhanging the bank on the side
we started from. Very vigorous poling, urged on by the frantic shouts
and anathemas of The Assiniboine, barely saved us from this danger.
In avoiding Scylla, however, we fell into Charybdis, for the current,
setting in strongly at this place toward the opposite side, almost
before we were aware, or could make any effort to prevent it, carried
us across into a billowy rapid. Over this we passed like an arrow, and
were helplessly borne straight to what seemed certain destruction, a
large pine-tree, through the lower branches of which the water rushed
like the stream from a mill-wheel. “À terre--à TERRE avec la line!”
shouted The Assiniboine, as we neared the bank for an instant, and
making a desperate leap into the water caught the bushes, scrambled up
the side, and whipped his rope round a tree. Cheadle jumped at the same
moment with the other rope, and did likewise; but the cords, rotten
from repeated wettings, snapped like threads, the raft was sucked under
the tree, and disappeared beneath the water. Milton and the woman
were brushed off like flies by the branches, but Mr. O’B., in some
incomprehensible manner, managed to stick to the raft, and re-appeared
above water further down, sitting silent and motionless, sailing along
to swift destruction with seeming resignation. The Assiniboine and the
boy--who had leaped ashore with his father--rushed along the bank in
pursuit. Cheadle, however, who was following, with a confused notion
that everybody was drowned but himself, heard a cry proceeding from the
tree, and looking in that direction, observed Milton clinging to the
branches, his body sucked under the trunk, and his head disappearing
under water and rising again with the varying rush of the current. The
woman was in similar position, but further out and on the lower side.
Both were in imminent danger of being swept off every moment, and
Cheadle, shouting to them for God’s sake to hold on, clambered along
the tree and laid hold of Milton, who was nearest. He cried out to help
the woman first, but Cheadle, seeing the woman was more difficult to
reach, and Milton in the greater danger, helped him out at once.

[Illustration: OUR MISADVENTURE WITH THE RAFT IN CROSSING CANOE RIVER.

(_See page 271._)
]

We then crawled carefully forwards to the rescue of the woman. She was,
however, so far below, that it was impossible to lift her out, and we
therefore held her as well as we could, and shouted to The Assiniboine
to be quick with a rope.

He, in the meantime, had caught up the raft in its swift career, and
cried loudly to Mr. O’B., who sat motionless in the stern, to throw the
end of the broken rope. Mr. O’B. responded only by a gentle shaking
of the head, and a “No, no; no, thank you,” looking solemnly straight
before him. The raft, however, bringing up for a moment against another
overhanging tree, was arrested by The Assiniboine. Mr. O’B. instantly
seized the opportunity of escape, darted on shore, and buried himself
in the woods, regardless of the entreaties of his deliverer, to help in
securing the raft.

After we had shouted some time, The Assiniboine seemed to understand
us, and hastened to unfasten a rope. But this took time, and we began
to fear we should not be able to keep the woman up until he came.
Presently Mr. O’B. appeared on the bank, gazing at us in a bewildered
manner. We cried to him to run down to The Assiniboine and tell him to
bring a rope quickly; but he did not seem to comprehend, and untying
his neckerchief, held that out to us. The boy, coming up at the moment,
brought it to the tree, and with that and Milton’s belt, passed round
the woman’s waist, he kept her above the water until her husband
arrived with a rope,--and Mrs. Assiniboine was saved. She was,
however, benumbed and nearly insensible, but gradually recovered with
warmth and a draught of rum, which Cheadle had fortunately reserved for
emergencies, in his flask. We had great difficulty in getting a fire,
for the tinder was wet, and we had lost our matches previously in the
Fraser; but we succeeded at last, dried our things, and investigated
our losses. Strange to say, the guns and powder-horns had not been
swept off, and the provisions were safe; but the packs which contained
the whole property of the man and his family were gone.

In talking over the adventure afterwards, Mr. O’B. assured us that he
had not the slightest recollection of anything which occurred after the
raft sank under the tree, until he found himself safe on shore. Before
we had rested very long, Mr. O’B. called Cheadle aside, and requested
him, as a special favour, to induce Milton to agree to move on for
a few miles. “For,” said he, “you see, Doctor, I’m rather nervous.
I’ve had a terrible shock to-day--a terrible shock! ‘_Mihi frigidus
horror membra quatit._’ I’m trembling with the recollection of it now.
Ah! Doctor, Doctor, you don’t know what I suffered. The sound of this
dreadful water in my ears is more than I can bear. I want to know
whether you think there will be any more rivers to cross. But please
move on a few miles, _please_ do, there’s a good fellow, just to oblige
me, out of hearing of this terrible noise. ‘_Heu me miserum! iterum
iterumque, strepitum fluminum audio!_’” We agreed, and went forward a
mile or two to better feeding for the horses, and there camped for the
night.

On the following day we made a long detour to the right, to get round
the range of hills to the south, and entered the narrow valley on the
west of it. The trail was not very distinct, and passed amongst rocks
and burnt timber. At dinner-time we discovered that the frying-pan and
some of the tin plates were lost, and thenceforward were driven to cook
our pemmican and bake our bread in the kettle. A small stream flowed
along the bottom of the ravine towards the north, falling probably into
either the Fraser or Canoe River; but the next day we passed the height
of land, and gained the watershed of the Thompson. This was occupied
by a small marshy lake, marked Albreda Lake in the map, filling the
bottom of the ravine. It appeared to have been drained formerly by a
stream flowing from either extremity, like the Summit lake between Lake
Lilloet and Anderson Lake, in British Columbia; but the northern end
was now blocked up by an old grass-grown beaver-dam, and its waters
escaped only towards the south. We continued to follow the stream thus
formed, which was reinforced by several branches from the westward,
and saw before us a magnificent mountain, covered with glaciers, and
apparently blocking up the valley before us. To this Cheadle gave the
name of Mount Milton. The trail now entered thick pine forest, where
the timber was of enormous size. Two trunks of the giant cypress
(_Thuja gigantea_) or cedar, as it is commonly called, which grew side
by side, measured over six and a half embraces, or thirty-nine feet;
the other, five embraces, or thirty feet in circumference, giving
diameters of thirteen feet and ten feet. Pines, of almost equal girth,
towered up to a height of over 300 feet. There was no open ground, and
the horses fed on twigs and mare’s-tail; the road was hilly, swamps
occupying the hollows.

[Illustration: A VIEW ON THE NORTH THOMPSON, LOOKING EASTWARD.

(_See page 275._)
]

On the fifth day after leaving The Cache we crossed to the western
bank of the river we were following, and which we concluded to be a
branch of the Thompson. This had now become about thirty yards in
width, and so deep that we were compelled to carry the horses’ packs on
our shoulders as we rode across, to prevent their being soaked. After
crossing two smaller streams from the west, we came to a deep arm of
the river, with banks of soft mud, which we crossed, after long delay,
by leading the horses over an old beaver-dam. We were still in the
midst of snowy mountains, and steep pine-clad hills closely shut in the
valley on either side.

On the 25th July, the sixth day after leaving The Cache, having
passed Mount Milton to the right, we were arrested by a large river
flowing from the north-west, which here joined the one which we had
followed from the north. This river was some sixty yards in width, and
bank-full with glacier-water. At the angle formed by the junction of
the two rivers we camped, in order to search for the emigrants’ trail
forward. We found one of their camps here, and more wood cut down than
needed for fires, leading us to suppose that they had made a raft, and
crossed to one bank or other of the main river below the fork. We had
expected that they would have turned up the north-west branch without
crossing it, striking direct for Cariboo. But we could not find any
trail in that direction, and The Assiniboine having failed to discover
any traces of one on the eastern bank of the main river, to which he
crossed on a tiny raft, we concluded that they must have gone to its
western shore, and began to prepare to cross thither ourselves.

On a tree we found an inscription to the effect that Andrè Cardinal,
the guide, left the emigrants here to return to Edmonton. This, then,
was the place from which, as he informed us, he had shown the emigrants
the hills of Cariboo in the distance. This circumstance, and the
statement of the old woman at The Cache, that the journey either to
Cariboo or Kamloops would take us about eight days, put us quite at our
ease, although we had now but a very small quantity of provisions left.
We felt the want of tea very much, far more than the loss of salt or
vegetables, or indeed any other luxury. Abstinence from all alcoholic
stimulant we had endured for above a year without the slightest
discomfort, but the craving for tea and tobacco never left us. We had
eked out our little stock of the latter hitherto by mixing it with
what the Indians call “kinnikinnick,” the inner bark of the dog wood.
We had only enough for three or four pipes left amongst us now, and we
reserved them for special need.

We fully expected to reach our destination in the course of a few
days, and set to work to prepare our raft with great confidence. This
occupied the whole of the 26th, for we determined to use very large
timber, for greater safety. We worked away in relays, and between the
spells of labour washed for gold, but did not succeed in finding any
traces of it. The sand at the side and in the bed of the river was full
of innumerable particles of shining talc, which glistened very brightly
in the sun, and The Assiniboine, believing it to be gold, drew our
attention to it as an encouraging sign that we were approaching our
destination. The waters rose during the day, and were a foot higher by
evening, sinking to their former level during the night: the alternate
effect of the sun and night frosts on the mountain snows. The weather
was bright and oppressively hot, and the mosquitoes and tiny sand-flies
so numerous that we could obtain little sleep. By evening we had all
the timber cut and carried down to the water’s edge ready to tie
together.

On the morning of the 27th, Mr. O’B., one of whose good qualities was
early rising, surpassed himself--whether in consequence of being
disturbed by mosquitoes, or from anxiety for the public good, remains
uncertain--and turned out with the earliest peep of dawn. Rousing
Cheadle, with the request that he would get up immediately, as he had
something of importance to communicate, he took him aside and said,
“In the first place, Doctor, I hope that you and Assiniboine will be
very careful indeed in crossing the river, for you know I think you
managed very badly indeed last time, I may say disgracefully so. It was
a mercy we were not all drowned; look what an escape _I_ had! Now, if
you will take my advice, you will keep perfectly cool and collected--
_animosus et fortis appare_--but _æquo animo_, you know; not shout at
one another as you did before; Assiniboine quite frightened me with his
strong language. But I have a very particular favour to ask, and that
is, that you and Lord Milton will agree to postpone crossing the river
until to-morrow, for I am oppressed with a most fearful presentiment
that if we make the attempt to-day we shall all be lost--every one of
us drowned, Doctor. Think of the responsibility, before it is too late;
you and his lordship are answerable for our lives.”

Cheadle explained that provisions were getting so short, we could
not afford to waste a day, and the presentiment of evil was merely
uneasiness arising from the recollection of the late accident, which
was not likely to be repeated. Mr. O’B., however, shook his head
solemnly, unconvinced, gave us a quotation about Cassandra, and
embarked with most woful misgivings. We crossed without mishap, and the
moment we neared the side, Mr. O’B., eager to get safe on shore, jumped
overboard into shallow water, but was immediately collared and pulled
back by The Assiniboine, and obliged to wait till the raft was secured.
Mr. O’B’s presentiment was, happily, unfulfilled.

When we proceeded to search for the trail, we discovered, to our
dismay, that we were upon a small island, instead of the west bank
of the river, as we supposed. The north-west branch entered the main
river by two mouths, and we were upon the spit of land between the
fork of these channels. There were numerous traces of the emigrants’
visit, but what line they had taken we could not make out, although we
searched diligently till night came on. Next morning The Assiniboine
was up betimes, and crossing the west channel by a natural bridge,
formed by the accumulation of driftwood against a sand-bar, soon
discovered the trail leading up the north-west branch in the direction
of Cariboo. He followed this for about a mile, when it came suddenly to
an end. The ravine was narrow, the sides steep and heavily timbered,
and lofty, limestone mountains loomed up ahead.

The emigrants had evidently found the work of cutting a road to
Cariboo so arduous that they had abandoned the task, and turned their
faces southward to seek Kamloops; and agreeably to this surmise The
Assiniboine discovered another trail leading down the river in that
direction. The time had now come when we must make our final decision
whether to try and reach Cariboo or follow the trail towards Kamloops.

We held a council, and after much discussion at last agreed that
it would be impossible, with our weakened forces, worn-out horses,
short supplies, and little axe, to cut our way through the almost
impenetrable country to the west. It was with a feeling of bitter
disappointment that we gave up our cherished idea of finding a road
direct to the gold-fields, but the attempt would have been madness, and
we very sulkily commenced transferring the packs to the mainland on the
west. The driftwood bridge saved us from the labour of making another
raft, but carrying the baggage on our backs proved no light work. The
footing on the trunks, piled together so irregularly, was slippery
and uncertain, and the flood poured fiercely through the weir, making
our heads giddy with the rush of waters and their deafening roar. When
we had crossed this, which was at least forty yards in width, we were
obliged to scramble with our loads as we could up a perpendicular
hill-side, through piles of fallen timber, in order to reach the track.
Mr. O’B. stole across quietly, without troubling himself with even his
own baggage, and then sat down and took out his Paley--his pipe, alas!
was useless now--declaring he was sorry he had omitted to bring his
property, but that he would not cross such a dangerous place again for
the world: his head would not stand it. He was afraid he should become
giddy and fall over, and therefore begged that we would let him rest in
peace. We left him there, ourselves re-crossing for other loads; but as
we returned with them we were astonished to meet Mr. O’B. scrambling
over the logs with the most astounding agility. The Assiniboine having
discovered him sitting idle, advanced towards him with so menacing an
air that he fled across the bridge with great celerity, and took his
share of work without complaint. Mr. O’B. firmly believed that The
Assiniboine intended to murder him on the first convenient opportunity,
and viewed any offensive demonstration on his part with unqualified
terror. When we had taken the baggage across, we proceeded to drive
the horses into the stream below the dam. They swam to a shallow in
the middle, and there remained. The day was exceedingly sultry, and
they enjoyed the coolness of the water, and the comparative freedom
from gad-flies and mosquitoes. For above an hour they refused to move,
in spite of all we could do. We shied showers of sticks and stones at
them, shouted and stormed at Bucephalus, the “Grand Rouge,” the “Petit
Rouge”--then tried the “Gris,” the “Sauvage,” the “Petit Noir;”--all
were of one mind. They had found a cool and pleasant place, where were
neither packs nor hurtful rocks and trees. Blows they were tolerably
safe from, and angry words they regarded not. At last the boy, by some
well-directed missiles from the driftwood bridge, rendered the place
too hot for them, and they abandoned the position, swimming across as
we desired.

[Illustration: THE TRAIL AT AN END.

(_See page 281._)
]

The rest of the day was fruitful in difficulties and mishaps. The trail
had been made by the Canadians when the river was low, and was now
frequently lost in deep water. At these points we were obliged to cut
a new line for ourselves, along steep, timber-strewn hill-sides. The
forest was as dense as ever, and the trees of the largest. “Muskegs”
occupied the hollows between the pine-clad hills, which ran up at short
intervals with steep front towards the river. The horses mired and were
dragged out--walked into the river, and were hauled back--entangled
themselves in fallen timber, and were chopped out--or hid themselves
in the thick wood, and had to be sought. At night The Assiniboine was
fairly done, and all of us thoroughly tired out.

We met with similar country and the same difficulties until the
afternoon of the second day after leaving the island, when we
came upon two camps, where were strewn pack-saddles and harness,
and great cedars cut down on every side, with heaps of chips and
splinters, showing that they had been used to make rafts and canoes.
An inscription in pencil on a tree told us this was the emigrants’
“Slaughter Camp.” We searched in every direction, but no trail forward
could be discovered.

The truth, serious enough, now plainly forced itself upon our minds,
that the whole band of emigrants had given up in despair the idea of
cutting their way through forests so dense and encumbered, abandoned
their horses, killed their oxen for provisions, and made large rafts in
order to drop down the river to Kamloops.

We were in a very disheartening position. Before crossing the Fraser
a fortnight before we had lost nearly everything we possessed. Our
provisions were now reduced to about ten pounds of pemmican, and the
same of flour, or not three days’ rations for the six persons. Game of
all kinds--as is always the case in vast forests--was exceedingly
scarce, and if it had been plentiful, we could have killed but little
with the few charges of powder we had left. Our clothes were already
in rags, and we were obliged to patch our moccasins with pieces of the
saddle-bags. The horses were weak and in wretched condition, having had
little proper pasture since leaving Edmonton two months before, and
for the last fortnight had subsisted upon leaves and twigs, with an
occasional mouthful of marsh grass, or equisetum.

We had only one small Indian axe with which to cut our way through
the encumbered forest which surrounded us, and we knew not how long
or difficult the journey before us might be. The Canadians--a party
of fifty or sixty strong, all able-bodied men provided with good
axes, and expert in the use of them--had, after a few days’ trial,
failed to make any satisfactory progress through the obstructions
which beset them, and had evaded the difficulty by braving the dangers
of an unknown river full of rocks and rapids. We were a weak party,
our mainstay, The Assiniboine, having but one hand. Even along the
partially cleared trail we had followed thus far, the work of making
it passable had been very heavy, and our progress slow and laborious.
We had been delayed and harassed every day by the horses miring in
muskegs, entangling themselves amongst fallen timber, rolling down
hills, or being lost in the thick woods. The attempt to force our way
through the forest, therefore, seemed almost a desperate one. On the
other hand, to make a proper raft with our small means and strength
would occupy many days, and necessitate the abandonment of the horses,
our last resource for food. In an ordinarily tranquil stream our
weak and motley company was utterly incompetent to manage that most
unmanageable of all transports, a large raft. In a stream swollen,
rocky, and rapid as the Thompson, the experiment was certain to prove
disastrous. We had been solemnly and earnestly warned by the Shushwaps
of The Cache against such an attempt, as they said the river was
impracticable for a raft, and very hazardous even for canoes. Cheadle
went out and explored the country for some distance ahead, but returned
with the unwelcome report that it seemed perfectly impossible for
horses to get through such a collection of fallen timber, and along
such precipitous hill-sides as he had encountered. Every one looked
very serious at this announcement, and Mr. O’B. expressed his opinion
that we must make up our minds to meet a miserable end. In the evening
we held grave council over our camp-fire, trying to increase philosophy
by smoking kinnikinnick, and, after careful deliberation, decided that
The Assiniboine should investigate the country on the morrow, and if
he thought it practicable, we would endeavour to cut our way through
the forest. We calculated that Kamloops could not be more than 120 or
130 miles distant, and we should probably enter upon more open country
before long. It rained heavily during the night, and until nearly noon
the next day, when The Assiniboine started on his voyage of discovery.
Soon after his departure we heard a shot, and the barking of the dog
Papillon, from which we inferred that he had found game of some kind,
and as we had seen tracks of Cariboo deer, we hoped that he might have
met with one of these animals. In the evening we were delighted by his
appearance, carrying a small black bear on his shoulders, and reporting
that he thought it possible to get through, although our advance
would necessarily be very slow and laborious. From the summit of the
hill at the foot of which we were encamped, he had seen, far to the
south, mountains crowded behind mountains, the everlasting pine-forest
extending in every direction, without a sign of open country; the only
favourable circumstance which he observed being that the hills appeared
to become lower, and fewer of them were capped with snow. We all set
eagerly to work to skin and cut up the bear, and had a great feast that
night. This was the first fresh meat we had tasted since the mountain
sheep at Jasper House, and we found it a great treat, although we
had neither bread nor salt to eat with it, tea to drink with it, nor
tobacco to smoke after it. We invented a substitute for the latter on
this occasion by mixing the oil out of our pipes with the kinnikinnick
we smoked, but this was soon finished, and we were reduced to the small
comfort to be derived from the simple willow-bark. We all felt happier
after the meal, and The Assiniboine exhorted us to be of good courage,
for we had now a week’s provisions by using economy; “Nous arriverons
bientôt.”

CHAPTER XV.

We commence to Cut our Way--The Pathless Primeval Forest--The
Order of March--Trouble with our Horses; their Perversity--
Continual Disasters--Our Daily Fare--Mount Cheadle--Country
Improves only in Appearance--Futile Attempt to Escape out of
the Valley--A Glimpse of Daylight--Wild Fruits--Mr. O’B.
triumphantly Crosses the River--The Assiniboine Disabled--New
Arrangements--Hopes of Finding Prairie-Land--Disappointment--
Forest and Mountain Everywhere--False Hopes again--Provisions
at an End--Council of War--Assiniboine Hunts without Success--
The Headless Indian--“Le Petit Noir” Condemned and Executed--
Feast on Horse-flesh--Leave Black Horse Camp--Forest again--
The Assiniboine becomes Disheartened--The Grand Rapid--A Dead
Lock--Famishing Horses--The Barrier--Shall we get Past?--Mr.
O’B. and Bucephalus--Extraordinary Escape of the Latter--More
Accidents--La Porte d’Enfer--Step by Step--The Assiniboine
Downcast and Disabled--Mrs. Assiniboine takes his Place--
The Provisions give out again--A Dreary Beaver Swamp--The
Assiniboine gives up in Despair--Mr. O’B. begins to Doubt,
discards Paley, and prepares to become Insane--We kill another
Horse--A Bird of Good Omen--The Crow speaks Truth--Fresher
Sign--A Trail--The Road rapidly Improves--Out of the Forest at
last!

