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Title: Down the Mackenzie and up the Yukon in 1906
Author: Stewart, Elihu
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Down the Mackenzie and up the Yukon in 1906" ***
YUKON IN 1906 ***
DOWN THE MACKENZIE
AND UP THE YUKON
IN 1906
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
S.S. WRIGLEY AT THE JUNCTION OF THE MACKENZIE AND LIARD RIVERS]
DOWN THE MACKENZIE
AND UP THE YUKON
IN 1906
BY ELIHU STEWART
FORMERLY SUPERINTENDENT OF FORESTRY
FOR CANADA
WITH A MAP AND THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
LONDON : JOHN LANE : THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK : JOHN LANE COMPANY
TORONTO : BELL AND COCKBURN : MCMXIII
_SECOND EDITION_
THE BALLANTYNE PRESS TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN LONDON
TO
THE RIGHT HONORABLE EARL GREY
FORMER GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF CANADA WHO DURING HIS TERM OF OFFICE
FOUND TIME TO ACQUAINT HIMSELF WITH MUCH OF OUR NORTHERN
WILDERNESS THESE PAGES ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
ERRATUM
The Photograph entitled “A Moose and Indian Tepee,” reproduced to
face page 218 and on the wrapper, is the copyright of Ernest
Brown of Edmonton
PREFACE
The following narrative is based on a report which I made to the
Government of Canada, dated November 16, in the year 1906, shortly
after my return to Ottawa from the far North.
In writing this report I had to resist the temptation to give many
details which were present in my mind at the time but which would be
scarcely warranted in an official document. In the following pages
I have allowed myself more latitude and have also included several
illustrations, the greater number of them being photographs taken by
myself. Many of these were snapshots taken from the deck of one or
other of the steamers on which I was a passenger, and for that reason
are not as good as when time exposures were obtained.
I cannot allow this little narrative to pass out of my hands
without expressing heartfelt thanks for the unfailing kindness
and hospitality, as well as assistance, that I received from the
officials of the Hudson Bay Company, as well as from the agents of the
independent trading Companies, from the Missionaries, and also the
natives of the country.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Mr. Elihu Stewart’s opening words are strangely significant. “Perhaps
no portion of America has received greater attention from the explorer
during the last three centuries than the sub-arctic regions of Canada,
and yet they remain practically unknown to the present day.” The author
relates his experiences in traversing what was practically virgin soil.
That he should have carried out his immense programme without fear or
accident is no mean feat, and this narrative should be found intensely
interesting by all who recognise the great commercial and historical
future in store for the vast Dominion, as well as those to whom the
adventurous side of life especially appeals.
Mr. Stewart is well competent to do more than furnish a superficial
travel book. As Managing Director of “Canada Timber and Lands,
Limited,” he is actively concerned in the possibilities of the timber
trade in Canada. There is no doubt that with the completion of the
Panama Canal in sight and with the rapid settlement of the prairies
and the increased railway facilities bound to eventuate, the superior
timber of British Columbia can be exploited as never before. No
other part of Canada produces timber in such abundance. Mr. Stewart
was formerly Superintendent of Forestry for Canada, and much of the
knowledge he thus acquired helps to form the present volume. Mr.
Stewart gives many charming pen-pictures to relieve the more material
side of “Down the Mackenzie and Up the Yukon,” and he shows a fine
feeling of atmosphere for lands “where it is always afternoon,” where
the late sun lingers in the quiet west; where the northern twilight
embraces reluctant day, amid the profound silence of the gradual
shadows. Only the cry of a loon or the hooting of an owl heard
somewhere in the forest pierces the mournful calm.
Mr. Stewart wisely makes frequent reference to the soil conditions
he has observed on his line of travel, and his impressions will be
found most valuable. He insists, too, that before any accurate report
can be given on the subject it will be most desirable--and indeed
necessary--for the Government to have an exploration survey made by men
competent to give an authoritative opinion. Canada is losing year after
year from lack of information concerning its unoccupied areas. The
difficulties of handling immense tracts of land are obvious, but not
more so than the lack of enterprise which stays the country and delays
its cultivation. In the present state of things the stray settler has
little or no chance. “What would be thought,” asks Mr. Stewart, “of
the settler who built his house and commenced to clear and till his
land on the front of his lot without ever taking the trouble to examine
the rest of his possessions? The chances are he would afterwards find
that much of his labour had been misdirected. In many parts of the
country land has been surveyed, and opened up for settlement, that was
unfit for agriculture and which should have been left for the growth
of timber for which it was well suited. Frequently this land looked
attractive to the inexperienced, and in many cases the settler spent
years of hard labour only to find at last that beneath the few inches
of humus there was nothing but barren sand.”