On the 31st of July we left Slaughter Camp in a pouring rain, and
plunged into the pathless forest before us. We were at once brought
up by the steep face of a hill which came down close to the water’s
edge. But the steepness of the path was not the greatest difficulty.
No one who has not seen a primeval forest, where trees of gigantic
size have grown and fallen undisturbed for ages, can form any idea of
the collection of timber, or the impenetrable character of such a
region. There were pines and thujas of every size, the patriarch of
300 feet in height standing alone, or thickly clustering groups of
young ones struggling for the vacant place of some prostrate giant.
The fallen trees lay piled around, forming barriers often six or eight
feet high on every side: trunks of huge cedars, moss-grown and decayed,
lay half-buried in the ground on which others as mighty had recently
fallen; trees still green and living, recently blown down, blocking the
view with the walls of earth held in their matted roots; living trunks,
dead trunks, rotten trunks; dry, barkless trunks, and trunks moist and
green with moss; bare trunks and trunks with branches--prostrate,
reclining, horizontal, propped up at different angles; timber of every
size, in every stage of growth and decay, in every possible position,
entangled in every possible combination. The swampy ground was densely
covered with American dogwood, and elsewhere with thickets of the
aralea, a tough-stemmed trailer, with leaves as large as those of the
rhubarb plant, and growing in many places as high as our shoulders.
Both stem and leaves are covered with sharp spines, which pierced our
clothes as we forced our way through the tangled growth, and made the
legs and hands of the pioneers scarlet from the inflammation of myriads
of punctures.

The Assiniboine went first with the axe, his wife went after him
leading a horse, and the rest of the party followed, driving two or
three horses apiece in single file. Mr. O’B. had by this time been
trained to take charge of one pack-animal, which he managed very well
under favourable conditions. But although it had been hard enough to
keep our caravan in order when there was a track to follow, it was ten
times more difficult and troublesome now. As long as each horse could
see the one in front of him, he followed with tolerable fidelity; but
whenever any little delay occurred, and the leading horses disappeared
amongst the trees and underwood, the rest turned aside in different
directions. Then followed a rush and scramble after them, our efforts
to bring them back often only causing them to plunge into a bog or
entangle themselves amongst piles of logs. When involved in any
predicament of this kind, the miserable animals remained stupidly
passive, for they had become so spiritless and worn out, and so injured
about the legs by falling amongst the timber and rocks, that they
would make no effort to help themselves, except under the stimulus of
repeated blows. These accidents occurring a dozen times a day, caused
the labour to fall very heavily; for we were so short-handed, that each
man could obtain little assistance from the rest, and was obliged to
get out of his difficulties as well as he could, unaided. When this was
accomplished, often only to be effected by cutting off the packs, most
of the party had gone he knew not whither, and the other horses in his
charge had disappeared. These had to be sought up, and a careful cast
made to regain the faint trail left by the party in advance. Another
similar misfortune would often occur before he joined his companions,
and the same exertions again be necessary. The work was vexatious and
wearisome in the extreme, and we found our stock of philosophy quite
unequal to the occasion.

With a view of economising our provisions and making more rapid
progress, we reduced our meals to breakfast and supper, resting only a
short time at mid-day to allow the horses to feed, but not unpacking
them. Our fare was what the half-breeds call “rubaboo,” which we made
by boiling a piece of pemmican the size of one’s fist in a large
quantity of water thickened with a single handful of flour. The latter
commodity had now become very valuable, and was used in this way only,
three or four pounds being all we had left. Occasionally we were lucky
enough to kill a partridge or skunk, and this formed a welcome addition
to the “rubaboo.” The mess was equally divided, and two ordinary
platesful formed the portion of each individual. Under these trying
circumstances we had the advantage of Mr. O’B.’s advice, which he did
not fail to offer at every opportunity. When we stopped for the night,
and the work of unloading the horses and preparing camp was over, he
would emerge from some quiet retreat, fresh from the solace of Paley,
and deliver his opinions on the prospects of the journey and his views
on the course to be pursued. “Now, my lord; now, Doctor,” he would
say, “I don’t think that we have gone on nearly so well to-day as we
might have done. I don’t think our route was well chosen. We may have
done fifteen or twenty miles (we had probably accomplished three or
four), but that’s not at all satisfactory. ‘_Festina lente_’ was
wisely said by the great lyric; but he was never lost in a forest, you
see. Now, what I think ought to be done is this: the Doctor and The
Assiniboine are strong vigorous fellows; let them go five or six miles
ahead and investigate the country, and then we shall travel much more
easily to-morrow.” The two “vigorous fellows” were, however, generally
too much jaded by hard work during the day to adopt his advice, and
declined the proposal.

The valley continued to run nearly due south, and ranges of mountains
separated only by the narrowest ravines came down from the N.E. and
N.W. up to it on each side at an angle of 45°. These proved serious
obstacles to our progress, rising almost perpendicularly from the
water’s edge.

On the 1st of August we came in sight of a fine snowy mountain which
appeared to block up the valley ahead, and we hoped this might be
the second of two described to us as landmarks by the old woman at
The Cache, which she stated was not far from Fort Kamloops. To this
Milton gave the name of Mount Cheadle, in return for the compliment
previously paid him by his companion. The river also became wider and
less rapid, and at one point divided into several channels, flowing
round low wooded islands. Only one snowy mountain could be seen to the
right, to which we gave the name of Mount St. Anne; but the road was as
encumbered as ever.

After cutting a path for two days, The Assiniboine was almost disabled
by thorns in his hands and legs, and as we had not accomplished more
than two or three miles each day, we attempted to escape out of
the narrow valley in which we were confined, in the hope of finding
clearer ground above. But the mountain sides were too steep; the horses
rolled down one after another, crashing amongst the fallen timber;
and we were compelled to imitate the example of the King of France,
and come down again. On the 3rd we reached a marsh about 300 yards in
length, scantily covered with timber, the first open space we had met
with for ten days; and the change from the deep gloom of the forest
to the bright sunlight made our eyes blink indeed, but produced a
most cheering effect on our spirits. The horses here found plenty of
pasture, although of poor quality--a great boon to them after their
long course of twigs and mare’s-tail. This was altogether a brighter
day than common, for we met with several patches of raspberries, as
large as English garden-fruit, and two species of bilberry, the size of
sloes, growing on bushes two feet high. The woods were garnished with
large fern, like the English male fern, a tall and slender bracken, and
quantities of the oak and beech fern. We had the luck, too, to kill
four partridges for supper; and although the day was showery, and we
were completely soaked in pushing through the underwood, we felt rather
jollier that night than we had done since the trail ended.

Before evening we came to a rocky rapid stream from the N.W. We all
mounted our horses to traverse it except Mr. O’B., who had never become
reconciled to riding since his dire experience along the Fraser. What
was to be done? Mr. O’B. obstinately persisted that he dare not
venture on horseback, and the river was too deep and rapid to be safely
forded on foot. After some useless discussion with him, we plunged our
horses in, The Assiniboine and his family having crossed already; but
before Cheadle’s horse had left the bank a yard, Mr. O’B. rushed madly
after, dashed in, and grasping the flowing tail of Bucephalus with
both hands, was towed over triumphantly. After this great success, his
anxiety about prospective rivers was greatly alleviated.

After leaving the little marsh above-mentioned, we were again buried
in the densest forest, without any opening whatever, for several days,
and worked away in the old routine of cutting through timber, driving
perverse horses and extricating them from difficulties, and subsisting
on our scanty mess of “rubaboo.” Tracks of bears were numerous, and we
saw signs of beaver on all the streams, but our advance was necessarily
so noisy that we had small chance of seeing game, and we could not
afford to rest a day or two for the purpose of hunting.

[Illustration: MR. O’B. TRIUMPHANTLY CROSSES THE RIVER.

(_See page 291._)
]

On the 5th The Assiniboine’s single hand became so swollen and painful
from the injuries caused by the thorns of the aralea, that he was
unable to handle an axe, and the task of clearing a path devolved upon
Cheadle. This misfortune retarded us greatly, for he was, of course,
not so expert a pioneer as The Assiniboine, and his assistance could
ill be spared by the horse-drivers, who were now reduced to Milton and
the boy--with Mr. O’B., who began to afford more active assistance
than he had done hitherto. During this day the valley appeared to open
out widely a few miles ahead, and we reached a rounded hill, from
which we could see some distance to the south. But we were bitterly
disappointed; vast woods were still before us without a sign of open
country, and in the distance the hills closed in most ominously. At
the foot of this eminence we crossed a rapid stream, flowing into the
main river by two channels some twenty yards in width, which Mr. O’B.
crossed with great success by his improved method.

The following day we struggled on from morning to night without
stopping, through difficulties greater than ever; but on the 7th of
August, the eighth day of our being lost in the forest, we crossed
another stream, about thirty yards wide, clear and shallow, and
evidently not fed by mountain snows. We named it Elsecar River. Soon
after we were greatly encouraged by entering upon a tolerably level
space, about a square mile in extent, the confluence of five narrow
valleys. Part of this was timbered, some of it burnt, and the rest
marshy meadow, with a few stunted trees here and there. In the burnt
portion we found large quantities of small bilberries, not yet ripe, on
which we stayed and dined, and then forced our way to the marshy open,
where we encamped.

The hopes of speedy escape which had sprung up when we first observed
the retreat of the hills to the west, were quickly dispelled. The
flat proved to be a mere oasis in the mountains, surrounded by steep,
pine-clad hills, from which the narrow gorges between the different
ranges afforded the only means of egress. On this evening we ate our
last morsel of pemmican, and the only food we had left was about a
quart of flour. The distance from Tête Jaune Cache to Kamloops was,
according to our map, about 200 miles; but this estimate might be very
erroneous, the exact latitude of either being probably unknown when
our map was made. Calculating that we had travelled ten miles a day,
or seventy miles, when the road ended, and had done three miles a day,
or thirty altogether, since we began to cut our way, we had still 100
miles to travel before reaching the Fort. Nearly the whole of this
distance might be country similar to what we had already encountered.
At any rate, the prospect around gave us no hope of speedy change for
the better. We progressed so slowly, at the best only five or six miles
a day--often not one--that it must take us many days yet to get in.
There seemed no chance of any assistance, for since leaving Slaughter
Camp we had seen no sign that man had ever before visited this dismal
region. No axe mark on a tree, no “blaze” or broken twig, no remains of
an old camp fire had greeted our eyes. Animal life was scarce, and the
solemn stillness, unbroken by note of bird or sound of living creature,
and the deep gloom of the woods--

“Nulli penetrabilis astro
Lucus iners,”

as Mr. O’B. quoted--increased the sense of solitude. We had become so
worn-out and emaciated by the hard work and insufficient food of the
last ten days, that it was clear enough we could not hold out much
longer. We held a council of war after our last meal was ended, and Mr.
O.’B. laid down his one-eyed spectacles and his Paley, to suggest that
we should immediately kill “Blackie,” as he affectionately denominated
the little black horse he usually took charge of on the way. The
Assiniboine and Cheadle proposed to starve a few days longer, in the
hope of something turning up. Against this Mr. O’B. entered a solemn
protest, and eventually Milton’s proposal was agreed to. This was
that The Assiniboine should spend the next day in hunting: if he were
successful, we were relieved; and if not, the “Petit Noir” must die.
There seemed some chance for his life, for The Assiniboine had caught
sight of a bear during the day, and the dog had chased another. Their
tracks were tolerably numerous, and The Assiniboine we knew to be the
most expert hunter of the Saskatchewan.

[Illustration: THE HEADLESS INDIAN.

(_See page 296._)
]

Early next day The Assiniboine set out on his hunt; Cheadle and the
boy went to a small lake ahead to try to get a shot at some geese
which had flown over the day before; Milton gathered bilberries; and
Mr. O’B. studied; whilst the woman essayed to patch together shreds
of moccasins. The party was not a lively one, for there had been no
breakfast that morning. Mr. O’B., wearied of his Paley, declared that
he was beginning to have painful doubts concerning his faith, and would
read no more. He did not keep his resolution, however, but resumed
his reading the same evening, and brought out his book afterwards at
every resting-place with the same regularity as ever. In the afternoon
Cheadle and the boy returned empty-handed. The Assiniboine arrived
about the same time, and, producing a marten, threw it down, saying
drily, “J’ai trouvé rien que cela et un homme--un mort.” He directed
us where to find the dead body, which was only a few hundred yards
from camp, and we set off with the boy to have a look at the ominous
spectacle. After a long search, we discovered it at the foot of a large
pine. The corpse was in a sitting posture, with the legs crossed, and
the arms clasped over the knees, bending forward over the ashes of a
miserable fire of small sticks. The ghastly figure was headless, and
the cervical vertebræ projected dry and bare; the skin, brown and
shrivelled, stretched like parchment tightly over the bony framework,
so that the ribs showed through distinctly prominent; the cavity of
the chest and abdomen was filled with the exuviæ of chrysales, and the
arms and legs resembled those of a mummy. The clothes, consisting of
woollen shirt and leggings, with a tattered blanket, still hung round
the shrunken form. Near the body were a small axe, fire-bag, large tin
kettle, and two baskets made of birch-bark. In the bag were flint,
steel, and tinder, an old knife, and a single charge of shot carefully
tied up in a piece of rag. One of the baskets contained a fishing-line
of cedar bark, not yet finished, and two curious hooks, made of a
piece of stick and a pointed wire; the other, a few wild onions, still
green and growing. A heap of broken bones at the skeleton’s side--the
fragments of a horse’s head--told the sad story of his fate. They were
chipped into the smallest pieces, showing that the unfortunate man had
died of starvation, and prolonged existence as far as possible by
sucking every particle of nutriment out of the broken fragments. He
was probably a Rocky Mountain Shushwap, who had been, like ourselves,
endeavouring to reach Kamloops, perhaps in quest of a wife. He had
evidently intended to subsist by fishing, but before his tackle was
completed, weakness--perchance illness--overtook him, he made a small
fire, squatted down before it, and died there. But where was his head?
We searched diligently everywhere, but could find no traces of it. If
it had fallen off we should have found it lying near, for an animal
which had dared to abstract that would have returned to attack the
body. It could not have been removed by violence, as the undisturbed
position of the trunk bore witness. We could not solve the problem,
and left him as we found him, taking only his little axe for our
necessities, and the steel, fishing-line, and hooks as mementoes of the
strange event. We walked back to the camp silent and full of thought.
Our spirits, already sufficiently low from physical weakness and the
uncertainty of our position, were greatly depressed by this somewhat
ominous discovery. The similarity between the attempt of the Indian to
penetrate through the pathless forest--his starvation, his killing
of his horse for food--and our own condition was striking. His story
had been exhibited before our eyes with unmistakable clearness by the
spectacle we had just left: increasing weakness; hopeless starvation;
the effort to sustain the waning life by sucking the fragments of
bones; the death from want at last. We also had arrived at such
extremity that we should be compelled to kill a horse. The Indian had
started with one advantage over us; he was in his own country--we were
wanderers in a strange land. We were in the last act of the play. Would
the final scene be the same?

Every one took a rather gloomy view when we discussed our prospects
that evening, and “Blackie” was unanimously condemned to die at
daybreak. The marten, made into a “rubaboo,” with some bilberries,
formed our only supper that evening, the stinking and nauseous mess
being distasteful even to our ravenous appetites, and poor Mr. O’B.
had not the satisfaction of retaining what it had cost him so great an
effort to swallow.

Early on the 9th of August “Blackie” was led out to execution, but
although all were agreed as to the necessity of the deed, every one
felt compunction at putting to death an animal which had been our
companion through so many difficulties. The Assiniboine, however, at
last seized his gun and dispatched him with a ball behind the ear. In
a few minutes steaks were roasting at the fire, and all hands were at
work cutting up the meat into thin flakes for jerking. All day long
we feasted to repletion on the portions we could not carry with us,
whilst the rest was drying over a large fire; for although doubts had
been expressed beforehand as to whether it would prove palatable, and
Milton declared it tasted of the stable, none showed any deficiency of
appetite. The short intervals between eating we filled up by mending
our ragged clothes and moccasins, by this time barely hanging together.
Before turning into our blankets we crowned the enjoyment of the feast
by one last smoke. We had not had tobacco for weeks, but now obtained
the flavour of it by pounding up one or two black and well-seasoned
clays, and mixing the dust with “kinnikinnick.” But this was killing
the goose with the golden egg, and as pure “kinnikinnick” did not
satisfy the craving, we laid our pipes by for a happier day. We had
tea, too--not indeed the dark decoction of black Chinese indulged in
by unthrifty bachelors, or the chlorotic beverage affected by careful,
mature spinsters--but the “tea muskeg” used by the Indians. This is
made from the leaves and flowers of a small white azalea which we found
in considerable quantities growing in the boggy ground near our camp.
The decoction is really a good substitute for tea, and we became very
fond of it. The taste is like ordinary black tea with a dash of senna
in it.

By noon on the following day the meat was dry. There was but little of
it, not more than thirty or forty pounds, for the horse was small and
miserably lean, and we resolved to restrict ourselves still to a small
“rubaboo” twice a day. As we had now two axes, and The Assiniboine’s
hand was nearly well, he and Cheadle both went ahead to clear the way,
and we again entered the forest, still following the Thompson Valley.
The same difficulties met us as before, the same mishaps occurred,
and the horses proved as perverse and obstinate as ever. The weather
was fine and exceedingly hot, and the second evening after leaving
“Black Horse Camp”--as we named the scene of “Blackie’s” fate--
The Assiniboine, worn out by the continual toil, became thoroughly
disheartened, protesting it was perfectly impossible to get through
such a country, and useless to attempt it. We anxiously discussed the
question, as on every evening, of how many miles we had come that
day, and whether it was possible that the river we had struck might
not be the Thompson at all, but some unknown stream which might lead
us into inextricable difficulties. We got out our imperfect map, and
showed The Assiniboine that according to that the river ran due south
through a narrow valley shut in by mountains up to the very Fort, in
exact correspondence, so far, with the stream along the banks of which
we were making our way. This encouraged him a little, and he worked
away next day with his usual untiring perseverance. We found our diet
of dried horse-meat, and that in exceedingly small quantity--for we
still kept ourselves on half-rations--very insufficient, and we were
frightfully hungry and faint all day long. We rarely killed more than
two partridges in the day, and sometimes, though not often, a skunk or
a marten, and these were but little amongst six people. Cheadle at this
time discovered three fish-hooks amongst the wreck of our property, and
made some night lines, which he set, baited with horse-flesh. These
produced three white trout the first night, one of which weighed at
least a couple of pounds, but, although they were diligently set every
night afterwards, we never had such luck again, occasionally killing
a fish, but not a dozen in all during the rest of the journey. These
fish were marked like a salmon-trout, but with larger heads. They were
sluggish fish, lying at the bottom of the deepest holes, and would not
take a fly or spinning bait, preferring, like the other barbarous fish
of the country, a piece of meat to more delicate food. They had very
much the flavour of ordinary trout, but their flesh was whiter and less
firm.

The aspect of the country now changed, and on the 12th of August we
entered a region rocky and barren, where the timber was of smaller
size, but grew much more thickly, and the surface of the ground was
covered only by moss and a few small lilies. The ravine suddenly
narrowed, its sides became precipitous, and the river rushed over a
bed of huge boulders, a roaring, mighty rapid. The fallen timber lay
as thickly and entangled as the spiculæ in the children’s game of
spelicans; we had literally to force our way by inches. We met with a
godsend, however, in the way of provisions, shooting a porcupine which
had been “treed” by the dog Papillon. We found it delicious, although
rather strong-flavoured, a thick layer of fat under the skin being
almost equal to that of a turtle. The road at this point became so
impracticable from the steep, encumbered hill-sides which came down to
the water’s edge, that we were frequently obliged to pull up and wait
for hours whilst The Assiniboine found a way by which it was possible
to pass. We expected every day to come to some barrier which would
completely prevent our further advance. What course could we take then?
Take to a raft or abandon our horses and climb past on foot? We feared
the alternative, yet were unwilling to confess the probable extremity.
We had come too far to turn back, even if we had been willing to
retreat.