In a country like Canada with its vast areas of wonderfully fertile
land, it is unnecessary that any one should waste his labour on any
part that is unproductive.
It is well that Mr. Stewart should express himself forcibly, without
circumlocution, and his grave warning may perhaps act as a deterrent
to the unwary and inexperienced, while bringing home to the Government
the necessity not only of bringing agricultural immigrants into the
country, but of directing them to fields where there is a known and
excellent chance of labour and concentrated industry meeting with
adequate reward.
Mr. Stewart pleads very earnestly for the establishment of a hospital
somewhere in that vast region of the Mackenzie watershed. “Between
Edmonton,” says Mr. Stewart, “and the Arctic Sea we pass over sixteen
degrees of latitude, while the distance by the travelled route is over
two thousand miles. Again, from the Rocky Mountains on the West to
the Hudson Bay on the East the distance is almost equally as great.
At Athabaska Landing and at Peace River in the Southern fringe of
this great wilderness a few physicians have established themselves,
but beyond these places the only medical aid available is from an
occasional visit of the Government physician and what the missionaries
are able to furnish. At practically every fort and Indian village on
our way we were besieged for medicine by the afflicted.”
Probably most of the illnesses would have been relieved, if not
actually cured, by proper surgical treatment. It is curious to note
that the Indians of these regions are as susceptible to appendicitis
as Europeans. Mr. Stewart goes on to suggest that if such a hospital
at Fort Simpson or at some point on Great Slave Lake were established
it could be reached by canoes in summer from points all along the
Mackenzie, and it would be possible to ameliorate the sufferings of
many whose only hope is death. If this little volume may serve even
as a faint plea for the assistance of those who dwell at present so
far beyond reach of some of civilisation’s essential requirements, Mr.
Stewart will have performed a profound service.
CONTENTS
PART I
pp.
CHAPTER I
Historical: Early History of the Sub-Arctic Regions of
Canada : Formation of the Hudson Bay Company : Rise of the
North-West Company 23–27
CHAPTER II
Plan of the Journey : Early Stages : At Edmonton : A
Peculiarity of Northern Rivers 29–39
CHAPTER III
From Athabaska Landing to Great Rapids : The _Midnight Sun_
and its Voyage 41–46
CHAPTER IV
A Burial in the Wilderness : From Grand Rapids to Fort
McMurray : Tar Sands 47–57
CHAPTER V
Fort McMurray to Smith’s Landing on the Slave River : The
_Grahame_ : Beauty of Northern Twilights : Fort
Chippewyan : The Slave River : The Peace River Basin 59–72
CHAPTER VI
More about the Slave River : On Steamer _Wrigley_ : Fine
Gardens at Resolution : A Nasty Experience : Bishop Reeves
Comes Aboard for a Round Trip : Miss Wilgriss Leaves : Hay
River : Fort Providence : The Little Lake : Fort Simpson :
A Pathetic Incident : An Imaginary Cabinet : We Reach Fort
Wrigley 73–97
CHAPTER VII
Leaving Fort Norman : A Sad Case : In Arctic Regions :
Arrival at Fort McPherson 99–110
CHAPTER VIII
Ice Conditions of the Summer of 1905 111–114
CHAPTER IX
From Fort McPherson to Rampart House : Crossing the Peel
River : An Attempt at Intimidation : The Summit of the
Rocky Mountains : In Pacific Waters : The Porcupine : John
Quatlot Departs 115–150
CHAPTER X
From Rampart House to Fort Yukon : In Alaska : With Dan
Cadzow’s Party 151–157
CHAPTER XI
The Ramparts of the Porcupine : An Unoccupied House : A
Girl’s Unhappiness : Awaiting an Up-going Steamer : From
Fort Yukon to Dawson City 159–168
CHAPTER XII
Dawson City : In Civilisation Once More : High Prices : To
Whitehorse on the _Dawson_: Gamblers’ Tricks 169–175
CHAPTER XIII
From Skagway to Vancouver : On the _Princess May_ : Fort