After three days’ travelling along the bank of this rapid, to which
we gave the name of Murchison’s Rapids, never out of hearing of its
continual roar, offensive to the ears of Mr. O’B., the valley became
narrower still, and we were brought to a standstill by a precipice
before us. We were shut in on one side by the river, and on the other
by hills so steep and embarrassed that it seemed hopeless to attempt
to scale them, for we had tried that before, and miserably failed.
There was nothing for it but to camp at once, and seek a way by which
to pass this barrier. The horses had not tasted grass since leaving
the marsh, four days ago, and for the last three had fed upon the moss
and lilies growing amongst the rocks. They wandered to and fro all the
night, walking in and out between us, and stepping over us as we lay
on the ground. Mr. O’B., too, passed a restless night in consequence,
and aroused us continually by jumping up and whacking them with his
great stick. The poor animals grubbed up the moss from the rocks, and
everything green within their reach had disappeared by morning. The
indefatigable Assiniboine started at daybreak to search for a path,
whilst the rest of us packed the horses and awaited his return. He came
back in an hour or two with the news that the country ahead grew more
and more difficult, but that we could, with care, lead the horses
past the present opposing bluff. This relieved us from the fear that
we might be compelled to abandon our horses here, and have to make our
way on foot. We had to mount the hill-side by a zig-zag, over loose
moss-grown rocks, leading the horses past one by one. The accidents
which occurred, though perhaps not so numerous as on some occasions,
were more extraordinary, and will serve to illustrate what occurred
daily. All the horses had safely passed the dangerous precipice except
one which Cheadle was leading, and Bucephalus, in charge of Mr. O’B.,
who brought up the rear. The length of the zig-zag was about a quarter
of a mile, and when the former had got nearly over, he turned to look
for those behind him. They were not to be seen. Cheadle, therefore,
left his horse, and going back to see what had happened, met Mr. O’B.
climbing hastily up the mountain-side, but minus Bucephalus. “Where’s
the horse?” said Cheadle. “Oh,” said Mr. O’B., “he’s gone, killed,
tumbled over a precipice, _Facilis descensus_, you see. He slipped and
fell over--ἕπειτα πέδονδε κυλίνδετο ἽΠΠΟΣ ἀναιδής, you know, Doctor,
and I have not seen him since. It’s not the slightest use going back, I
assure you, to look for him, for he’s _comminuted_, smashed to atoms,
dashed to a thousand pieces! It’s a dreadful thing isn’t it?” Cheadle,
however, sternly insisted that Mr. O’B. should accompany him back to
the scene of the accident, and the latter reluctantly followed.

The place where the horse had slipped and struggled was easily found,
for the bark torn off the recumbent trunks marked the course of his
headlong descent. The place from which he fell was about 120 or 130
feet above the river, and the last thirty or forty feet of this a
perpendicular face of rock. Cheadle crept down and looked over the
edge, and on a little flat space below saw Bucephalus, astride of a
large tree, lengthwise. The tree was propped up by others horizontally
at such a height that the animal’s legs hung down on each side without
touching the ground. The two then descended, expecting to find him
mortally injured, but, to their astonishment, he appeared quite
comfortable in his novel position. The packs were taken off, and
Cheadle, by a vigorous lift--Mr. O’B. declining the suggestion that
he should haul at the tail, on the ground of the dangerous nature of
the service--rolled the horse from his perch. He was uninjured, and
Mr. O’B. led him past the most dangerous part, whilst his companion
toiled after, carrying the packs up the brow to safer ground. After the
horse had been re-loaded, the two pursued their way, but before many
yards were passed, the other horse slipped, and rolled down the hill.
He luckily brought up against some trees, before reaching the bottom;
but again the pack had to be cut off, again carried up, and the horse
hauled on to his legs and led up the steep. Soon after they joined the
rest, another horse, refusing to jump some timber in the path, bolted
aside and fell into a regular pit, formed by fallen trees and rocks;
every effort to extricate him was useless. We were alone, for the
rest of the party had gone on, and after trying in vain for nearly an
hour, Milton ran ahead, caught them up, and brought back the axe. It
was another hour’s work to cut him out and re-pack, but we found our
companions not far before us, and indeed there was little danger of
their leaving us any great distance behind.

The river still continued a grand rapid, and a short distance more
brought us to a place where the ravine suddenly narrowed to about fifty
feet, with high straight-cut rocks on either side, through which, for
about 100 yards, almost at a right angle, and down a swift descent,
the waters raged so frightfully about huge rocks standing out in the
stream, that it was instantly named by The Assiniboine the “Porte
d’Enfer.” No raft or canoe could have lived there for a moment, and we
thankfully congratulated ourselves that we had decided to make our way
by land.

We camped for the night close to where we had started in the morning,
and The Assiniboine, having cut his foot to the bone on the sharp
rocks, amongst which we walked nearly barefoot, was completely
disabled. That night he was thoroughly disheartened, declared the river
we were following was not the Thompson at all, and we must make up our
minds to perish miserably. Mr. O’B. of course heartily concurred, and
it required all our powers of persuasion, and an explanation by the
map, to restore hope.

Another day similar to the last brought us to the end of the rapid.
The woman had bravely taken her husband’s place ahead with an axe,
and worked away like a man. The last of the dried horse-flesh, boiled
with the scrapings of the flour-bag, formed our supper. We had only
three charges of powder left, and this we kept for special emergency.
The Assiniboine, however, and his son had succeeded in “nobbling” a
brace of partridges, knocking the young birds out of the trees with
short sticks, missiles they used with great dexterity. We had been
cheered during the day by observing the first traces of man--except
the dead body of the Indian--we had seen for sixteen days. These were
old stumps of trees, which bore marks of an axe, though now decayed
and mossed over. The next day, however, was cold and wet, and we felt
wretched enough as we forced our way for hours through a beaver swamp,
where the bracken grew higher than our heads, and tangled willows of
great size required cutting away at every step. Slimy, stagnant pools,
treacherous and deep, continually forced us to turn aside. At last a
stream, whose banks were densely clothed with underwood, barred the
path, and we could not find a practicable ford. Drenched to the skin,
shivering, miserable, having had no food since the previous evening,
we felt almost inclined to give way to despair, for we seemed to have
gained nothing by our labours. There was no sign of the end.

Our journey had now lasted nearly three months; for five weeks we had
not seen a human being, nor for the last three had we seen the smallest
evidence of man’s presence at any time in the wild forest in which we
were buried.

After several futile attempts to cross the stream, The Assiniboine sat
down with his wife and son, and refused to go any further. We did not
attempt to argue the matter, but, merely remarking that we did not
intend to give in without another struggle, took the axes, and renewed
the search for a crossing place. Having at length discovered a shallow
place, and cut a path to it, we led the horses into the water, but
the mud was so soft and deep, and the banks so beset with slippery
logs, that they could not climb up, and rolled back into the water.
At this juncture The Assiniboine, fairly put to shame, came to our
assistance, and we unpacked the animals and hauled them out. We were
quite benumbed by standing so long up to our waists in the ice-cold
water, and after we had got the horses across, as the rain still poured
down, we camped on a little mound in the midst of the dismal swamp.
There was no chance of finding any other provision, and we therefore
led out another horse and shot him at once. Another day was occupied in
drying the meat, and in mending our tattered garments as before. Mr.
O’B., who, it is only justice to say, had improved vastly under his
severe trials, was now plunged in the depths of despair. He confided
to us that he loathed Paley, whom he looked upon as a special pleader;
that his faith was sapped to its foundations, and--“_curis ingentibus
æger_”--he was rapidly becoming insane, adding that he should have
lost his wits long ago but for his book; and now, since he must be
deprived of that consolation, there could be but one horrible result--
madness. And in truth we had noticed a remarkable change during the
last week. From being the most garrulous of men, he had lately become
the most taciturn; and although solemn and silent in company, he
muttered to himself incessantly as he walked along. Revived, however,
by a plentiful meal of fresh meat, he became more cheerful, took a more
orthodox view of the “Evidences,” the one-eyed spectacles again stole
on to his nose, Paley again came forth from the pocket of the clerical
coat, and he was presently absorbed in theology once more.

The rest of us discussed our prospects, and various plans were
proposed. It was certain that the horses, already mere skeletons, could
not hold out many days longer, unless they found proper pasturage.
For a long time past indeed we had expected some of them to lie down
and die in their tracks. Their bodies mere frames of bone covered
with skin, their flanks hollow, their backs raw, their legs battered,
swollen, and bleeding--a band for the knackers’ yard--they were
painful to look upon.

The project of rafting was renewed, for the river now flowed with a
tempting tranquillity; but the recollection of the Grand Rapid and
Porte d’Enfer decided us against it, and doubtless we thus escaped
great disaster, for we afterwards met with several dangerous rapids
in the river below. We agreed to stick to our horses as long as they
could travel, then kill some for provisions, and make for the Fort on
foot. The Assiniboine was utterly dispirited, and continued gloomy and
morose, dropping from time to time hints of desertion, and reproaching
us bitterly with having led him into such desperate straits. He camped
apart from us, with his wife and boy, holding frequent and significant
consultations with them; and it required all the forbearance we could
command, to prevent an open rupture with the man and his family.

On the morning of the 18th, before we started, our ears were greeted
by the cry of that bird of ill omen, a crow--to us proclaiming glad
tidings, for it was a sure indication of more open country being at
hand. Our spirits were raised still more by observing during the day’s
journey signs of man’s presence as recent as the preceding spring--a
few branches cut with a knife, as if by some one making his way through
the bushes.

A heavy thunder-storm which came on obliged us to camp very early;
but the next day we struck a faint trail, which slightly improved as
we advanced, and towards evening we found the tracks of horses. The
path disappeared, and re-appeared again, during the next two days,
and was still very dubious and faint, so that we were afraid it might
be a deceptive one, after all; but on the night of the 21st we came
to a marsh where horse tracks were very numerous, and found on the
further side, where we camped, a large cedar felled, from which a canoe
had been made. On a tree was an inscription which was not legible,
although the words seemed to be English. To our intense delight, the
next morning we hit upon a trail where the trees had been “blazed,” or
marked with an axe a long time ago, and old marten-traps at intervals
informed us that we had at last touched the extreme end of an old
trapping path from the Fort. The valley began rapidly to expand, the
hills became lower, the trail continued to become more and more beaten,
and at noon on the 22nd we fairly shouted for joy as we emerged from
the gloom in which we had so long been imprisoned, on to a beautiful
little prairie, and saw before us a free, open country, diversified
with rounded hills and stretches of woodland. We stopped with one
accord, and lay down on the green turf, basking in the sun, whilst we
allowed our horses to feed on the rich prairie grass, such as they had
not tasted since leaving Edmonton.

The day was gloriously bright and fine, and the delight with which we
gazed upon the beautiful landscape before us will be appreciated, if
the reader will reflect that we had travelled for more than eleven
weeks without cessation, and for the last month had been lost in the
forest, starving, over-worked, almost hopeless of escape. Even Mr.
O’B., who had resumed the study of Paley with renewed zest, looked up
from his book from time to time, and ventured to express a hope that we
_might_ escape, after all, and offered his advice upon the course to be
pursued in the happier time at hand.

CHAPTER XVI.

On a Trail again--The Effect on Ourselves and the Horses--The
Changed Aspect of the Country--Wild Fruits--Signs of Man
Increase--Our Enthusiastic Greeting--Starving Again--Mr.
O’B. finds Caliban--His Affectionate Behaviour to Him--The
Indians’ Camp--Information about Kamloops--Bartering for Food--
Clearwater River--Cross the Thompson--The Lily-Berries--Mr.
O’B. and the Assiniboine Fall Out--Mr. O’B. flees to the Woods--
Accuses the Assiniboine of an Attempt to Murder Him--Trading for
Potatoes--More Shushwaps--Coffee and Pipes--Curious Custom of
the Tribe--Kamloops in Sight--Ho! for the Fort--Mr. O’B. takes
to his Heels--Captain St. Paul--A Good Supper--Doubts as to
our Reception--Our Forbidding Appearance--Our Troubles at an
End--Rest.

The trail was well worn and cleared, and after we reached the little
prairie we were able to proceed at a great pace; the horses as
inspirited as ourselves by the pleasing change, occasionally broke
into a trot, although, from their skeleton-like appearance, we almost
expected the shaking would cause them to tumble to pieces. The river
again became a rapid, and a dark hill, running east and west, loomed up
ahead, as if closing in the valley. But the country around had assumed
a Californian aspect--the colour of a lithograph--rolling swells,
brown with bunch-grass, and studded with scattered yellow pines. The
more sandy hills were covered with small spruce, and there, too, grew
quantities of bilberries as large as English grapes, and of delicious
flavour. Here and there wild cherry-trees, or thorns loaded with large
black haws, supplied us with a grateful though unsatisfying food. We
were up before daylight on the 23rd, eager to reach the Fort, and
journeyed through as pleasant a country and along as easy a road as
the day before, revelling in the broad sunlight. At noon signs of man
became more numerous. We found the print of a moccasin in the sand of
the river-bank, and saw an old canoe on the opposite shore. Presently
we were startled by the rustling of the bushes which closed in the
track before us, and, directly after, an Indian appeared, followed
by a squaw having a child upon her back. These were the first human
beings we had seen since leaving the Tête Jaune Cache, and the man was
immensely astonished by the greeting we gave him, shaking hands with
him violently, laughing, and asking questions he could not understand.
He evidently knew the word Kamloops, and we concluded from his signs
that we should meet more Indians shortly, and might reach Kamloops that
night. We hurried forward again for another ten or twelve miles, but
there was not a sign of the Fort, nor did we meet more Indians. On this
evening we ate the last morsel of dried horse, but resolved to trust
now to obtaining food from the Indians whom we expected to meet before
long.

By mid-day on the 24th we reached another beautiful little prairie,
across which paths came into the one we followed from all directions.
We had just crossed a clear shallow stream, which we named Wentworth
River, when we heard Mr. O’B. shouting behind us, and calling loudly
for Cheadle. We stopped, and he came up, leading affectionately by the
hand a most hideously repulsive-looking Indian. He wore nothing but a
pair of ragged trousers, his skin was dirty, and his face perfectly
diabolical--a vast expanse of visage, in the midst of which a rugged,
swollen nose stood out, a mouth which yawned like the gates of Gehenna,
and eyes with a most malignant squint. Behind this monster, whom we at
once named “Caliban,” followed a younger fellow of more prepossessing
appearance; but Mr. O’B. regarded him not, pulling Caliban along, and
crying out, “Look here, my lord! look here, Doctor! I’ve been the
means of saving us, after all.” He chattered to his new-found friend
incessantly, patting him lovingly on the shoulder, and looking in his
face with most insinuating smiles. The two men made signs to us to
follow them, and we went with them to a little open space. Two squaws
and some children were seated over a fire, engaged in cooking berries
in an iron pot. Directly we mentioned Kamloops, they exclaimed, “Aiyou
muck-a-muck, aiyou tea, aiyou tobacco, aiyou salmon, aiyou whisky,
Kamloops!” from which we inferred there were abundance of good things
to be found there. The Assiniboine inquired by signs how long it would
take us to reach Fort Kamloops, and the younger man, in reply, imitated
fast walking, and then going to sleep four times in succession;
meaning thereby it would take us four days’ hard travelling to get
there. They offered us a portion of the berries, which we ate very
greedily, and then produced two rabbits, for one of which Mr. O’B.
gave a tattered shirt, and the other we bought for some needles and
small shot. Presently the old Shushwap we had encountered the previous
day turned up, hot and exhausted by his efforts to overtake us. He
hurried away again immediately, but returned in a few minutes with
some potatoes, to sell which he had come back in such haste. Mrs.
Assiniboine, to our surprise, produced a nice clean linen shirt of
Mr. Assiniboine’s, which she had managed by some means to save from
the general wreck, offered it to the old Indian, and the potatoes
were ours. We ate some raw at once, so famished were we; and when the
remainder and the rabbits were cooked, had a great feast. The Indians
agreed to raise camp and go with us, the younger fellow accompanying
us on foot, while Caliban took charge of the women and children in two
canoes. We came to a large stream flowing into the Thompson from the
west (Clearwater River), where we found Caliban awaiting us with the
canoes, by which we crossed to the southern bank, and there camped for
the night.

During our journey the following morning we came upon the dead bodies
of two Indians--a man and woman--lying festering in the sun. They
were lying side by side, covered with a blanket, and all their goods
and chattels undisturbed around. We saw several more of these ghastly
spectacles afterwards, and made out from our Shushwap friends that
there had been a fearful mortality amongst the Indians, owing, as we
subsequently learnt, to the ravages of small-pox. At mid-day we found
Caliban and his ladies waiting to transfer us to the eastern bank of
the Thompson, whither the trail now led. We dined with them before
crossing, our fare being the fruit of a kind of lily, which tasted much
like the berry of the yew tree, and was exceedingly luscious. We ate
freely of it, both cooked and raw, and suffered horribly in consequence.

When we had crossed the river, Milton and Mrs. Assiniboine accepted
the Indians’ invitation to go with them in the canoes, whilst the rest
brought the horses along the bank. Cheadle was shortly after seized
with severe pains in the stomach, accompanied by violent nausea and
vomiting. He was compelled to pull up and remain behind; and after
remaining some two hours, seated on a log in most woful plight, crawled
after the rest with some difficulty. He came up with them at the foot
of a steep, rocky bluff--to which we afterwards gave the name of
Assiniboine Bluff, from an incident which occurred there--up which the
trail passed by a tortuous zigzag.

Up this the others led the horses one by one, the track, a mere ledge
of rock, ascending the perpendicular face of the bluff nearly to the
summit, and descending as rapidly by the other side. Last of all
Cheadle led his horse up the perilous path, and when he gained the top,
heard a great shouting and commotion going on amongst the party who
had descended before him. All was soon quiet, and by the time he got
down every one had disappeared. Darkness came on rapidly, the road lay
through thick wood, and Cheadle, hastening on, found The Assiniboine
and his boy at a standstill, unable to distinguish the trail any
longer. Although they had no provisions, there was nothing for it but
to give up the idea of meeting the canoe-party, as had been agreed,
and camp on the spot. Before very long it dawned upon Cheadle that Mr.
O’B. was wanting, and he inquired of the Assiniboine what had become of
him. The latter was evidently rather disconcerted by the question, and
answered in some confusion, “Il est bête! il m’avait querellé, et puis
s’est sauvé.” On cross-examination The Assiniboine confessed that he
had lost his temper with “Le Vieux” about his management of the horses,
and in his anger had struck him with his fist, whereupon Mr. O’B. fled
in terror, and disappeared in the woods.

The night was pitch dark, the woods thick, and the trail very
indistinct. Mr. O’B. had the habit of always losing a good track in
broad daylight, and Cheadle felt serious apprehensions for his fate
now. But it was useless to look for him until morning, and the party
turned in supperless--the horses being in the same predicament. In
the meantime Milton had arrived in the canoe at a little prairie,
where were several Indian potato-gardens, from which Caliban and his
party provided a plentiful supper, and after waiting in vain for the
arrival of Cheadle and The Assiniboine, gave them up and sought
their blankets. Shortly before daylight Milton was awakened out of a
sound sleep by some one shaking him, and saying, “My lord! my lord!
you must get up directly; something very serious has happened,” and
Milton recognised the quivering accents of Mr. O’B. Quite at a loss to
understand how he had got there alone at that time, Milton sat up and
listened to his explanation.

“My lord,” said Mr. O’B., “I accuse The Assiniboine of attempting to
murder me. We had some trouble with the horses, and as I stood by, not
knowing how to help, he came up to me with most fiendish expression,
and deliberately hit me a tremendous blow on the head with the back of
his axe. I was stunned, but managed to run off into the woods--hardly
recollect anything more--wandering about bewildered--‘_Hic mihi
nescio quod trepido male numen amicum confusam eripuit mentem_’--until
I caught sight of the fire, and found you here. You know, my lord, I
warned you and the Doctor at Edmonton of the dangerous character you
were trusting yourselves with. He is a most wicked man. I shall go
on to Kamloops as soon as it is light, and get out a warrant for the
apprehension of The Assiniboine immediately on his arrival.”

Milton could not help laughing at his earnestness and fright, told
him that he must be mistaken as to the murderous intentions of The
Assiniboine, for had he struck him as described, Mr. O’B. would not
have wandered far. Cheadle’s party arrived in the course of an hour
or two, and we examined both The Assiniboine and his victim. A slight
swelling on Mr. O’B.’s occiput was the only injury to be discovered,
and we came to the conclusion that The Assiniboine’s account of the
quarrel was substantially correct. We rebuked the man very severely,
warning him of the danger of such behaviour in the country we were now
entering; while to Mr. O’B. we represented the absurdity of supposing
any murderous intent. But the latter was unconvinced. He dared not
leave the side of one of us for a moment, and it was most laughable to
observe how he watched every movement of The Assiniboine, apprehensive
of a renewal of hostilities. From Caliban we purchased a bucketful of
potatoes, for Milton’s embroidered Indian saddle and Mr. O’B.’s M.B.
waistcoat, the last article of trade he could rake up. Caliban and his
family bade us good-bye here, but the younger man and his squaw agreed
to guide us within sight of Kamloops.

The following day we met some Indians, whom we took at first for
Mexicans, so little did they resemble the Red Men of the eastern side.
Their faces were of Asiatic cast, rather than the European character
shown by the fine bold features of the true North American Indian, the
countenance broader and rounder, the nose smaller and less prominent,
and the complexion darker and less transparent. Their horses were
equipped with Mexican saddles, and the bridles garnished by numberless
little bells. They treated us to coffee and a smoke, and who will
doubt the luxury of it to us, after six weeks’ abstinence? On the
afternoon of the 28th our guide turned back, after showing us a distant
range of hills which marked the position of Kamloops, and gave us to
understand that we should sleep there that night. The man had treated
us very kindly, and we presented him with the Assiniboine’s gun. We
heard afterwards that he dared not visit the rest of the tribe near
the Fort, afraid of retribution for a grievous offence against the
Shushwap laws. It seems to be the rule with them, as with the Jews,
that should a man die childless, his brother shall marry the widow. Our
friend had carried off a widow, and married her, whereupon the injured
brother-in-law vowed vengeance, and the offender feared to encounter
him.

We walked on in the hot sun, weary, weak, and footsore, but at dusk
could not see our destination. We had not yet recovered from the effect
of the berries, and became so faint and exhausted that we yielded at
length to the request of The Assiniboine to ride on ahead, and leave
him to follow more slowly. Fortunately the horses had revived so much
with the good pasture of the last few days, that two were found able to
carry riders; and away we went, getting a canter out of our skeleton
steeds with much difficulty. Mr. O’B. had walked on before the rest,
in his eagerness to gain the protection of the law, and when we passed
him, began to run after us, crying, “Don’t leave me, my lord!” “Do stop
for me, Doctor! Please let me come with you!” But we had no compassion
on him, and galloped on. Whenever we looked behind us, we saw Mr.
O’B. still running at the top of his speed, afraid the bloodthirsty
Assiniboine might overtake him. We entered on a sandy plain, on the
further side of which were hills running east and west. The Fort _could
not_ be beyond them. On we went, hammering and shouting at our flagging
beasts, and ever and anon looking behind, when Mr. O’B. could still be
seen in the dim twilight, tearing after us with undiminished speed. At
last, after it was quite dark, we caught sight of a house, galloped up
to it, jumped off, left our horses to their own devices, and entered a
sort of yard, where were several half-breeds and Indians just rising
from their seats round a cloth spread on the ground, with the remains
of supper. An old Indian came, introduced himself, in a mixed jargon of
French, English, and Chinook, as Captain St. Paul, and inquired who we
were. We told him we had come across the mountains, and were starving,
begging him to give us some food as quickly as possible. He said we
should have abundance immediately, but that we must pay “un piastre
chaque.” We recklessly assured him that if it cost 100 dollars each
we must have it; and before long we were devouring a greasy mess of
bacon and cabbage and some delicious cakes, and drinking copiously the
long-desired tea. Before we had eaten many mouthfuls, Mr. O’B. arrived
breathless, but not the least exhausted, and attacked the good things
as savagely as ourselves. He was the only one of the company who had
the strength to perform the feat of running three or four miles, which
he had just accomplished. In about an hour The Assiniboine arrived
with the horses, and soon shared the delights of an unlimited feed.
The number of cakes we ate astonished even the Indians, whose views
on this subject are broad enough. Presently Mr. Martin and several
others arrived from the Fort, to be present at a half-breeds’ ball
which was to take place at St. Paul’s that evening. Mr. Martin received
us with great kindness, and invited us to take up our quarters with
him the next day. We were surprised to meet with such unquestioning
hospitality, for in truth we were as miserable and unprepossessing a
company as ever presented itself for approval: our clothes in tatters,
the legs of Milton’s trousers torn off above the knees, and Cheadle’s
in ribbons; our feet covered only by the shreds of moccasins; our faces
gaunt, haggard, and unshaven; our hair long, unkempt, and matted; and
we had no means of proving our identity, where our appearance was so
little calculated to inspire confidence or liking. But our story was
believed at once, and our troubles were over at last--at last!

CHAPTER XVII.

Kamloops--We discover true Happiness--The Fort and surrounding
Country--The Adventures of the Emigrants who preceded us--
Catastrophe at the Grand Rapid--Horrible Fate of Three
Canadians--Cannibalism--Practicability of a Road by the Yellow
Head Pass--Various Routes from Tête Jaune Cache--Advantages of
the Yellow Head Pass, contrasted with those to the South--The
Future Highway to the Pacific--Return of Mr. McKay--Mr. O’B.
sets out alone--The Murderers--The Shushwaps of Kamloops--
Contrast between them and the Indians East of the Rocky
Mountains--Mortality--The Dead Unburied--Leave Kamloops--
Strike the Wagon Road from the Mines--Astonishment of The
Assiniboine Family--The remarkable Terraces of the Thompson
and Fraser--Their great Extent: contain Gold--Connection with
the Bunch-grass--The Road along the Thompson--Cook’s Ferry--
The Drowned Murderer--Rarity of Crime in the Colony--The most
Wonderful Road in the World--The Old Trail--Pack-Indians--
Indian mode of catching Salmon--Gay Graves--The Grand Scenery
of the Cañons--Probable Explanation of the Formation of the
Terraces--Yale--Hope and Langley--New Westminster--Mr.
O’B. turns up again--Mount Baker--The Islands of the Gulf of
Georgia--Victoria, Vancouver Island.

The sun was high when we turned out on the 29th of August. After a
substantial breakfast we crossed over to the Fort, which is situated on
the opposite side of the river. Here we were most hospitably received
by Mr. Martin and Mr. Burgess, who were in charge during the absence of
the chief trader, Mr. McKay. The first thing we did after our arrival
was to obtain a suit of clothes apiece from the store, and proceed to
the river, where we had a delightful bathe. We threw our rags into
the Thompson, donned our new attire, and then enjoyed the _otium cum
dignitate_ to our hearts’ content, and over grateful pipes inquired
the news--not of the day--but of the past year. Great events had
occurred during our seclusion from the world. We heard for the first
time of the marriage of the Prince of Wales, the Polish insurrection,
the prospect of war between Denmark and Prussia, the progress of the
American contest. But although this was delightful enough, it was
not the greatest pleasure we enjoyed. The height of happiness--we
say it advisedly, yet knowing the contempt which must overwhelm us:
it is true, oh, philosopher; it is true, dear lady, with strong mind
and spectacles, wearer of cerulean hose--the height of happiness was
eating and drinking! Deal with us gently, sour ascetics and stern
divines abhorring the carnal, and corpulent, virtuous magistrates who
sit in judgment on miserable creatures driven into sin by starvation--
_expertis credite_. Have we not thousands on our side in this great
city who daily hunger?--not to mention a few aldermen and a well-fed
bishop or two to back us on principle? Talk not to us of intellectual
raptures; the mouth and stomach are the doors by which enter true
delight. Mutton chops, potatoes, bread, butter, milk, rice pudding,
tea, and sugar: contrast dried horse-flesh and water, or martens, or
nothing at all, with these luxuries! The ordinary bountiful meals of
the Fort were quite inadequate for our satisfaction, and we managed
to interpolate three more by rising early in the morning, before the
good people of the Fort were up, and breakfasting with Mr. and Mrs.
Assiniboine, who dwelt in the tent hard by, secretly visiting them
again between breakfast and dinner, dinner and supper. We rested
from eating only from a sense of repletion, not from any decrease of
appetite. Under this active treatment our meagre bodies rapidly waxed
gross, and three weeks afterwards Cheadle made the astounding discovery
that he had gained forty-one pounds since his arrival at Kamloops!

The Hudson’s Bay Company’s Fort at Kamloops is situated on the south
bank of the Thompson, a few hundred yards below the junction of the
northern with the southern branch. Opposite the Fort the two streams
flow distinct in a common channel, the turbid, glacier-fed river from
the north contrasting with the limpid waters of the other, like the
Missouri after its junction with the Mississippi. The Shushwap branch
of the Thompson coming from the south turns to the west, to enter the
Shushwap lake, and flows in the same direction to Kamloops, below which
its waters are rendered muddy by the accession of the northern branch.
Seven miles below, the river expands into Lake Kamloops, and issues
from thence again clear and pellucid, to be lost at Lytton in the muddy
and turbulent Fraser.

The country round Kamloops is of the Californian character before
described. Rolling hills, covered with bunch-grass and scattered pines,
rise in every direction. The pasturage is very rich and extensive, and
large bands of horses, herds of cattle, and flocks of sheep, are kept
here by the Hudson’s Bay Company.

During our stay here, and in our subsequent travels through British
Columbia, we met some of the emigrants who had crossed the mountains
the year before, and heard the history of their adventures. It will
be remembered that when the first and principal body left Tête Jaune
Cache, they divided, one party making large rafts there to descend the
Fraser, whilst the others sought the head waters of the North Thompson.
Those who went down the Fraser, after much suffering and many mishaps,
eventually arrived at the Mouth of Quesnelle, having lost one of their
number, who sank from disease induced by hardship and exposure. The
party who followed the Thompson, about sixty in number, after vainly
endeavouring to cut their way to Cariboo, turned south, in order to try
and reach Kamloops.

In a few days their provisions gave out, and their progress had been so
slow and difficult that they gave up in despair the design of making
their way by land. At “Slaughter Camp” they killed their oxen and dried
the meat; then built large rafts, on which they embarked, abandoning
all their horses, amounting to between forty and fifty.

The Assiniboine had rightly interpreted the signs of their trail. All
went well with the voyageurs until they reached the Grand Rapid. The
men on the leading rafts did not perceive the danger until too late
to avoid it. The rafts were sucked into the rapids in spite of all
their efforts, and many of the unfortunate people drowned. Those who
followed were warned in time by the fate of their companions, and
succeeded in reaching the shore in safety. They had now to cut their
way along the precipitous banks which proved so difficult to us, but as
they landed on the opposite side of the river, we did not come across
their trail. After reaching the end of the Grand Rapid (Murchison’s
Rapids) they again made rafts, and, shooting the lower rapids safely,
arrived in wretched plight at Kamloops.

The third party, consisting of five Canadians--three brothers named
Rennie, and two others, Helstone and Wright--crossed later in the
autumn, and obtained canoes at the Cache to descend the Fraser. The
Shushwaps there had informed us that they had discovered the canoes
lying bottom upwards, and their property strewn along the shore, below
some rapids, and believed that the whole party had been drowned. But
three of their number met with a far more horrible fate than this. We
now learnt that, in order to shoot the dangerous rapids with greater
safety, they had lashed the two canoes together; but in spite of this
precaution the boats were swamped. Two of the Rennies succeeded in
reaching the shore, and the other three men a rock in the middle of
the stream. For two days and nights the latter remained exposed to
the bitter cold of the commencing winter, without a morsel of food,
before their companions were able to effect their release. A rope was
at last passed to the rock, and the men hauled ashore, half dead with
hunger, and fearfully frost-bitten. They were so helpless as to be
quite unable to proceed further, and the two Rennies, having cut a
quantity of fire-wood, and given them almost the whole of their scanty
stock of provisions, set out on foot to seek assistance at Fort George,
which they calculated on reaching in six days. But they had under-rated
the distance; their path lay through dense encumbered forests, and
the snow had fallen to considerable depth before they reached the
Fort, frost-bitten, and almost dead from hunger and exhaustion, after
twenty-eight days’ travelling. Indians were immediately sent out to
the assistance of the unfortunate men left behind, but returned in a
few days, declaring the snow was too deep for them to proceed. Other
Indians, however, discovered the party some time afterwards. Helstone
and Wright were still alive, but, maddened by hunger, had killed
Rennie. When they were found they had eaten all but his legs, which
they held in their hands at the time. They were covered with blood,
being engaged in tearing the raw flesh from the bones with their teeth.
The Indians attempted to light a fire for them, when the two cannibals
drew their revolvers, and looked so wild and savage, that the Indians
fled and left them to their fate, not daring to return. The following
spring a party of miners, on their way to Peace River, were guided
by Indians to the place where these men were seen by them. The bones
of two were found piled in a heap, one skull had been split open by
an axe, and many of the other bones showed the marks of teeth. The
third was missing, but was afterwards discovered a few hundred yards
from the camp. The skull had been cloven by an axe, and the clothes
stripped from the body, which was little decomposed. The interpretation
of these signs could hardly be mistaken. The last survivor had killed
his fellow-murderer and eaten him, as shown by the gnawed bones so
carefully piled in a heap. He had in turn probably been murdered by
Indians, for the principal part of the dead men’s property was found in
their possession.

The fourth band of emigrants--the party of three who preceded us by a
few days in the journey across the mountains, and descended the Fraser
in canoes under the guidance of the two old Shushwaps from The Cache--
reached Fort George without any serious misadventure.

Whilst taking our ease at Kamloops it may be well to consider the
question of the practicability of a road across the mountains by the
Yellow Head, or Leather Pass. The necessity for opening a communication
between the eastern and western sides of the Rocky Mountains, and
the advantages of a route across the continent which passes through
British territory, will, we apprehend, appear clearly enough upon a
more intimate acquaintance with the resources and requirements of
British Columbia. At present we wish merely to show that a road might
be constructed by the Yellow Head Pass without any great difficulty,
and that this route is in many respects superior to others hitherto
more generally known. In the first place, then, we may safely state
that, with the exception of one or two rocky and precipitous bluffs--
few and trifling obstructions, compared with those which have been
so successfully overcome in making the road along the Fraser--there
are no engineering difficulties of any importance. From the Red River
Settlement to Edmonton, about 800 miles, the road lies through a
fertile and park-like country, and an excellent cart trail already
exists. From Edmonton to Jasper House, a distance of about 400 miles,
the surface is slightly undulating, the lower ground universally
swampy, and everywhere covered with thick forest. There is little
doubt that a better trail than the one at present used might be found
for this portion of the way, by keeping to the higher ground, for the
pioneers of the Hudson’s Bay Company sought the swamps in the first
instance, as offering fewer impediments to their progress, on account
of their being less heavily timbered. From Jasper House to Tête Jaune
Cache--the pass through the main ridge of the Rocky Mountains, about
100 or 120 miles in length--a wide break in the chain, running
nearly east and west, offers a natural roadway, unobstructed except
by timber. The rivers, with the exception of the Athabasca and the
Fraser, are small and fordable; even at their highest. The ascent to
the height of land is very gradual, and, indeed, hardly perceptible;
the level only 3,760 feet above the sea;[11] and the descent on the
western slope, although more rapid, is neither steep nor difficult.
From The Cache the road might be carried in almost a straight line to
Richfield, in Cariboo, lying nearly due west; the western extremity
of the pass, Tête Jaune Cache, being in latitude 52 deg. 58 min.,[12]
and Richfield in latitude nearly 53 deg. 3 min. 9 sec.[13] The region
to be traversed is mountainous and densely wooded, but the distance is
not more than ninety miles, according to the recent calculation of Dr.
Rae, which agrees with the six days’ journey, the estimate given us
by the Shushwaps of The Cache; and a road has already been made from
the Mouth of Quesnelle, on the Fraser, to Richfield, through similar
country. This would, therefore, complete the line of communication
through Cariboo to Victoria. An easier route might, perhaps, be found
by following the Canoe River, which is situate about twenty miles
south of The Cache, to its source in the Cariboo district, but nothing
is known of the country between Tête Jaune Cache and Cariboo, beyond
the general view of mountain and forest seen from Richfield and The
Cache. A third line offers itself by following the North Thompson to
the point where the Wentworth River enters it, about eighty miles north
of Kamloops. This stream, the Shushwaps informed us, came from the
Cariboo Lake, and passed through a tolerably open region. And lastly,
a road could be made down the valley of the Thompson to Kamloops, from
whence the Shushwap, Okanagan, and Kootanie districts--where diggings
of the richest kind have lately been discovered--and the road on the
Fraser, are easily accessible. From The Cache to within eighty miles of
Kamloops the only way lies through a succession of narrow gorges, shut
in on each side by lofty and inaccessible mountains. The whole of this
is obstructed by growing and fallen timber, generally of the largest
size; but the fact of our success in bringing our horses through
without any previous track being cut open, proves sufficiently that
there are no serious obstacles in the way of an engineer. There are no
great ascents or descents, and no bluffs of solid rock occur until the
last forty miles, where the country is otherwise open and unobstructed.
The flooding of the river by the melted snows from the mountains does
not interfere with the passage along the valley, for we traversed it
at the season when the waters are at the highest. The most serious
difficulty to the adoption of a route by Jasper House would be the want
of pasturage for cattle. The patches of open are few on the eastern
side, and although larger and more numerous within the mountains, on
the western side the forest is unbroken for above a hundred miles.

Of the passes to the south, all, with the exception of the Vermilion
Pass,[14] descend abruptly on the west through rugged and difficult
country. The Vermilion Pass, which is the lowest, is 4,944 feet above
the level of the sea, or above 1,000 feet higher than the Leather Pass;
and although Dr. Hector states[15] that a road might be constructed
across it without material difficulty, it is open to the same objection
as the rest, that it communicates with the valley of the Columbia,
far to the south of the gold regions of Cariboo, passes through the
battle-ground of the Crees and Blackfeet, and is in unsafe proximity to
the American frontier.

The principal advantages to be urged in favour of the southern passes,
appear to be that they communicate with more open country on either
side, that pasturage is plentiful along the road, and that from their
lower latitude they are liable to be blocked up by snow for a somewhat
shorter period. Against these the claims of the route by Jasper House
may be briefly summed up as follows:--First, it offers the most direct
line from Canada to Cariboo, communicating with the road on the Fraser
by the shortest route, since Tête Jaune Cache is in latitude 52 deg. 58
min., Richfield Cariboo in latitude 53 deg. 3 min. 9 sec.[16] Secondly,
it is the only one which will afford easy communication with _all_ the
gold districts of British Columbia. Thirdly, it passes entirely through
a country inhabited only by peaceable and friendly Indians. Fourthly,
it is the easiest, lying only 3,760 feet above the sea,[17] with a
gradual slope on either side; and lastly, it lies four degrees north
of the American frontier. These considerations will, we imagine, cause
it to be eventually selected as the British highway to the Pacific;
and it is satisfactory to be able to state that Dr. Rae, who went out
in the spring of 1864 to discover the most suitable route for the
telegraph line which the Hudson’s Bay Company propose to carry across
the continent, decided upon taking it by the Yellow Head Pass, which
he surveyed as far as Tête Jaune Cache. We are permitted to remark
that his observations fully bear out the conclusion that there are no
serious obstacles to the formation of a road by this route from the
fertile belt of the Saskatchewan to British Columbia, as far as he
investigated it, viz., from Red River to The Cache.

After a day or two, Mr. McKay returned, and very kindly engaged to find
us horses and accompany us as far as Yale, the head of navigation on
the Fraser, if we would remain at Kamloops a few days longer. Mr. O’B.,
however, started at once for Victoria, eager to enjoy the pleasures
of a higher civilisation there. We must confess to a certain feeling
of regret at this, the first breaking up of the strange company who
had shared so many adventures together; and Mr. O’B. told us he bore
no ill-will, and would forgive and forget all his sufferings on the
journey. There were houses every six or seven miles along the road
from this point, and he set out, pack on back, without much fear of
danger before him. Yet, had he known that two men who had murdered
another coming down from the mines, were lurking in the neighbourhood,
he would have been very unhappy. One of these men was taken, a few days
afterwards, in the Bonaparte Valley; the other was supposed to have
crossed the Thompson, and to be lying concealed near Kamloops.

Our horses were so weak that we left them at Old St. Paul’s to recruit
for a few days, and then brought them across the river. This was nearly
fatal to poor Bucephalus, who was too exhausted to swim, and narrowly
escaped drowning in the passage. They soon improved on the rich
bunch-grass, and we made a present of them to The Assiniboine, for his
use in re-crossing by the Kootanie Pass next spring.