Simpson : Prince Rupert : End of the Journey 177–185
PART II
SECT. PAGE
FOREWORD 189
I. CLIMATE 191
II. SOIL 201
III. MINERALS 205
IV. PLACER GOLD 209
V. TIMBER 211
VI. ANIMALS 217
VII. FISH 221
VIII. WILD FOWL 223
IX. INHABITANTS 229
X. HALF BREEDS 247
XI. THE TRADERS 253
XII. MISSIONARIES 261
CONCLUSION: AN APPEAL 267
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_To face page_
S.S. _Wrigley_ at the junction of the Mackenzie and Liard
Rivers _Frontispiece_
Tracking on Athabaska River 36
Grand Rapids on Athabaska River 44
Lunch time on the Athabaska River 46
Funeral of Herbert Bray on the Athabaska 48
Stones on the Athabaska 50
Fort Chippewyan on Athabaska Lake 62
Spruce Timber on the Slave River 64
Rapids on the Slave River at the Second Portage 68
Smith’s Landing on Slave River 70
Steamer _Grahame_ at Smith’s Landing 72
Leaving Fort Smith on the Slave River 74
Fort Resolution on Great Slave Lake 76
Dog-ribbed Indians on Great Slave Lake 78
Fort Providence on the Mackenzie River 82
Bishop Reeve, Stefansson, and Resident Clergyman at Simpson 90
The Ramparts, Mackenzie River 100
The Midnight Sun 106
At McPherson: Indians, Half-breeds, and Esquimaux in Foreground 108
Fort McPherson 114
Rampart, House on the Porcupine River 148
Yukon River at Fort Yukon 156
Fort Yukon in Alaska 160
Dawson City 170
Indian Children at Fort Simpson 178
Totum Poles at Alert Bay on Vancouver Island 184
Esquimaux on their Kyaks 192
A Moose and Indian Tepee 218
Coming in from the North 230
Trading with the Esquimaux 254
PART I
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Historical : Early History of the Sub-Arctic Regions of
Canada : Formation of the Hudson Bay Company : Rise of the
North-West Company.
“_The days were bright, and the morning light was sweet with jewelled song;
We poled and lined up nameless streams, portaged o’er hill and plain;
We guessed and groped, North ever North, with many a twist and turn
We saw ablaze in the deathless days, the splendid sunsets burn._”
SERVICE
Perhaps no portion of America has received greater attention from the
explorer during the last three centuries than the Sub-Arctic regions of
Canada, and yet they remain practically unknown to the present day.
As early as 1577, Martin Frobisher spent some time on the border of the
Arctic. The name Frobisher in English history carries us back to the
defeat of the Spanish Armada, in which he performed a distinguished
part and for which he was honoured by his Queen.
Later, in 1611, Henry Hudson after sailing up the great river of the
State of New York found a tragic death in that Canadian inland sea,
which, along with the above river, bears his name.
Samuel Herne went down the Coppermine to the Arctic Ocean and wintered
there in 1770 and 1771; and as a result of his travels wrote the first
account of the North American bison and Indian methods of hunting.
Later, in 1789, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, one of the boldest and most
resourceful explorers of modern times, made a journey in one short
summer from Lake Athabaska, then called the Lake of the Hills, down the
whole course of the Slave River, across Great Slave Lake and then all
the way down the great, but then unknown river, the Mackenzie, 1000
miles to the frozen Ocean, returning the same season to Fort Chippewyan.
In the autumn of 1792 he commenced another voyage from Chippewyan;
this time with the Pacific Ocean as his objective point going westward
up the Peace River; and succeeded before winter overtook him, in
reaching a point 600 miles up that stream near Dunvegan, where he
wintered.
The next season he continued the ascent of the Peace to its headwaters;
crossed the Rocky Mountains, and, after the greatest difficulties and
hardships, reached the Pacific, returning again by the same route to
his post at Chippewyan where he arrived on July 24, 1793.