Numbers of Shushwaps frequented Kamloops, and their love of finery
made them very conspicuous amongst the roughly-dressed miners. The men
delighted in scarlet leggings, red sashes, and bright-coloured ribbons
in their caps; the women affected the gaudiest skirts, and the most
vivid-coloured handkerchiefs on their heads. They are beginning to
appreciate the advantages of agriculture, and grow potatoes with great
success; are keen traders, thoroughly acquainted with the value of
money, and by their labour alone as packmen, the miners were supplied
with necessaries for a long time, until a mule trail was cut open.
But although of superior industry to the Indians of the eastern side
of the Rocky Mountains, they compare very disadvantageously with them
in physique and intelligence, and presented many points of difference
from their relations we met at The Cache. They are of smaller stature
and less powerful build than the former; their faces are broader and
rounder; the cheek-bones higher; the nose smaller, less prominent, and
the nostrils more dilated. Their complexion is darker, and of a more
muddy, coppery hue than that of the true Red Indian, and their general
appearance so strange to our eyes when we first encountered a party
of them on our way down the North Thompson, that we never suspected
they were Indians, but took them for Mexicans, or some immigrants from
the east.[18] They are also talkative and mercurial, and exhibit none
of the dignity and conscious power which marks the Red Indian of the
plains.

The tradition of the origin of their tribes, existing amongst some of
the Indians of British Columbia, appears to be a curious confusion of
the Bible histories taught them by the Romish priests, who have been
established amongst them for upwards of a century. For the following
version we are indebted to Mr. Greville Mathew, registrar of the
colony:--A race of men existed upon the earth at the time when a
great flood came. It rained day and night week after week. The waters
rose rapidly, so that all were drowned except one man. He made haste
to reach higher ground, and ascended a lofty hill. Still it rained
ceaselessly, the waters covered the face of the land, and followed
this last Indian relentlessly as he retreated higher and higher up the
mountain side. At length he gained the very summit, and as he sat and
watched, the pursuing floods continued to approach. In hopeless despair
he prayed to the Great Spirit, who responded to his prayer by changing
the lower half of his body into stone, so that, when the advancing
waters surged up to him, he remained unmoved. They rose to his waist,
and then the rains ceased and the floods began to subside. Although
delighted with his unexpected escape, the solitary Indian was oppressed
with dismay by the reflection that he was the only survivor, and in his
distress again prayed to the Great Spirit to grant him a “Klootcheman,”
or squaw. He then fell asleep, and after a time awaking, found his
lower limbs restored to flesh and bone, and a beautiful “Klootcheman”
by his side. From this pair sprang the Indian tribes in British
Columbia. This is a striking instance of a fusion of the story of the
creation with that of the deluge; originally derived, no doubt, from
the early Romish missionaries, but by lapse of time having passed into
a tradition of the tribes, and suggests a source of error affecting
philology.

A fearful mortality has prevailed amongst them since the advent of the
whites, 300 having died in the neighbourhood of Kamloops alone from
small-pox the previous year. Their curious custom of leaving their dead
unburied, laid out in the open air, with all their property around
them, we observed on our journey to Kamloops, when, as the reader may
remember, we discovered many victims to the ravages of the pestilence.
Other diseases have been almost equally fatal, and before many years,
the once numerous natives of this country, although apparently easily
susceptible of a certain civilisation, will have diminished to a very
small company.

On the 8th of September we left Kamloops with Mr. McKay, and
accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Assiniboine, the boy, and another Indian.
We had determined to take our friends down to Victoria, for, although
The Assiniboine had once visited the Red River Settlement, the woman
and boy had never seen anything more like a town than a Hudson’s Bay
Post. We crossed the Thompson at the foot of Kamloops Lake, which is
about twelve miles long and not more than half a mile in breadth, and
surrounded by fine rocky hills; then, leaving the river, we kept on to
the valley of the Bonaparte, where we struck the road from Cariboo to
Yale, as yet only partially completed. The Assiniboine and his wife
were both greatly astonished at the Queen’s highway, but the boy became
quite excited, exclaiming, whenever any person appeared in sight,
“Aiwarkaken! mina quatuck!” (By Jove! there’s another fellow!) But when
we encountered a real swell of the neighbourhood, driving a “buggy” and
pair, he was delighted beyond expression. We now followed the valley of
the Bonaparte until it joins that of the Thompson, viewing with wonder
the curious terraces which strike the eye of a stranger so oddly, and
give such a peculiar character to the scenery of the Thompson and the
Fraser. We first observed them on the North Thompson, some thirty or
forty miles above Kamloops, and they are invariably present all along
the main river until its junction with the Fraser at Lytton. On the
Fraser they stretch from a little north of Alexandria to the Cañons
above Yale, a distance of above 300 miles. These terraces--or benches,
as they are called in this district--are perfectly level, and of
exactly the same height on each side of the river. They differ from the
so-called “parallel roads” of Glenroy in their enormous extent, being
vast plains as compared with the mere ledges of the Scottish terraces,
and are also free from the erratic boulders which mark the latter.
In most places there are three tiers, each tier corresponding with
a similar one on the opposite side of the valley. The lowest of the
three, where the valley expands, presents a perfectly flat surface of
often many miles in extent, raised some forty or fifty feet above the
level of the river bank, with a sloping front, resembling the face of a
railway embankment. Higher still, the second tier is generally cut out
of the mountain side, seldom more than a few acres in extent, and
raised sixty or seventy feet above the lower one; while, marked at an
inaccessible height along the face of the bluffs which run down to the
river, and probably 400 or 500 feet above it, is the third tier. These
“benches” are quite uniform, and of even surface, entirely free from
the great boulders so numerous in the present bed of the river, being
composed of shale, sand, and gravel, the detritus of the neighbouring
mountains. They are clothed with bunch-grass and wild sage, while
here and there a few scattered pines relieve the yellow bareness so
characteristic of the district. Similar terraces were noticed by Dr.
Hector on the Athabasca, Kootanie, and Columbia Rivers, and they have
been also observed on some rivers in California and Mexico; but in none
of these instances do they appear comparable in extent and regularity
with those of the Thompson and Fraser. It is worthy of remark that in
nearly every instance where these terraces have been found, in various
countries, they occur in _three_ successive tiers, as in these of
British Columbia; which would seem to mark as many separate epochs when
important geological disturbances took place.

[Illustration: THE TERRACES ON THE FRASER RIVER.

(_See page 338._)
]

Gold is found in all these benches on the Fraser in the state of the
finest “flour gold,” but not in sufficient quantities to satisfy the
miner when the richer diggings of Cariboo outrun all competition. There
seems to be some unexplained connection between these terraces and
the celebrated “bunch-grass,” for where the terraces commence on the
north, the bunch-grass is also first found, and both end together above
Yale. The rolling country between the two rivers is indeed clothed with
this grass, but it does not extend beyond the northern limit of the
terraces. In the valley of the Columbia, to the south-west, it grows
with great luxuriance, and here again the curious terraces are found.
The probable explanation of this circumstance is that the peculiar kind
of soil formed by the disintegration of the limestone, or soft volcanic
rocks, found in this district, is necessary to the growth of this
peculiar grass.

Soon after we again reached the Thompson, we came to a place where a
portion of the road was not yet made, and led our horses over high
rocky bluffs, which at first sight appeared completely to bar all
passage. The trail was a mere ledge of rock of a few inches in width,
and conquered the precipitous ascent by a succession of windings and
zig-zags. The path was so narrow that it was quite impossible for
horses to pass one another, and as the river rushes hundreds of feet
immediately below, and even a slip would be certainly fatal, it is
necessary to ascertain that the road is clear before venturing over the
dangerous precipices.

Along this part of the road we met a number of Chinamen at work
levelling the road, and their strange faces, large-brimmed hats, and
pig-tails caused intense amusement to our unsophisticated Assiniboines.
Further down a party of engineers were engaged in blasting the rock
where the road was to pass round the face of a bluff, and eight or
ten miles more brought us to the point where the road crosses to the
eastern bank of the Thompson. At this place, called Cook’s Ferry, we
stayed a night, and before we started in the morning some Indians
came in with the news that they had found a dead body stranded on the
shallows close by. We went to look at it with Mr. McKay, and from
certain marks tattooed upon the arm, and a complete correspondence
with the published description, we were satisfied that it was the body
of the murderer who had so long escaped pursuit. The man had probably
attempted to swim across the river in the night-time, and been drowned
in the rapids. Thus the only two men who had ever attempted highway
robbery in this colony--as far as we could ascertain--failed to
escape. The extraordinary rarity of crimes of violence in British
Columbia is owing, we believe, in great measure, to the vigorous
administration of the late Governor, Sir James Douglas, and the stern
justice meted out by Mr. Justice Begbie; but also in part, no doubt, to
the nature of the country. Shut in on every side by impassable mountain
barriers, the few outlets which exist are easily watched, and the
criminal has small chance of ultimate escape.

From Cook’s Ferry the road continues to follow the eastern bank of
the Thompson to its junction with the Fraser at Lytton--twenty-three
miles; it is then continued along the same side of the Fraser for
thirty-eight miles, or within thirteen miles of Yale, where it crosses
the river by a beautiful suspension bridge. The road from Cook’s
Ferry to Yale, especially the part below Lytton, is probably the most
wonderful in the world. Cut out of the mountain-side of the gorge, it
follows the hills as they recede in “gulches,” or advance in bold,
upright bluffs, in constant windings, like an eternal letter S. The
curves of ascent and descent are as sinuous as the lateral; the road at
one time running down, by a series of rapid turns, to the very bottom
of the valley, and then rising as quickly to pass the face of some
protruding bluff, apparently a complete barrier to all advance, but
past which it creeps, looking from below like a mere line scratched on
the round front, 500 or 600 feet above the river. At these points the
road is partly blasted out of the solid granite rock, and the width
increased by beams of rough pine, which project over the precipice; but
it is yet too narrow for vehicles to pass each other, except at certain
points. There is, of course, no protecting wall; the road overhangs the
precipice, and nothing is to be seen supporting the platform on which
you stand--a terrible place to drive along, as we afterwards found.
The road has been made, in this skilful and laborious manner, from
where it first strikes the Thompson to Yale, a distance of nearly 100
miles.

The trail formerly ran up many hundred feet higher, the barrier bluffs
being passed by platforms slung by the Indians from the top of the
cliff by cords of bark and deer-skin. These consisted of a single
long pole, supported by a cross-pole at each end, the points of which
rested against the face of the precipice. There was nothing to lay hold
of, and a slip or hasty step, as the passenger walked along the rail
embracing the face of the rock, would cause the pole to swing away, and
hurl the incautious climber into the abyss below.

The Bishop of Columbia, in his Journal, gives a very graphic
description of his journey along the old trail, in which he compares
his position to a fly upon the face of a perpendicular wall, in this
case between 2,000 and 3,000 feet high. Many a miner lost his life at
Jackass Mountain and Nicaragua Slide--places of this kind. There was
at this time no other way to the mines except a mule trail, little less
difficult, passing high over the mountain tops, and only available for
a short time in summer, on account of the snow. Supplies were carried
to the mines on the backs of the miners themselves, or packed on
Indians, who carried from 100 to 150 pounds over this perilous path.

On our way we met many Indians still competing with the mule-trains.
Some of the men were loaded with 150 pounds, supporting them by a strap
across the forehead; the women carried 50 or 100 pounds; and one squaw
we met had on her back a fifty-pound sack of flour, on that a box of
candles, and on the top of the box a child. They seemed very jolly
and happy under their heavy labour, and never failed to salute us with
a friendly smile and “Klahowya?” or “How do you do?” The melody of
their voices and soft intonation was most pleasing, overcoming all the
roughness and uncouthness of the vile Chinook jargon.[19]

Between Lytton and Yale lie most of the bars, or sandbanks, which
yielded such an extraordinary amount of gold when first discovered.
They are now deserted, except by a few Chinamen, who make from one to
ten dollars a day. As we descended the Fraser, the vegetation began to
change. The terraces disappeared, and the flat stretches, covered only
with bunch-grass and scattered yellow pine, gave place to an irregular
formation and a thicker growth of white pine, with here and there a
small birch, and a plentiful undergrowth of deciduous shrubs.

On our way we passed many Indians engaged in salmon fishing, which
they practise in a very peculiar manner. They select some point in the
fierce rapids where a quiet eddy forms under the lee of a projecting
rock. Over the rock they sling a little platform of poles, within a
convenient distance of the surface of the water, and from this position
grope untiringly in the eddy with a kind of oval landing net. The
salmon, wearied by their exertions in overcoming the torrent, rest
for a time in the little eddy before making the next attempt to mount
the rapid, and are taken in hundreds by these clever fishermen. Here
and there were Indian graves adorned with numerous flags; and in many
instances carved images, nearly the size of life, and elaborately
painted, were placed around. The dead man’s gun and blankets, with most
of his other property, were generally suspended to poles about the
grave. Occasionally we passed an Indian winter store for fish--a rough
box, slung in a tree high out of reach. Some tribes bury their dead in
the same manner.

About fifteen miles above Yale, the gorge through which the Fraser
runs, as it bursts through the Cascade Range, becomes very narrow, and
the river flows in a succession of terrific rapids, called the Cañons--
or _canyons_, as the word is pronounced--for the remaining distance.
The mountains on each side, 3,000 or 4,000 feet high, seem almost to
meet overhead, peak after peak rising in close proximity. The Fraser,
rarely anything but a rocky rapid in any part of its course, here goes
utterly mad, and foams and rages down the narrow and falling channel
at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The volume of water which passes
through this outlet, here not more than forty yards in width, will be
more readily conceived when it is stated that the Fraser has already
collected the waters of over 800 miles, and amongst other rivers
receives the Thompson, of almost equal size with itself. Several
hundred miles above, each of these rivers expands into a broad and
deep stream, more than a quarter of a mile in width; yet at the Cañons
the vast accumulation is confined in a channel of less than fifty
yards wide. Huge rocks stand up in the middle of the stream in several
places, the waters escaping by a constricted passage on either side.

The mass of the Cascade Range is grey granite, and the sides of the
chasm show beautiful sections of the rock, plaided with protruding
seams of white quartz, the harder rock having been worn away by the
action of the water, which the soft quartz seems to have resisted.
In many cases the opposite walls of the chasm correspond in a most
remarkable manner, so that they appear as if they would fit accurately
if placed in apposition, suggesting forcibly that they had been
portions of the same solid mass violently rent asunder. As we looked
on this and wondered, an explanation of the formation of the terraces
occurred to our minds. At one time the valleys of the Thompson and
Fraser were occupied by a succession of lakes, the Cascade Range being
the barrier which dammed in the enormous volume of water, and the
highest tier of terraces marking the level to which it rose. The tops
only of the lower mountains appeared at this time as rounded islands
above the surface. By some means--perhaps some grand convulsion of
Nature--the embankment of this huge reservoir broke down, the waters
partially escaped, and the lakes were drained down to the level of
the middle tier of benches. Twice more must a similar catastrophe
have occurred before the waters were lowered into their present narrow
and rocky channel. Each of these accidents must have been separated
from the preceding one by an immense lapse of time, during which
the enormous quantity of detritus accumulated to form the extensive
plateaux which have been described.

[Illustration: YALE, ON THE FRASER RIVER.

(_See page 347._)
]

We arrived at Yale about four o’clock in the afternoon, and immediately
ordered the best dinner they could give us at the Colonial Hotel. The
house was kept by a Frenchman, who excelled himself on this occasion,
and provided a meal which to us, who had not eaten anything deserving
the name of a dinner for at least eighteen months, appeared perfection.
The champagne, however, and sundry drinks with fraternising miners,
caused us to wake with most tremendous headaches next morning. Some
of the visitors to the bar amused us greatly. One tall Yankee,
considerably intoxicated, was possessed with the idea that he was Lord
Nelson, and associating the great admiral in some way with cucumbers,
ate several in succession, to prove his identity.

The little town of Yale is merely a single row of houses facing the
river, which, having just escaped through the Cañons, here sweeps to
the west, a broad and noble river. The town is built on a small flat,
backed on the north by lofty hills, and looking down the widening
valley to the south, where the receding mountains still tower up grand
and high. The situation is exceedingly picturesque, and the clean,
white, wooden buildings were as gay with flags as any Yankee could
desire. Gold may be obtained in the street of Yale, and a couple of
Indians were working with a “rocker” opposite the Hotel when we were
there.

The next morning we bade good-bye to our kind friend, Mr. McKay,
and embarked on the steamer _Reliance_ for New Westminster. The
river expands rapidly below Yale, flowing between low, richly-wooded
banks. On the way we passed Hope and Langley, old stations of the
Hudson’s Bay Company. The site of the former is the most beautiful in
British Columbia--a wooded level shut in by an amphitheatre of lofty
mountains--Yale upon a grander scale. Before the discovery of the
Cariboo mines, it was a place of considerable importance, but has now
“caved in,” and become desolate. Soon after dark, we saw the lights
of New Westminster before us, and in the course of half-an-hour were
comfortably established at the Colonial Hotel.

The city of New Westminster, the capital of British Columbia, stands in
a commanding position, on ground gradually rising from the river, which
is here three-quarters of a mile broad. The town has been beautifully
laid out by Col. Moody, R.E., the late Commissioner of Lands and Works,
and several streets of good wooden houses already exist.

The great drawback to its situation is the dense forest of timber of
the largest size by which it is shut in. The little clearing which has
been already done has been effected with great labour by the help of
the engineers quartered there for several years; but, although the
land is fertile enough, the expense of clearing it is so heavy that but
little farming has been carried out. The place is still unsightly, from
the stumps of trees sticking up on every side. The river is navigable
to this point for vessels drawing eighteen or twenty feet of water,
and, should direct communication be established with England, it may
eventually rival Victoria. As yet, however, it is completely eclipsed
by that more favoured city.

Staying only one night in New Westminster, we took our passages on
board the _Enterprise_ for Victoria, Vancouver Island, on the 19th of
September. We were presently surprised by encountering Mr. O’B., who
had come by way of Lilloet and Douglas. He was wonderfully altered
since we parted from him a week before. He, like ourselves, had become
somewhat corpulent, and had quite regained his spirits, and the
loquacity which had flagged so notably during our journey through the
forest.

On entering the Gulf of Georgia, Mount Baker, a magnificent snow-clad
peak, about 10,700 feet in height, comes into view in the east, and
the thousand islands of the gulf, rocky or richly wooded, offer a
succession of beauties which render this voyage to Victoria one of the
most charming in the world. We reached our destination about dark, and
immediately betook ourselves to the Hotel de France. The proprietor,
however, mistrusting our leather shirts, and total want of luggage,
declared he had no room, and we moved off disconsolate. Before we got
far, a waiter came running after us to say it was all a mistake, and
requested us to go back, having, no doubt, discovered that we were
respectable, although at first sight our appearance was unpromising.
But we turned a deaf ear, and continued on our way to the St. George,
where we found capital accommodation, and having properly refreshed
ourselves, took the rough hint we had received, and betook ourselves to
the nearest tailor, to obtain more civilised attire.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Victoria--The Rush there from California--Contrast to San Francisco
under Similar Circumstances--The Assiniboines see the Wonders
of Victoria--Start for Cariboo--Mr. O’B. and the Assiniboine
are Reconciled--The Former re-establishes his Faith--Farewell
to the Assiniboine Family--Salmon in Harrison River--The
Lakes--Mr. O’B.’s Triumph--Lilloet--Miners’ Slang--The
“Stage” to Soda Creek--Johnny the Driver--Pavilion Mountain--
The Rattlesnake Grade--The Chasm--Way-side Houses on the Road
to the Mines--We meet a Fortunate Miner--The Farming Land of
the Colony--The Steamer--Frequent Cocktails--The Mouth of
Quesnelle--The Trail to William’s Creek--A Hard Journey--Dead
Horses--Cameron Town, William’s Creek.

Victoria is very beautifully situated on the shores of a small rocky
bay--an indentation in the promontory which is formed by the sweeping
round of the sea into the land-locked harbour of Esquimalt. The site
was originally chosen by Sir James (then Mr.) Douglas, Governor of the
Hudson’s Bay Company’s territories west of the Rocky Mountains, for
the establishment of head-quarters, in place of Fort Vancouver, when
Oregon passed into the possession of the United States in the year
1844. Fourteen years afterwards, when the news of the discovery of gold
on the Fraser caused such excitement in California, the only buildings
were the Company’s Fort, and one or two houses inhabited by their
employés. In the course of a few weeks 30,000 people were collected
there, waiting for the flooded Fraser to subside, and allow them to
proceed to the diggings. Amongst this immense assemblage of people--
the majority of them the most desperate and lawless of the Californian
rowdies--Governor Douglas, without the aid of a single soldier or
regular police-force, preserved an order and security which contrasted
most forcibly with the state of things in San Francisco and Sacramento
under similar circumstances. The city wore a very thriving aspect when
we visited it, and could already boast of several streets. The whole
traffic to and from British Columbia passing through it, has rapidly
enriched its merchants, and handsome brick stores are fast replacing
the original wooden buildings.

We had by no means relinquished our intention of visiting Cariboo,
although we had failed to reach it by the direct route we had
originally projected. At Victoria we were more than 500 miles distant;
winter was fast approaching, and there was therefore no time to be
lost in setting out. We stole a day or two, however, to introduce
the friends we delighted to honour--Mr. and Mrs. Assiniboine, and
their son--to the wonders of civilisation to be found in Victoria.
To this end, we clothed them in gorgeous apparel, seated them in a
“buggy” drawn by a pair of fast-trotting horses, and mounting the box
ourselves, drove them in state to Esquimalt. They sat inside with great
gravity, occasionally remarking on the difference between bowling
along a capital road at the rate we were going, and advancing only
two or three miles a day, by hard labour, through the forest. Having
shown them a live Admiral, and a 100-pounder Armstrong on board
H.M.S.S. _Sutlej_, and completed the round of sights by showing them
the principal stores and the theatres, we left The Assiniboine to take
notes of what he had seen in a diary of hieroglyphics, which he had
instituted for the record of the wonders of Victoria.

On the 29th of September we put a pair of socks, a flannel shirt, and
toothbrush apiece into our blankets, rolling them into a pack, miners’
fashion, inserted our legs into huge jack boots, “recommended for the
mines,” and went on board the steamer _Otter_, for New Westminster.
The Assiniboine family accompanied us on their way back to Kamloops,
where they were to winter, intending to re-cross the mountains in the
spring by the Kootanie Pass. They were rather reluctant to leave their
new-found pleasures behind them, having been especially fascinated by
the ballet, and the delicacies provided for them by the pastry-cook.
Mr. O’B. remained in Victoria, re-establishing, under the worthy
clergymen of that city, the faith which had been staggered by his
over-dose of Paley. He had signalised his return to Christianity by
shaking hands with his ancient enemy, The Assiniboine, and the two
buried their former animosities for ever; for they are little likely
to meet again. At New Westminster we bade good-bye to the Assiniboine
family, who went forward to Yale, whilst we took steamer by the
Harrison River to Douglas, in order to see the rival route by the Lakes
and Lilloet. In spite of The Assiniboine’s cool confession that it
had been his design at first to desert us at Jasper House, when he
had solemnly promised to go through to the end, he had served us so
well, and led us so ably in a time of doubt and hardship, that we were
sincerely sorry to part with him and his family. They sailed up the
Fraser, and we stood watching them out of sight, wondering whether any
of the odd chances of life would ever bring us across them again. We
heard before leaving Victoria that, on his arrival at Kamloops, the
man was employed as a shepherd by Mr. McKay, and expected to return to
Fort Pitt in the following year, with a goodly string of horses. In the
shallows of the Harrison River we saw many thousands of spent salmon
wriggling and flopping about, half-stranded, and pursued by a number
of Indians, who were engaged in spearing them. Passing through Douglas
and Pemberton by the lakes and portages between them, we struck the
Fraser again at Lilloet, about 265 miles from New Westminster, and 300
from Victoria. The scenery on this route, especially on Lakes Anderson
and Seton, is exceedingly wild and grand. Mountains rise abruptly from
the shores of the lakes on each side, steep, rugged, and barren; and
when we saw them their beauty was increased by the brilliant tints of
the American autumn. At various places on our way to Lilloet we heard
of our friend Mr. O’B., who had followed this route on his journey
down from Kamloops, instead of the one by Yale. He had found favour
with every one, for he knew the history family, friends, property,
and expectations of each, and the latest news of the neighbourhood
from which they came. At a certain town on the road, a number of
new-found friends and admirers, with whom he was spending a social
evening, observing the astonishing facility with which he imbibed his
native whisky, determined to see him under the table, and plied him
vigorously. But if their heads were hard, Mr. O’B.’s was harder, and
although he had not tasted any intoxicating liquor for two years, and
drank glass for glass with his entertainers without shirking, he proved
invincible. One after another the conspirators subsided helpless on the
floor, while Mr. O’B. remained sitting, smiling and triumphant, and
calmly continued to smoke his pipe, superior and alone!

The town of Lilloet is situated on a grand plateau, one of the
terraces of the Fraser, which are here more than ordinarily extensive
and well-marked. The place was full of miners, on their way down to
Victoria for the winter. Drinking and card-playing went on until long
after midnight, amid a constant string of oaths and miners’ slang.
Our ears became familiarised with such phrases as “bully for you,”
“caved in,” “played out,” “you bet,” “you bet your life,” “your bottom
dollar” or “your gumboots on it,” “on the make,” “on the sell,” “a big
strike,” “can’t get a show,” “hit a streak,” and so on. We slept in a
double-bedded room, and towards morning there was a tremendous crash,
and Milton heard an angry growling proceeding from Cheadle, whose
bed had come down with a run. At daybreak we were aroused by a number
of fellows outside our door laughing, and shouting, “Who is this ----
fellow putting on frills?” In a weak and absent moment Cheadle had
mechanically put his boots outside the door, as if expecting them to be
cleaned, and this had properly excited their derision.

[Illustration: THE “RATTLESNAKE GRADE.”

(_See page 356._)

Pavilion Mountain, British Columbia; Altitude, 4,000 feet.]

We now abandoned the idea of travelling forward on horseback, for we
were assured by several persons who had just arrived from Cariboo that
it would be impossible to take horses into William’s Creek on account
of the snow, which had begun to fall before they left the mines. We
therefore took our places in the “stage” running from Lilloet to Soda
Creek on the Fraser, 175 miles distant. A steamer plies between the
Creek and the Mouth of Quesnelle, a distance of sixty miles, and from
thence a pack trail runs to Richfield, in William’s Creek, the centre
of the Cariboo mines. The “stage” was a light open wagon, and besides
ourselves and one other passenger, carried nearly a ton of freight. But
we started with a team of five horses, two wheelers and three leaders,
and for the first day went along famously. “Johnny,” the driver, was a
capital whip, and quite a character. He was a regular Yankee, and his
Californian hat of hard felt, with a low steeple crown, and immensely
broad brim, gave him a ludicrous appearance in our eyes. He was like
all his race, a most unquiet spirit, always engaged in talking to us
or the horses, chewing, spitting, smoking, and drinking, and at the
last he was especially great; not a house did he pass without two or
three drinks with all comers. But in justice to Johnny, who was a very
good fellow in his way, it must be stated that he assured us that he
was generally a “total abstainer,” but occasionally drank for a change,
and then “went in for liquor bald-headed.” He was in the latter phase
during our brief acquaintance.

The road, well made and smooth, and in many places eighteen feet wide,
crosses the Fraser by a ferry a short distance beyond Lilloet, and
then winds along steep hill-sides up the valley of the Fraser to the
north for twenty miles. At Pavilion Valley it turns to the north-east,
to the foot of Pavilion Mountain, where it ascends 1,500 feet by a
rapid zigzag. Here our team, now reduced to four, were quite unequal
to the task before them, and we clambered up the steep on foot. From
the top we had a good view to the south-east, and the curious formation
of the hill-side opposite attracted our attention. Near the top of
the hill was a hollow, and the surface below a succession of waving
swells, growing larger and larger towards the bottom. It seemed as if
the hollow was an extinct crater, from which the molten lava had long
ago flowed down in a billowy stream, and as if this, arrested at the
instant of its passage, had now become the grass-grown slope before us.
We had no time to go across and examine it carefully, but continued
our way over the grassy table-land on the top of Pavilion Mountain,
for six or eight miles. The road then went up rapidly, and brought us
to the top of the famous “Rattlesnake Grade.” We found ourselves on
the brink of a precipitous descent of 2,000 feet, and in full view
below saw the road following the configuration of the hill, with the
numberless windings and zigzags which had given rise to its name. Cut
out of the mountain side, and resting for several feet of its width on
overhanging beams, it was not broad enough to allow two vehicles to
pass in safety, except at the points of the turns, nor was there any
railing to guard the edge of the precipice.

Every one immediately volunteered to ease the poor horses by walking
down, but Johnny negatived the proposition at once, and drove us down
at a furious rate, the heavily-laden wagon swinging round the sharp
turns in a most unpleasant manner. The giving way of the break, or of a
wheel, or the pole, must have been fatal; but all held together, as of
course it was likely to do, and we reached the bottom safely.

[Illustration: A WAY-SIDE HOUSE--ARRIVAL OF MINERS.

(_See page 359._)
]

[Illustration: A WAY-SIDE HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT.

(_See page 359._)
]

After leaving Clinton, where the road from Yale comes in, the road
began to ascend, and on the right we passed an extraordinary chasm.
Commencing by a gradual depression at the northern end, it became a
deep fissure in the rocks about a quarter of a mile in length, ending
abruptly in the valley to the south. The depth of the gulf is some 400
or 500 feet, and its width about the same. The sides of the chasm were
perpendicular and smooth, as if the rocks had been split asunder. The
road still went up, and after a few miles we reached table-land,
with a barren sandy soil, thickly covered with small spruce, and
intersected by numerous lakes. The accommodation along the road was
everywhere miserable enough, but after leaving Clinton it became
abominable. The only bed was the floor of the “wayside houses,” which
occur every ten miles or so, and are named the “Fiftieth” or “Hundredth
Mile House,” according to the number of the nearest mile-post. Our
solitary blankets formed poor padding against the inequalities of
the rough-hewn boards, and equally ineffectual to keep out the cold
draughts which whistled under the ill-fitting door of the hut. A
wayside house on the road to the mines is merely a rough log hut of a
single room; at one end a large open chimney, and at the side a bar
counter, behind which are shelves with rows of bottles containing the
vilest of alcoholic drinks. The miners on their journey up or down,
according to the season--men of every nationality--Englishmen,
Irishmen, and Scotchmen, Frenchmen, Italians, and Germans, Yankees and
niggers, Mexicans and South Sea Islanders--come dropping in towards
evening in twos and threes, divest themselves of the roll of blankets
slung upon their backs, and depositing them upon the floor, use them as
a seat, for the hut possesses few or none. The next thing is to have a
“drink,” which is proposed by some one of the party less “hard up” than
his friends, and the rest of the company present are generally invited
to join in.

After supper and pipes, and more “drinks,” each unrolls his blankets,
and chooses his bed for the night. Some elect to sleep on the counter,
and some on the flour sacks piled at one end of the room, whilst the
rest stretch themselves on the floor, with their feet to the fire.
Occasionally a few commence gambling, which, with an accompaniment of
drinking and blasphemy, goes on for the greater part of the night.

Descending from the high land, we came to the “Hundred Mile House,”
at Bridge Creek. This is the commencement of a tract of country more
fertile than any we met with, except that of the Delta of the Fraser;
and yet the amount of good land is of but small extent. Here and there
a rich bottom, a consolidated marsh, or the lowland on the banks of
some stream, had been converted into a productive farm, and the low
hills afford plenty of pasturage; but the whole of the rising ground
is merely sand and shingle, and nothing but bunch-grass flourishes
there. On the road we met a small bullock-wagon, escorted by about
twenty armed miners on foot. This proved to contain 630 pounds weight
of gold, the profits of a Mr. Cameron, the principal shareholder in the
noted Cameron claim. This gold, worth about £30,000, had been amassed
in the short space of three months, and represented probably less than
one-half the actual produce of the mine during that time.

At Soda Creek we took the steamer for Quesnelle. Captain Done, the
commander, was a jolly, red-faced, portly fellow, of exceeding
hospitality. He invited us to his cabin--the only furnished room on
board--and bringing out a box of cigars, and ordering a whole decanter
full of “brandy cocktail” to be made at once, desired us to make
ourselves happy. Every quarter of an hour we were called out by the
nigger “bar-keep” to have a drink with the Captain and the “crowd,” as
the general company is termed. A refusal would have, been considered
grossly rude, and we had to exercise great ingenuity in evading the
continual invitations. The only excuse allowed is that of having just
had a meal, for a Yankee always drinks on an empty stomach, and never
after eating; and American manners and customs rule in the mines. The
steamer cost no less than 75,000 dollars, or £15,000; the whole of the
machinery and boiler-plates having been brought 200 miles on the backs
of mules.

At Quesnelle Mouth we slung our roll of blankets on our backs, and
started on foot for William’s Creek. The road was very rough, a narrow
pack-trail cut through the woods; the stumps of the felled trees were
left in the ground, and the thick stratum of mud in the spaces between
was ploughed into deep holes by the continual trampling of mules.
The ground had been frozen, and covered with several inches of snow,
but this had partially melted, and rendered the surface greasy and
slippery. We stumbled about amongst the hardened mud-holes, and our
huge jack-boots soon blistered our feet so dreadfully, that by the
second day we were almost disabled. Fortunately we picked up a pair
of “gumboots”--long boots of India-rubber, used by the miners for
working in the water--which had been cast away by the road-side, and
substituting these for our cumbrous riding-boots, struggled on less
painfully afterwards. The trail, gradually ascending, passed along the
sides of pine-clad hills closely packed together, and separated only
by the narrowest ravines; we had indeed entered the same region of
mountain and forest which we had formerly encountered on the upper part
of the North Thompson. By the road-side lay the dead bodies of horses
and mules, some standing as they had died, still stuck fast in the
deep, tenacious mud. We passed a score of them in one day in full view;
and hundreds, which had turned aside to die, lay hidden in the forest
which shut in the trail so closely. Martens and wood-partridges were
numerous, and a tall Yankee, from the State of Maine, who had joined
our company, greatly distinguished himself, knocking them over with his
revolver from the tops of the high pines in a manner which astonished
us. As we approached William’s Creek, the ascent became more rapid and
the snow deeper, for the frost at this height had been unbroken.

On the evening of the third day’s march we reached Richfield,
sixty-five miles from the Mouth of Quesnelle; but, acting on the advice
of our friend from Maine, walked on through Barkerville to Cameron
Town, lower down the same creek, where the richest mines were being
at this time worked. It was already dark, and we had a rough walk of
it--along the bottom of the narrow ravine through which runs William’s
Creek, scrambling over “flumes,” logs, and heaps of rubbish for about
two miles, before we doffed our packs at Cusheon’s Hotel. We had
reached Cariboo at last, although by a much more roundabout way than we
originally intended.

CHAPTER XIX.

William’s Creek, Cariboo--The Discoverers--The Position and
Nature of the Gold Country--Geological Features--The Cariboo
District--Hunting the Gold up the Fraser to Cariboo--
Conjectured Position of the Auriferous Quartz Veins--Various
kinds of Gold--Drawbacks to Mining in Cariboo--The Cause of
its Uncertainty--Extraordinary Richness of the Diggings--“The
Way the Money Goes”--Miners’ Eccentricities--Our Quarters at
Cusheon’s--Price of Provisions--The Circulating Medium--Down
in the Mines--Profits and Expenses--The “Judge”--Our Farewell
Dinner--The Company--Dr. B----l waxes Eloquent--Dr. B----k’s
Noble Sentiments--The Evening’s Entertainment--Dr. B----l
Retires, but is heard of again--General Confusion--The Party
Breaks Up--Leave Cariboo--Boating down the Fraser--Camping
Out--William’s Lake--Catastrophe on the River--The Express
Wagon--Difficulties on the Way--The Express-man prophesies his
own Fate--The Road beyond Lytton--A Break Down--Furious Drive
into Yale--Victoria once more.

William’s Creek takes its name from one of its discoverers, William
Dietz, a Prussian, who, with his companion, a Scotchman, named Rose,
were amongst the most adventurous of the pioneers of the Cariboo
country. Neither of them ever reaped any reward from the discovery of
perhaps the richest creek in the world. When a crowd of miners rushed
to the place, they left in search of fresh diggings. The Scotchman
disappeared for months, and his body was found at length by a party of
miners in a journey of discovery, far out in the Wilds. On the branch
of a tree hard by hung his tin cup, and scratched upon it with the
point of a knife was his name, and the words, “Dying of starvation.”
William Dietz returned unsuccessful to Victoria, and, struck down by
rheumatic fever, was dependent on charity at the time of our visit.

The broken-up and irregular western flank of the Rocky Mountains
appears to be the true gold-bearing region of British Columbia. Gold
has indeed been found in nearly every part of the colony where it
has been looked for, but never in large quantities, except on the
streams issuing from this district, as the Eraser and Columbia with
their tributaries. It has been found also on the eastern slope, on
the North Saskatchewan and Peace Rivers. But the amount obtained on
the Saskatchewan has been inconsiderable; and it is worthy of remark
that, while this river takes its rise just to the west of the middle
line of the main ridge, Peace River, on which rich prospects have been
discovered, has its origin fairly on the western side, flows through
the auriferous tract for a considerable distance, and then turning
east, passes through a wide rent in the Rocky Mountains. In crossing
by the Yellow Head Pass, we met with carboniferous limestone, then
Devonian, and near Robson’s Peak, on the western slope, saw for the
first time the dark slates and schistose rocks, with veins of quartz--
probably of the upper Silurian strata--which mark the auriferous
tract. West of this, an extensive region of what appears to be eruptive
trap commences, and probably continues up to the Cascade, or coast
range, to the westward; while to the south-east it stretches across the
valleys of the Fraser and Thompson to that of the Columbia. The Cascade
Range consists of granitic and plutonic rocks, and in places clay-slate
and semi-crystalline limestones occur.

The district of Cariboo is the richest portion of the British Columbian
gold field, and here the geologic disturbance has been the greatest.
Cariboo is a sea of mountains and pine-clad hills, the former rising to
a height of 7,000 or 8,000 feet, surrounded by a confused congeries of
the latter. Everywhere the surface has been disturbed, so that hardly a
foot of level ground can be found, except at the bottom of the narrow
gullies running between these hills. Strata are tilted on end, and beds
of streams heaved up to the tops of hills. Round this centre of wealth
poured up from the depths below, the main branch of the Fraser wraps
itself in its semi-circular course, and has received from thence, by
numerous tributaries, the gold found in its sands.

Gold was first discovered on the sand-bars of the Lower Fraser, in
the state of the finest dust. The old miners of California traced it
up the river, and followed it as it became of coarser and coarser
grain 400 miles along the Fraser, and then up the small affluents from
Cariboo. Here were found nuggets, and lumps of auriferous quartz.
The hunted metal was almost run to earth. But the exciting pursuit
is not yet quite over. The veins of auriferous quartz have not, so
far, been discovered, although conjecture points to their probable
position. Lightning, Antler, Keighley’s, William’s Creek, and many
others, all take their rise in a range known as the Bald Mountains, and
most of them radiate from one of them, the Snow-Shoe Mountain. Here
the matrix is presumed to lie, and although it may have been denuded
of its richest portion, carried down as the drift gold of the creeks,
fortunes still lie hid in the solid rock; and when the quartz-leads
are discovered, British Columbia may emulate California in wealth and
stability. The hundreds of mills in that country, crushing thousands of
tons of gold and silver quartz per day, have proved that this branch
of mining is far more paying and reliable than the uncertain and
evanescent surface diggings, which formerly there, as now in Cariboo,
furnished all the gold obtained. Several different qualities of gold
are found in Cariboo. In William’s Creek alone, two distinct “leads”
are found; one where the gold is alloyed with a considerable proportion
of silver, the other higher coloured and much purer. All the gold of
this creek is battered and water-worn, as if it had been carried some
distance from the original bed. At Lowhee, only three miles distant,
it is found in larger nuggets, less altered by the action of water,
and almost pure. On Lightning Creek the gold is smaller, much more
water-worn, but of the first quality.

The great drawbacks to the mining in this district are, the nature of
the country, the mountains and dense forest forming great obstacles
to proper investigation, and rendering the transport of provisions
and other necessaries exceedingly costly; the long and severe winter,
which prevents the working of the mines from October until June; and
the great geological disturbances which have taken place, although
they doubtless are one cause of its exceeding richness, render the
following of the “leads” very difficult and uncertain. The two
former disadvantages will be removed ere long by the clearing of the
country, the formation of roads, and the employment of steam power to
drain the shafts. The difficulties encountered in tracing the course
of the gold are more serious; but more accurate knowledge of the
geological formation will give greater certainty to the search. At
present the changes which have taken place in the face of the country
continually upset the most acute calculations. The drift gold carried
down the streams settled on the solid “bed rock,” or in the blue clay
immediately above it, and has been covered by the gravel accumulated in
after times. Now, if the streams ran in exactly the same channels as
they did when the gold came down, the matter would be simple enough.
But great changes have taken place since then. At one point an enormous
slide has occurred, covering in the channel, and forcing the stream to
find a new course. At another, some convulsion appears to have upheaved
a portion of the old bed high and dry. In the first case the “lead” is
found to run into the mountain side; in the other it scales the hill.
But these eccentricities are only discovered by experiment, and many
a miner works for weeks to sink his shaft of thirty or forty feet, to
find nothing at the end of his labour. His neighbour above or below may
perhaps be making £1,000 a day, but the creek ran not through his claim
in these past ages when it washed down the auriferous _débris_. More
fortunate men, however, who, in mining phrase, “hit a streak,” often
make large fortunes in Cariboo in an incredibly short space of time.