Another name which stands high in the annals of Arctic exploration is
that of Sir John Franklin, who accompanied by Dr. Richardson, made
the journey down the Mackenzie to the sea and traversed part of the
Coast in 1825. Many others, whose names I need not recall, also imbued
with a spirit of adventure, have from time to time journeyed along the
icebound coast and through that subarctic wilderness, which to-day
forms part of the Dominion of Canada. And yet, except along a few water
routes, the country is still an almost unknown land--unknown to all
except the agents and employees of those pioneer trading Companies,
that have for centuries blazed the path through unfrequented regions
of vast extent. Any narrative concerning that portion of North America
would be incomplete that did not make frequent reference to at least
two of these Companies.
The first and oldest of them is the Hudson Bay Company, which under
Prince Rupert received a Royal Charter from Charles the Second in
1670. This Company of adventurers obtained great privileges over
the country surrounding Hudson Bay and the streams flowing into it.
In 1785 a great rival corporation was formed, viz., The North-West
Company. This organisation had its head-quarters in Montreal, and as
one stands to-day on Beaver Hall Hill in that City, where once stood
Beaver Hall--and the head-quarters of the Company--and looks down to
the river, it requires no great stretch of the imagination to behold a
vision of a century ago, with the hardy canoemen bearing on their backs
up to the warehouse the peltries brought from the remotest parts of
the far North-West and returning with merchandise to load again their
canoes for the dusky natives of the far away Saskatchewan, Peace and
Mackenzie.
This latter Company, not only established posts at various points
on the great lakes of the St. Lawrence basin, but extended them
into territory which the Hudson Bay Company regarded as belonging
exclusively to themselves on the Red River and the Saskatchewan. Not
only this, but they penetrated regions far beyond those into which
the emissaries of the older Company had ventured, even to the Pacific
Ocean on the one hand, and the Arctic on the other. It may be stated
here that Sir Alexander Mackenzie immortal in the annals of exploration
was himself an officer of the North-West Company. The presence of
the New Company in waters tributary to the Hudson Bay soon resulted
in conflicts sometimes sanguinary, between the employees of the two
corporations, and this state of affairs continued till they were
amalgamated in the year 1821.
CHAPTER II
Plan of the Journey : Early Stages : At Edmonton : A Peculiarity
of Northern Rivers.
The area drained by the Mackenzie River is of vast extent, covering
something over 450,000 square miles. Its principal tributaries flow
from the west; they consist of the Athabaska, the Peace, the Liard
and the Nahanni with many others of smaller size. To illustrate by
comparison the size of the Mackenzie basin with that of some other
streams, it is only necessary to say that the area of the St. Lawrence
basin above the City of Montreal is about 310,000 square miles, while
that of the Saskatchewan, including its two branches, is only 159,000
square miles; so that the Mackenzie basin exceeds that of the St.
Lawrence above Montreal, including that of all the great lakes by
140,000 square miles, and is nearly three times as great in extent as
the basin of the Saskatchewan, including both the north and south
branches of that great river.
A journey down that immense valley with my objective a point near the
Polar Sea was the last I had set myself to accomplish. I had also
hoped, but scarcely dared to expect to find my way back again to
civilisation by crossing the Rocky Mountains to streams, whose waters
find their way to the Yukon. Thence South up the latter stream to
Dawson and Whitehorse, thence over the White Pass Railway to Skagway
and from there to Vancouver. However, notwithstanding many misgivings,
this programme was literally carried out and that without encountering
a single accident worthy of mention. Knowing that my plans could be
best accomplished through the assistance of the Hudson Bay Company, I
applied to my friend Mr. Chipman, the late Commissioner from whom I had
previously received assistance on other trips in the North Country, and
was soon in possession of a letter to their agents, which had merely to
be presented to assure me all the hospitality that could be given, in a
country where hospitality means so much.
On the last day of May, 1906, I found myself at Edmonton busily
preparing for the journey. Edmonton, which but a few years ago was only
known as the _entrepôt_ of the Hudson Bay Company in the far West, is
now, as the Capital of Alberta, putting on the appearance and assuming
the airs of a modern City. Not only is it advancing commercially,
but socially and intellectually it is not satisfied to remain in the
background. With its semi-viceregal social establishment and its
Provincial University, it already claims no inferior place to the
Capitals of Sister Provinces. Edmonton’s resources are more varied and
her population more cosmopolitan than most of them. By her doors flows
one of the great rivers of America, with timber and coal along its
banks all the way to its source, while stretching away on every side is
the rich soil of that wonderfully fertile belt that is bringing riches
to tens of thousands of pioneer settlers. To all this it may be added
that this new northern City has tributary to it, the vast northern
region even down to the Arctic Sea, with little fear of any future
rival. In a word, Edmonton is destined to be at once the Moscow and
St. Petersburg of Canada.