The extraordinary yield of the Cariboo mines may be inferred from the
fact that in 1861 the whole of the colonies of British Columbia and
Vancouver Island were almost entirely supported by the gold obtained
from Antler Creek alone; and from that time to the present year, or
for four years in succession, William’s Creek has also alone sustained
more than 16,000 people, some of whom have left the country with large
fortunes. And yet William’s Creek is a mere narrow ravine, worked for
little more than two miles of its length, and that in the roughest
manner. The miners are destitute of steam power, and many requisites
for efficient mining; and all that has been done hitherto has been mere
scratching in the dark.

Out of many instances of the wonderful richness of these diggings it
may be mentioned that Cunningham’s Claim yielded, on an average, nearly
2,000 dollars, or £400 a day, during the whole season; and another,
Dillon’s Claim, gave the enormous amount of 102 lbs. of gold, or nearly
£4,000 in one day. One hundred feet of the Cameron Claim, held in the
name of another man, produced 120,000 dollars.

The wealth thus rapidly obtained is generally dissipated almost as
quickly. The lucky miner hastens down to Victoria or San Francisco,
and sows his gold broadcast. No luxury is too costly for him, no
extravagance too great for the magnitude of his ideas. His love of
display leads him into a thousand follies, and he proclaims his
disregard for money by numberless eccentricities. One man who, at
the end of the season found himself possessed of 30,000 or 40,000
dollars, having filled his pockets with twenty-dollar gold pieces, on
his arrival in Victoria proceeded to a “bar-room,” and treated “the
crowd” to champagne. The company present being unable to consume all
the bar-keeper’s stock, assistance was obtained from without, and the
passers-by compelled to come in. Still the supply held out, and not
another “drink” could any one swallow. In this emergency the ingenious
giver of the treat ordered every glass belonging to the establishment
to be brought out and filled. Then raising his stick, with one fell
swoop he knocked the army of glasses off the counter. One hamper of
champagne, however, yet remained, and, determined not to be beaten,
he ordered it to be opened and placed upon the floor, and jumping in,
stamped the bottles to pieces beneath his heavy boots, severely cutting
his shins, it is said, in the operation. But although the champagne
was at last finished, he had a handful of gold pieces to dispose of,
and walking up to a large mirror, worth several hundred dollars, which
adorned one end of the room, dashed a shower of heavy coins against
it, and shivered it to pieces. The hero of this story returned to the
mines in the following spring without a cent, and was working as a
common labourer at the time of our visit. A freak of one of the most
successful Californians may be appended as a companion to the story
just related. When in the height of his glory he was in the habit
of substituting champagne bottles--full ones, too--for the wooden
pins in the bowling alley, smashing batch after batch with infinite
satisfaction to himself, amid the applause of his companions and the
“bar-keep.”

Our quarters at Cusheon’s Hotel were vile. A blanket spread on the
floor of a loft was our bedroom, but the swarms of lice which infested
the place rendered sleep almost impossible, and made us think with
regret on the soft turf of the prairie, or a mossy couch in the
woods. The fare, limited to beefsteaks, bread, and dried apples, was
wretchedly cooked and frightfully expensive. Beef was worth fifty cents
or two shillings a pound, flour the same, a “drink” of anything except
water was half a dollar, nor could the smallest article, even a box of
matches, be bought for less than a “quarter”--one shilling. Before
we reached William’s Creek we paid a dollar and a quarter, or five
shillings, for a single bottle of stout.

Coin of any kind is rarely seen, gold-dust being the circulating
medium, and each person carries a small bag of it, from which the
requisite quantity is weighed out for each payment.

[Illustration: MINERS WASHING FOR GOLD.

(_See page 372._)
]

In the mines we visited at Cameron Town the “pay-dirt,” as the
stratum of clay and gravel above the “bed-rock” in which the gold
lies is called, was from thirty to fifty feet below the surface. A
shaft is sunk to the required depth, and the “dirt” carried up by a
bucket raised by a windlass. This is emptied into a long box, called
the dump-box or “long tom,” having a false bottom of parallel bars,
with narrow spaces between them, raised a few inches above the true
bottom, across which several cross pieces are placed. A stream of
water, brought in a series of troughs called “flumes,” sometimes for
a considerable distance, pours into the dump-box at one end, and runs
out by another series of troughs at the other. As the dirt is emptied
in, a man armed with a large many-pronged fork stirs it up continually,
and removes the larger stones. The smaller particles and the clay are
carried down the stream, while the gold, from its greater weight, falls
through the spaces between the parallel bars of the false bottom,
and is arrested by the transverse ones or “riffle” of the true one.
The “pay-dirt” is generally not more than from three to five feet
thick, and the galleries of the mine are consequently very low, the
roof being propped up by upright timbers, and cross beams wedged in
above. The water is pumped out of the mines by a water wheel and chain
pump, but these are quite useless in winter, and become covered with
enormous icicles. One or two were still kept working, even at this
late season, by help of fires and roofing over. The Cameron, Raby, and
Caledonian Claims, three of the richest in William’s Creek, were, by
good luck, still in full swing, and we frequently went down with some
of the happy proprietors, and crept about the low dripping galleries,
washed for gold, or picked out the rich “pockets” formed under some
arresting boulder. In many places we could see the glistening yellow,
but generally it was imperceptible, even in the richest dirt. Mr.
Steele, of the Cameron Claim, kindly showed us the Company’s books,
from which it appeared that the yield varied from 40 to 112 oz. a shaft
in the day, and there were three shafts, making £2,000 to £5,000 per
week altogether. But the expenses were very heavy, averaging 7,000
dollars a week, or about £1,500. Eighty men were employed, at wages
ranging from ten to sixteen dollars a day, or £2 to £3, and this alone
would reach £1,208.

At noon, each day, the dump-boxes are emptied, and the gold separated
from the black sand which is always mixed with it. At the “washing-up”
of one shaft of the Raby Claim, which we saw, the gold filled one of
the tin cases used for preserved meats, holding nearly a quart, the
value of about £1,000 for fifteen hours’ work! Amongst the gold were
several shillings and quarter dollars, which had dropped out of the
men’s pockets, and turned up again in the dump-box.

After going through the mines on William’s Creek, we walked over the
hill to Lowhee, a smaller creek, lying about three miles off in a yet
narrower ravine. The workings were very similar, but the gold was
richer and brighter, the pieces more jagged and angular, as if they had
not been carried very far from the original quartz reef. The Lowhee
gold is very pure, being ·920 against ·830 of William’s Creek.

Before taking leave of Cariboo, we must not forget to mention glorious
“Judge” Cox, magistrate and gold commissioner there, prime favourite
of all the miners, and everybody’s friend. The “judge,” as he is
invariably called, after Yankee fashion, decides the cases brought
before him by common sense; and, strange to say, both winners and
losers, fascinated by the man, appear to be equally delighted with his
judgments. We received much kindness from him, and spent many pleasant
hours in his genial society.

Nor would it be just to leave unnoticed the sumptuous dinner at which
we were entertained on the eve of our departure. The giver of the
feast, Dr. B----k, selected the ward of the hospital as an appropriate
dining-room, the single unfortunate patient in at the time being veiled
from sight by a sheet of green baize suspended from the wall. We had
soup, roast beef, boiled mutton, and plum pudding, with abundance of
champagne. The company was somewhat mixed, yet all fraternised with
easy cordiality. We had Mr. C----, manager of the Cariboo branch of
the ---- Bank, a gentleman of solemn aspect, and with a large
bald head, who wore spectacles, dressed in frock-coat, represented
respectability, and spoke on all points with authority; Mr. B. ----,
an old Hudson’s Bay man, highly convivial, delighting in harmony; Dr.
B----l, a medical gentleman, afflicted with the “_cacoethes bibendi_,”
as well as “_loquendi_”--a lean little fellow, with a large mouth,
who appeared in the full glory of a swallow-tailed coat, and was
perpetually smiling, yet, in reality, taking a gloomy view of things
in general; Mr. C----, a young lawyer, Irish and impressionable; Billy
Ferren, a successful miner, from his loquacity nicknamed “Billy the
Bladge,” rough, noisy, breaking forth into shouts and laughter; Dr.
B----k’s assistant, quiet and generally useful; and lastly, the lady of
the party, Mrs. Morris, more generally known by her Christian name of
Janet, fair, fat, and forty, and proprietor of a neighbouring house of
refreshment. She had kindly come in to cook the dinner, and when that
was duly set forth, she yielded to popular clamour, and joined us at
the table.

[Illustration: THE CAMERON “CLAIM,” WILLIAM’S CREEK, CARIBOO.

(_See page 373._)
]

Before the cloth was drawn--metaphorically--_i.e._, whilst we were
still occupied with plum pudding, Dr. B----l, who had shown symptoms of
restlessness for some time, could repress the flood of eloquence rising
within him no longer, and having succeeded in catching the president’s
eye, and received a permissive nod in return, rose cautiously on his
legs. A vigorous rapping on the table procured silence, and Dr. B----l,
steadying himself by the table with one tremulous hand, and waving
the other gracefully towards ourselves, while the ever-beaming smile
irradiated his countenance, proposed Milton’s health in most glowing
terms, winding up his panegyric with a request for three-times-three,
and “He’s a jolly good fellow.” These were given uproariously--the
Hudson’s Bay man leading, and Janet bringing in an effective soprano.

The eloquent Dr. B----l again rose, and proposed the health of the
other visitor in similar eulogistic terms, and that was drunk with
all the honours. When thanks had been returned by the honoured guests
in an appropriate manner, the irrepressible Dr. B----l rose for the
third time, and with grave countenance reproached the host for his
reprehensible neglect in omitting to propose the health of Her Most
Gracious Majesty the Queen. Dr. B----k felt humiliated; and although
urging in extenuation the precipitation with which his friend had
proposed the other toasts, fully acknowledged the gross disloyalty of
which he had been unintentionally guilty. He trusted the circumstance
might never come to Her Majesty’s knowledge; and he could assure the
company that the spark of loyalty never burnt brighter in any breast
than his. From his childhood he had been ready--nay, he might say
_wishful_--to die for his Queen and country. Animated by that desire,
he had gone out with the British army to the Crimea, and now, marching
in the van of civilisation in Cariboo, he was ready to die in the
cause.

When Her Majesty’s health had been drunk amidst hearty applause, we
adjourned to the kitchen. More healths were drunk. Janet made a very
pretty speech, and presented Milton with a handsome nugget; Billy
Ferren followed suit with a second. Then each gave one to Cheadle
with similar ceremony. The irrepressible Dr. B----l rose every few
minutes to propose anew the health of one or other of the “illustrious
travellers,” and was remorselessly sung down by the equally
indefatigable Hudson’s Bay man, who always had “Annie Laurie” ready
for the emergency, and all joined in the chorus, and the obtrusive
speaker was ultimately overpowered. At last his eyes became glassy,
his smile disappeared, and he sat in his chair gloomily silent. All at
once, however, he got up, and rushing across the room, made ineffectual
attempts to force an exit through the mantelpiece, bobbing against it
very much after the fashion of a bird trying to escape through a pane
of glass; whereupon he was seized by the assistant, and led off into a
bedroom. Cards were now introduced, and we were initiated into “High,
Low, Jack and the Game,” and “Pitch seven up,” but were presently
disturbed by a tremendous crash in the bedroom adjoining; the assistant
ran out, and found Dr. B----l on the floor, having rolled off the bed
into a miscellaneous collection of pots, pans, brushes, and etceteras
which had been put there out of the way.

After this interruption conviviality reigned again. We played “Pitch
seven up” till we were too sleepy to see the cards; the Hudson’s Bay
man tuned up indiscriminately, Janet sang “Auld Robin Gray” five or six
times, “Billy the Bladge” carried on a fierce argument with the manager
of the bank on colonial politics, everybody talked at the same time,
smoked and drank whisky until far on towards daylight, when we turned
out into the cold night with the thermometer standing at five degrees,
and made our way back to Cusheon’s.

On the 30th of October, having spent ten days in William’s Creek, we
resumed our packs, and bade adieu to Cusheon’s, Cameron Town, and Judge
Cox, and started for the Mouth of Quesnelle. The snow had fallen to the
depth of six or seven inches, but this had been well beaten by previous
passengers. We reached the banks of the Fraser in three days, with far
greater ease than we had walked the same distance on our way in. To our
dismay, we found that the steamer to Soda Creek had stopped running for
the winter; but were relieved to learn that an open boat would start
for that place on the following day, in which we took our passages. The
owner of the boat, Mr. McBride, was one of a party which had ascended
the Fraser, and crossed to Peace River by Stuart’s and McLeod’s Lakes,
during the summer. They had followed the Peace River right through
the Rocky Mountains, and as far as Fort Dunegan, on the eastern side.
He described the country on the west of the mountains as resembling
the ordinary Fraser River country; but that to the _east_ of them a
mixture of fine woods and fertile prairies, abounding in game. On the
banks of Smoky River, one of the tributaries of Peace River, numerous
craters were observed, emitting dense volumes of smoke and sulphurous
gases from upwards of thirty funnel-shaped apertures, the size of
ordinary stove-pipes. The banks were in many parts covered with a
deposit of pure sulphur. On Tribe or Nation River, another tributary,
they found slate-rock and quartz veins, and very good diggings on some
of the bars.

The boat in which we embarked was a large, strongly-built one,
constructed on purpose for the journey to Peace River. Forty passengers
were crowded into it, packed close as negroes in a slaver. The day
was very cold, and the snow fell heavily, wetting us through before
long; and the pools of “slush,” which formed at the bottom of the
boat, made our feet ache again with cold. A little below Quesnelle
Mouth is a rather dangerous “riffle,” or rapid, of lumpy water, where
the whirlpool is said to have sucked down canoes head foremost. We
shot this safely, although we shipped some water, and continued to run
down the stream at a great pace, until just after passing Alexandria,
when we stuck fast on a shallow rapid. The boat could not be got off
by any amount of pushing, and McBride called for volunteers to jump
overboard, and lighten the boat. Five or six fellows at once responded,
and as the boat was still immovable, each took another on his back,
and proceeded towards the shore. One little fellow, carrying a huge
six-feet Yankee, stumbled and fell, with his rider; both were soused
overhead, and essayed several times in vain to gain their legs, for the
current was so powerful that it swept them down at each attempt. The
lookers-on roared with laughter, but it was no joke to the sufferers
to be immersed in the icy waters of the Fraser on such a day. The
boat was now lifted off the shallow, the waders re-embarked, and we
continued our course until nearly dark, when McBride proposed to land
and camp for the night, as we were still many miles from Soda Creek,
and there were several awkward rapids before us. A few daredevils voted
for going forward, but the majority decided against it, and we pulled
in to the bank, at a place where there were some large stacks of wood,
cut for the use of the steamer. Every one now tried to strike a light,
but Milton was the first to succeed, and we were soon surrounded by a
circle of roaring fires, at the expense of the owners of the Quesnelle
steamboat. McBride produced some loaves and a flitch of bacon, which
very soon disappeared before the fierce attacks of the hungry party,
and we then turned in on couches of pine boughs. It snowed fast all
night, and we woke up in the morning under a thick white counterpane.
There was nothing for breakfast, and as soon as the morning mists
cleared away from the river we took to the boat again, and reached Soda
Creek safely in about a couple of hours. We had taken our places in the
“express wagon,” running between this place and Yale with letters and
gold; but, as the express-man had not yet returned from Cariboo, we
walked on fourteen miles to Davidson’s, near William’s Lake. The farm
here is, perhaps, the finest in British Columbia, comprising several
hundred acres of low land on the borders of the lake, the delta of a
small stream which enters at this point. Potatoes and other vegetables,
barley and oats, flourish wonderfully. Wheat had been sown for the
first time that year, and was already above ground, but looked rather
starved and yellow. The scenery of William’s Lake is very beautiful;
bold, rugged hills rising up grandly on the west.

The day after our arrival at Davidson’s a large party of miners came
in with the intelligence that a boat which left the Mouth of Quesnelle
the day after we did had been swamped in the rapids below. Seven or
eight persons were drowned, and one of the lucky survivors was a man
who carried several pounds’ weight of gold in a belt round his waist.
The force of the current literally threw him ashore, and he managed to
scramble out.

In two or three days the express arrived, and we started for Yale once
more. When we reached the bottom of the ascent to the high table-land,
we found the road covered with a thick sheet of ice, and all hands had
to get out and push behind the wagon. The horses fell frequently, and
had to be unharnessed and put on their legs again; but, after many
delays, we got to the top, where the snow was deeper, and the horses
travelled better.

We carried 170 pounds’ weight of gold with us in the express wagon, and
the fact that this, worth about £8,000, could be thus forwarded without
any escort, is the strongest possible testimony to the orderly state of
the country. In addition to the driver, there was one other passenger
and ourselves, yet the former was the only one armed. He told us that
he frequently travelled in charge of the treasure quite alone, and had
made up his mind that he should be attacked some time. The temptation
would be too great, and the opportunities plentiful enough along the
lonely 400 miles, where the houses were ten or twenty miles apart, and
passengers rare except at certain seasons. He looked upon “The Chasm”
as the most suitable and probable place of attack; its yawning gulf,
hidden from the road by bushes, and its bottom covered by _débris_ and
underwood, offering every convenience for the disposal of his body. He
was by no means nervous, or in any way unhappy, but laughed and talked
about his anticipated fate with careless indifference.

Five days’ driving brought us to the terrific road between Lytton and
Yale, and as we sat in the wagon, within a few inches of the unguarded
edge of the precipice of 700 or 800 feet, running up and down the
steeps, and along the narrow portions, winding round the face of the
bluffs, we could not help an uneasy consciousness that a very trifling
accident might eject us from our lofty position into the depths below.
And what made matters look worse was, that our carriage was gradually
coming to pieces. First one spring broke, and then another, and we
bumped about on the axles. Next the splinter-bar gave way, and had to
be tied up with a piece of rope. All these would have been trifling
accidents had the road been of a different character, but when, to
crown all, the pole snapped in its socket, and the wagon ran into
the horses, we had good cause to be thankful that this had happened
in the middle of a flat, just after crossing the suspension bridge.
Had it occurred a few minutes sooner, we should doubtless have been
precipitated headlong into the Roaring Cañons. The pole was past
mending, so the driver took the horses out and led them back to a
house about half a mile distant, the rest of us remaining behind to
guard the treasure by the light of a large bonfire, for it was already
quite dark. In about an hour the driver re-appeared, accompanied by a
friend, bringing a large covered wagon, drawn by two fine Californian
horses. The fresh horses were put in as leaders, and we soon started
with our four-in-hand, rattling along at a headlong gallop, for we had
now two drivers, one who managed the reins, while the other vigorously
plied the whip. The express-man had brought a bottle of whisky back
with him, and he and his friend devoted themselves assiduously to it
in the calmer intervals of their joint occupation. After a time it
was discovered that the reins of the leaders were not crossed, and
consequently useless for guiding purposes; but the two Californians led
the way admirably, sweeping round every curve with great precision.
Much of the road was as dangerous as any we had passed before, but the
men shouted and whipped up, the horses galloped furiously, the wagon
whisked round the precipitous bluffs, and tore down the steep descents
in mad career. We reached Yale before midnight, having been little more
than an hour doing the last fifteen miles of this fearful road.

Leaving this picturesque little town for the second and last time the
following morning, we took steamer down the Fraser once more, and
landed in Victoria again on the 25th of November.

CHAPTER XX.

Nanaimo and San Juan--Resources of British Columbia and Vancouver
Island--Minerals--Timber--Abundance of Fish--Different Kinds
of Salmon--The Hoolicans, and the Indian Method of Taking them--
Pasturage--The Bunch-grass--Its Peculiarities and Drawbacks--
Scarcity of Farming Land--Different Localities--Land in
Vancouver Island--Contrast between California and British
Columbia--Gross Misrepresentations of the Latter--Necessity
for the Saskatchewan as an Agricultural Supplement--Advantages
of a Route across the Continent--The Americans before us--The
Difficulties less by the British Route--Communication with China
and Japan by this Line--The Shorter Distance--The Time now come
for the Fall of the Last Great Monopoly--The North-West Passage
by Sea, and that by Land--The Last News of Mr. O’B.--Conclusion.

After our return to Victoria we received a kind invitation from Captain
Lascelles to accompany him in H.M. gunboat _Forward_ on a cruise to
San Juan and Nanaimo. The cruise was most enjoyable; we inspected the
coal-mines of the future Newcastle of the Pacific, and enjoyed most
thoroughly the hospitality of Captain Bazalgette and his officers on
the noted island of San Juan.

We had now seen a great portion of British Columbia and Vancouver. We
had travelled through the former from Tête Jaune Cache by the Thompson
to the mouth of the Fraser, and again through the heart of the country
to Cariboo. We found the country abounding in mineral wealth. The
extent and richness of the gold fields, added to every month by fresh
discoveries, would alone be sufficient to render the colony one of our
most valuable possessions. But the indications that many other of the
most valuable minerals will be found in British Columbia, as in the
neighbouring state of California, are strong. At present, however,
every other pursuit is put aside for that of gold, and the real mineral
wealth of the country is little known. Coal, however, crops out at
Alexandria, Similkameen, and Burrard’s Inlet. In the sister colony of
Vancouver are the magnificent beds of coal, which have been already
extensively and most successfully worked at Nanaimo for the last four
or five years.

The timber of British Columbia is, of its kind, unequalled. The Douglas
pine, with its straight uniform trunk, exceedingly tough and flexible,
furnishes the finest masts and spars for the largest vessels. These
trees often attain a height of upwards of 300 feet, with a diameter of
ten feet. The white pine and the gigantic cypress, the latter exceeding
even the Douglas pine in size, grow together with it in vast forests,
yielding an almost inexhaustible supply. But perhaps the most striking
feature in the resources of British Columbia and Vancouver Island is
the extraordinary number and variety of the fish, which frequent the
shores and swarm in all the rivers. In the spring two kinds of salmon
ascend the Fraser, millions of “hoolicans” crowd into its mouth, and
shoals of herrings enter every inlet. The hoolican is like a sprat,
but a little larger, and is a very delicious fish, rich in oil.
Flocks of gulls hovering over the shoals announce the arrival of these
fish; and their extraordinary numbers may be imagined from the way in
which the Indians take them. The river is literally alive with fish,
and the native fisherman carries a long piece of wood, armed with
sharp-pointed wires on each side, like the teeth of a rake. This he
sweeps through the water as he sits in his canoe, after the fashion
of a paddle, and at each stroke brings up a row of hoolicans impaled
upon the spikes. Three fresh species of salmon continue to ascend the
river in succession during the summer and autumn, and in the winter a
fifth variety makes its appearance in the harbours and inlets along
the coast. We saw some of fifteen to twenty pounds each caught in the
harbour of St. Juan in the month of December. Salmon of some kind is
thus in season all the year round. Trout abound in the mountain streams
and lakes, and the sturgeon frequents the deeps of the Fraser. In
Burrard’s Inlet oysters are found in great abundance; and, in fact,
everything good in the way of fish seems to be collected in this, so
far, highly favoured country.

From the richness and extent of its pasturage, and the dryness of
its soil and climate, British Columbia offers great advantages to
the breeder of stock. But there are certain drawbacks, the principal
of which is that an immense extent of country would be required by
each stock farmer. The only grass is the “bunch-grass.” It covers the
terraces of the Fraser, and the rolling swells and mountain-sides of
the central region. Growing in the separate “tufts” from which it has
taken its name, it fixes but a slight hold upon the light, powdery
soil with its slender roots. Horses and cattle pull much of it up in
grazing, and sheep, which thrive equally upon it, crop the delicate
plant so closely that it frequently does not recover. In this way the
Lilloet flats, which were once celebrated as rich feeding grounds,
have now become bare, dusty plains, on which a few scattered plants of
wild sage and absinthe still remain, where the bunch-grass has been
destroyed. The facts, too, that the bunch-grass requires three years
to come to perfection, and fully recover after being eaten down, and
that, from its mode of growth in distinct tufts, the ground is really
but scantily covered with herbage, confirm the belief that, for a stock
farm to be successful, its range of pasturage must be very extensive.
But there is room enough now, and any who may devote themselves to
the raising of sheep and cattle will certainly reap a rich harvest of
profit. Strange to say, from some cause--either want of capital, or
the prospect of more rapid profit from other pursuits--it has been
little followed hitherto, and the land lies open to the first-comer.

The extent of agricultural land in British Columbia is very limited
indeed. With the exception of a small district between the south end of
the Okanagan Lake and the Grand Prairie, on the road from thence to the
Thompson River; a few other patches of good land in the interior; and
the delta of the Fraser, which is covered almost entirely with dense
forest, and exposed to the summer floods, it is a country of rocks,
gravel, and shingle. The surface of the country east of the coast
range of mountains consists, principally, of a high table-land, from
which rise up mountains and hills, and indented by the valleys of the
Thompson and Fraser, and their countless tributaries. These valleys are
deep and narrow, and their sides generally steep. On the table-land the
night-frosts, prevalent throughout the summer, preclude the cultivation
of almost every description of produce. In the valleys the land is
generally very dry and sandy, or stony, and unless some very perfect
system of irrigation and manuring is adopted, would yield a wretched
return.

In all the instances we saw where attempts had been made to raise
crops of cereals on the terraces of the Thompson and Fraser, or,
indeed, anywhere in the region of shingle and gravel, they had failed.
Cabbages, and vegetables of similar kind, if well watered, seemed to
flourish very well; but the oats and barley were short in the ear, and
the straw weak, stunted, and miserable. Water is sufficiently abundant,
but the soil of the irrigated tracts is so extremely light, and in
most parts underlaid by such a depth of gravel and shingle, that the
water percolates through as through a sieve, and the streams disappear
without spreading over the surface. The decay of the sparsely-growing
bunch-grass cannot have rendered the land rich in vegetable mould.
Occasional fertile spots, of a few acres in extent, occur on the margin
of the rivers, as along the north and south branches of the Thompson
above Kamloops. There are also patches of good land in the vicinity
of William’s Lake, Beaver Lake, and Alexandria, which have proved very
productive. But these rich bottoms and alluvial lowlands are striking
exceptions to the general character of the country. British Columbia,
rich beyond conception in many ways, is _not_ an agricultural country.
Vancouver Island, too, is merely a huge rock, in the hollows of which
vegetable mould has collected. But this is often too shallow to be
worked with the plough, and these fertile oases are generally of small
extent--fit for gardens rather than farms.

In consequence, therefore, of the deficiency of the two colonies in
this respect, their population is still supplied with provisions
from California, and their gold goes into the pockets of Americans.
California is probably the richest country in the world. Possessing
every valuable mineral in inexhaustible abundance--except coal,
which has not been yet found in any quantity--she has also a soil of
extraordinary fertility. Her mountains are of gold and silver, and
her valleys as the land of Goshen. Wheat grows so luxuriantly that
“volunteer crops”--the produce of the second and even third year from
the seed shaken out in the gathering of the previous harvest--spring
up without the labour of man. Fruits of every kind, from the apples,
pears, and grapes of temperate climes, to the pine-apples and bananas
of the tropics, come to perfection within her limits. Oats grow wild on
the slopes of the Sierra Nevada; and in the alluvial plains, besides
the ordinary cereals, flourish maize, tobacco, and cotton.

It is far otherwise with British Columbia. She probably equals
California in mineral wealth, but, being as it were a mere continuation
of the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific, a sea of hills, a land of
mountains and forests, or shingly swells and terraces covered with
bunch-grass, the former looks in vain for rich alluvial valleys. No
colony has been more misrepresented than this.

In former times, when a preserve for fur-bearing animals under the
sway of the Hudson’s Bay Company, it was reputed to be “little better
than a waste and howling wilderness, wherein half-famished beasts
of prey waged eternal war with a sparse population of half-starved
savages; where the cold was more than Arctic, and the drought more
than Saharan;” and that--to quote the words of the Chancellor of the
Exchequer in the House of Commons a few years ago--“these territories
were bound by frost and banked by fog, and woe betide any unfortunate
individual who might be so far diverted from the path of prudence as to
endeavour to settle in those parts.”[20]

But the accounts sent to this country soon after the first rush of
emigrants to the land of gold, differed widely from the old story.
It was now as much the interest of speculators and property-holders
to attract emigration by exaggerated praise of the colony, as it had
formerly been that of the Hudson’s Bay Company to repel it, and keep
their possession intact by representing it as a barren wilderness.
The most glowing reports were sent home, and were published in the
leading newspapers. The new colony was represented as a very paradise
for the farmer, and many men went out believing this, to find bitter
disappointment in the reality. Neither of the two accounts is correct;
the truth lies, as is usually the case in like matters, between the
two extremes, and we have been induced to set forth the truth somewhat
fully, from a desire to do away with the injurious misconception which
has prevailed on this subject.

Although there is little land fit for agricultural purposes within the
boundaries of British Columbia, the fertile belt of the Saskatchewan
is separated from it only by the barrier of the Rocky Mountains. Of
the beauties and resources of this pleasant land, we have already made
mention in these pages. The rich prairies, with from three to five feet
of alluvial soil, are ready for the plough, or offer the luxuriant
grasses, which, in the old time, fattened countless herds of buffalo,
to domesticated herds. Woods, lakes, and streams diversify the scene,
and offer timber, fish, and myriads of wild fowl. Yet this glorious
country, estimated at 65,000 square miles, and forty million of acres
of the richest soil, capable of supporting twenty millions of people,
is, from its isolated position, and the difficulties put in the way
of settlement by the governing power, hitherto left utterly neglected
and useless, except for the support of a few Indians and the employés
of the Hudson’s Bay Company. And this rich agricultural country lies
but a step as it were from the gold fields. It is the very supplement
required to British Columbia. That communication could be easily
established has been already demonstrated. Why, then, should not the
miners be supplied with provisions from British territory, instead
of from California, and the gold of British Columbia enrich British
subjects rather than Americans?

We would not, however, stop here. The advantages of a route across the
continent of America, which passes entirely through British territory,
seem palpable enough. The Americans, ever in advance of us in like
enterprises--not from individual superiority perhaps, but having a
more liberal and less lethargic government--have constructed a road,
and laid a telegraph line across the continent to California, and have
commenced a Pacific Railway. Greater difficulties had to be encountered
in carrying a road over more barren prairies, where wood and water are
scarce, and which are infested by hostile Indians. The pass through
the mountains in American territory is abrupt and high, unlike the
easier gradients of the Vermilion and Jasper House passes. But all
these obstacles were overcome, and San Francisco is now in daily
communication with the Atlantic States by both post and telegraph;
the latter having paid the cost of its construction in a single year.
The principal obstacle to be overcome in carrying a road across the
continent which shall pass entirely through British territory, appears
to be in the district between Lake Superior and Fort Garry. This region
consists in great measure of swamp and forest, and considerable outlay
and labour would be required to render it passable. But Professor
Hind[21] has satisfactorily proved that the difficulties are far
from insuperable, and not worthy of consideration in view of the
magnificent results which would follow its successful accomplishment.
In California and British Columbia, where far greater obstacles have
been successfully overcome, such objections would be considered light
indeed.

Nearly 200 years have elapsed since Cavalier de la Sale conceived the
project of opening a communication between the Atlantic and Pacific by
a route across the continent, and in pursuit of this scheme, in 1731,
the French Canadians were the first to reach the Rocky Mountains. Since
then the subject has been repeatedly brought before the notice of the
Government and the public.

The dream of the old enthusiasts, of thus reaching China and Japan,
is on the point of being realised--not by Frenchmen or Englishmen,
but by Americans. They have already made the road across the continent
from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and as we write, the intelligence has
arrived that a bill has passed the United States Congress, granting
a subsidy for the establishment of a line of steamers between San
Francisco and Hongkong.

Victoria, with the magnificent harbour of Esquimalt, offers far
superior advantages, for the coal-mines of Vancouver Island are the
only ones on the Pacific coast of North America. Victoria is but
6,053 miles from Hongkong, or about twenty-one days’ steaming; and
if a railway were constructed from Halifax to some point in British
Columbia, the whole distance to Southampton would be accomplished in
thirty-six days--from fifteen to twenty days less than by the Overland
Route _viâ_ Suez.[22]

At the present time this subject acquires additional interest from
the projected Federation of the British North American Colonies, and
the uncertain condition of our relations with the Northern States of
America.

The time seems to have come when the Hudson’s Bay Company, having
done good service by a beneficent rule over the territories granted
it, which contrasts strongly with that of the American Fur Companies,
should share the fate of all the great monopolies which have fallen
before it. Lord Wharncliffe has lately brought this question before the
House of Lords, proposing the formation of the north-west territory
into a separate colony, and inquiring whether any steps had been taken
in the matter. But of course the Government had done nothing, and
apparently has no intention of moving.

Millions of money and hundreds of lives have been lost in the search
for a North-West Passage by Sea. Discovered at last, it has proved
useless. The North-West Passage by Land is the real highway to the
Pacific; and let us hope that as our countrymen gained the glory of the
former brilliant achievement, valueless to commerce, so they may be the
first to establish a railway across the continent of America, and reap
the solid advantages which the realisation of the old dream has failed
to afford.

The _cacoethes scribendi_ is upon us, and we would fain run on through
many pages, to describe our sojourn in the fair land of California,
fruitful in strange scenes and curious adventures. But the reader,
wearied perchance by the dull details and prosings of this last
chapter, will agree with us that the book is already long enough, and
we dare not gratify our wish to write more. He might ask, however,
what became of our friend, Mr. O’B. That migratory gentleman, like the
Wandering Jew, or the soul of the celebrated John Brown, is doubtless
still “marching on.” When we returned to Victoria, after our journey
to Cariboo, Mr. O’B. had departed, and his portrait is therefore
wanting in the Frontispiece. He had “moved on” to San Francisco. When
we arrived in that city, he had “moved on” to Melbourne, Australia.
From there he has probably “moved on” to New Zealand, or again reached
India, to circle round to England in due course, happy in any country
free from wolves, grisly bears, and Assiniboines.

The many kindnesses we received from Sir James Douglas, and numerous
other friends in Victoria, must remain undetailed, though not
forgotten. We sailed in the S.S. _Pacific_, on the 20th of December,
for San Francisco; were caught in a white squall off Neah Bay; the
boiler burst; and Christmas Day came off before we reached our
destination.

The glories of the Golden City; the pleasures enjoyed in the society
of Mr. Booker, and the other kind members of the Union Club there;
the wonders of the Big-tree Grove in the Mariposa Valley, where grow
Wellingtonias (called Washingtonias in the States), upwards of 400
feet high--higher than St. Paul’s--on the stumps of which are built
ball-rooms, and on the prostrate trunks bowling alleys; the beautiful
ladies of “Frisco,” as the Californians playfully denominate San
Francisco, and the fraternising rowdies of “Copperopolis” and Columbia
City, must remain undescribed. These things, and how we dreamed through
the voyage down the smooth Pacific, with the languid carelessness of
lotos-eaters; how we escaped the wiles of the grass-widow,[23] and
quarrelled with argumentative Northerners on board the steamer _Golden
City_, are they not recorded in our journals?

We reached Liverpool by way of Panama and New York, on the 5th of
March, 1864, and entered at once into the pleasures of a return home in
the company of old friends, who welcomed us as we disembarked from the
_China_.

LONDON:
CASSELL, PETTER, AND GALPIN, BELLE SAUVAGE WORKS,
LUDGATE HILL, E.C.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Mr. Ross, the author of the “Fur Hunters of the Far West,” in his
“History of the Red River Settlement,” makes mention of a storm very
similar to the one described above. In that instance the party were
camping out on the plains; three tents were struck by the lightning,
and two men, a woman, and two children killed. Several horses and dogs
were also killed. The rain fell in such torrents, that in the course of
a few minutes the flood of water was so great that two small children
narrowly escaped being drowned. A summer rarely passes in Red River
without the loss of several lives by lightning.

[2] About the year 1835 the colony passed into the possession of the
Hudson’s Bay Company, by purchase from Lord Selkirk’s executors. This,
however, made but little change in its condition, the government having
been exercised by the Company, for Lord Selkirk and his executors, from
the first foundation of the colony.

[3] The pemmican used in the Arctic expeditions was manufactured in
England of the best beef, with currants, raisins, and sugar; very
different to the coarse stuff which is the staff of life in the
Hudson’s Bay territories.

[4] Fat seems to be the _summum bonum_ in everything, according to
Indian and half-breed tastes. They say, “What a fine horse! he’s as fat
as possible!” “What a fine woman! how fat she is!” and the same of men,
dogs, and everything. And fat is very important in that country. It is
the most valuable part of food in winter, and horses and dogs will not
stand work in the cold, unless fat.

[5] These Indians believe in one “Great Spirit,” or more literally
“Perfect Spirit,” the Manitou proper, and a great number of inferior
spirits, or lesser Manitous. They appear to address their invocations
principally to the latter.

[6] The skin of a skunk, which had been thrown aside near our hut, gave
out no scent when the frost was very severe, but on the least abatement
of the cold, its odour was perceptible. From the variations in the
intensity of the smell we could judge very closely of the warmth of the
weather. The scent is by no means so disagreeable as it is generally
represented, and only when very powerful is it at all disgusting. The
Indians use the gland which furnishes the secretion as a cure for
headache, and other maladies.

[7] From Dr. Rae, who crossed by the same pass the following summer,
we learnt that a report had reached Edmonton to the effect that we had
all been murdered by the Assiniboine, who was returning rich in the
possession of our horses and property.

[8] Hugh Miller explains the formation of peat-mosses in Scotland in a
similar manner. The timber felled by the Romans to make roads through
the forest dammed up the watercourses; pools were thus formed, which
were gradually converted into mosses by the growth and decay of aquatic
plants.

[9] The bighorn is something like an ordinary sheep, but with very
large head, and curling horns of enormous size. The “mouton blanc”
resembles the common goat, but has soft, white hair, more like wool.
The Indians of British Columbia weave beautiful blankets of this
material. Both the “mouton blanc” and “gris” frequent the highest
crags, and are active as the chamois.

[10] The Iroquois are Canadian Indians, so celebrated in our war with
the French in Canada. They are perhaps the most expert canoemen in the
world, and were employed by Sir George Simpson and other governors
of the Hudson’s Bay Company, in their journeys from Canada through
the Hudson’s Bay territories, most of which were performed by water.
Many stayed behind at the different forts, and at this day Iroquois
half-breeds are met with at the Company’s forts even in British
Columbia.

[11] According to the observations of Dr. Rae, with small aneroid
barometer.

[12] Dr. Rae.

[13] Lieut. Palmer, R.E.

[14] See reports of Captain Palliser’s expedition, published in the
Journal of the Royal Geographical Society for 1860.

[15] Journal of Royal Geographical Society for 1860; Dr. Hector’s
Report.

[16] From the observations of Dr. Rae.

[17] From the observations of Dr. Rae.

[18] There is a most striking difference, however, between the general
physique and features of the two sexes amongst the true Red Indians.
The men are tall, and their features bold and prominent, the nose being
generally Roman. The women are generally rather short, their faces
rounder, and the nose squat. This difference was well shown in the case
of The Assiniboine and his wife, of whom excellent portraits are given
in the Frontispiece.

[19] Chinook is a jargon which was invented by the Hudson’s Bay Company
for the purpose of facilitating communication with the different Indian
tribes. These were so numerous, and their languages so various, that
the traders found it impossible to learn them all, and adopted the
device of a judicious mixture of English, French, Russian, and several
Indian tongues, which has a very limited vocabulary; but which, by the
help of signs, is readily understood by all the natives, and serves as
a common language.

[20] _Vide_ “Prize Essay on British Columbia,” by the Rev. R. C. L.
Brown, M.A., Minister of St. Mary’s, Lilloet.

[21] _Vide_ “Overland Route to British Columbia,” by Henry Youle Hind,
M.A., F.R.G.S., and “Narrative of Canadian Exploring Expedition,” by
the same Author; also Captain Palliser’s Report in the “Journal of the
Royal Geographical Society for 1860.”

[22] _Vide_ Dr. Rathray, “Vancouver Island, and British Columbia.”

[23] A grass-widow in America is a woman who has separated or been
divorced from her husband.

[Illustration: General Map of BRITISH NORTH AMERICA.]

Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.

Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.

Footnotes, originally at the bottoms of pages, have been collected,
renumbered, and moved to the end of the book.

“Andrè” was accented that way consistently.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The North-West Passage by land: Being the narrative of an expedition from the Atlantic to the Pacific" ***

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