Amid all the evidences of an active bustling life an incident occurred
during the few days I spent there, which cast a dark shadow across the
path of some of the older residents. During the early days, before the
present invasion of new-comers began, the scattered settlements of
half breeds and whites here and there over a large extent of country
formed a somewhat close community, among the members of which there
grew up a very warm attachment. This was further cemented by frequent
intermarriages, and it was truly pleasing to hear the eager inquiries,
from these people when we visited their homes beyond the Arctic Circle,
concerning their relatives at Edmonton and even Winnipeg.
It so happened that the wife of a Hudson Bay Official, well-known
throughout the country, had come down to Edmonton from Fort Simpson
on the Mackenzie by the last (and I might say, the only) boat of the
previous year, intending to return by the first transport in the
following one, (1906)--that on which I was also to travel. She had all
preparations made for her return trip and was about ready to start,
when a sudden illness intervened and she was called to make a journey
to a land even less known than the one we were to penetrate. There
was an old time funeral at Edmonton, and many were the expressions of
sympathy heard on the street for the husband twelve hundred miles away,
who, all unconscious of what had occurred, would be looking for his
wife when our boat reached Fort Simpson. We realised throughout the
long days of our journey to that point that we were carrying to the
widowed husband the saddest of all messages.
On a bright morning on June 2, in a comfortable conveyance and with a
good span of horses, we turned our faces to the North, bidding good-bye
to the Railway and various other adjuncts of modern civilised life, and
in less than three days arrived at Athabaska Landing, in round figures,
one hundred miles distant.
Little need be said concerning this first stage in my journey, though
the country passed over for some twenty miles would certainly be a
surprise to any one familiar only with the new settlement in the
wooded districts in the older Provinces. Certainly less than twenty
years ago, this district was an unsettled part of a great wilderness.
To-day, with its cultivated fields and with just enough woodland left
to vary the monotony that characterises the treeless plains, as we
looked across the country, really park like in appearance, we could
almost fancy that we were passing through some of the rural districts
of Old England. Early on the second day, we passed the height of
land between the basin of the Saskatchewan and that of the Mackenzie
River, though the land is so little elevated that it is imperceptible.
Notwithstanding this, the waters of two neighbouring rivulets within
almost a stone’s-throw of each other, finally find their outlet into
two different oceans. The one by way of the Saskatchewan, Lake Winnipeg
and the Nelson River to the Hudson Bay of the Atlantic, and the other
via the Athabaska, Slave and Mackenzie Rivers to the Arctic.
Athabaska Landing is on a southerly bend of the Athabaska River. This
stream was named the Elk River in Mackenzie’s time. At the “Landing”
it is about sixty rods wide and the water is of the consistency and
appearance of the Mississippi at St. Louis. Its general direction above
this point is easterly, but here it takes a sharp turn north, which
direction it maintains throughout its remaining course of 430 miles to
Lake Athabaska, the latter called “The Lake of the Hills” by Mackenzie.
At Edmonton nearly every person met with had been talking land and town
lots. The hotels were filled with “land lookers,” coming from various
parts of Canada with a large percentage of visitors from the United
States, most of them speaking the English language, varied in tone
in accordance with the districts from which they came. There was the
“blue nose” from the Maritime Provinces with a dialect not unlike that
heard in parts of England: the French Canadian speaking French English:
the man from Ontario, also with his distinctive mark branded on him,
though not realising it himself: the Western American from Dakota,
Montana, Idaho and Kansas, each also with his peculiar idioms, but all
self-assertive and reliant.
At Athabaska Landing all was changed. The conversation here was of none
of these things, but rather of last season’s hunt and the state of the
river; conveyed largely in the language of the Cree Indian. This is
certainly a border town consisting of two or three hundred inhabitants
largely half breeds. It is perhaps worthy of remark that no offence
is taken in applying the term “half breed” to one who by nationality
deserves the name, while he will bitterly resent the epithet “breed.”
A few years before I had made a journey from “The Landing” to Peace
River, going from the latter place up the Athabaska some eighty miles,
thence up a tributary, the Little Slave River into and across Lesser
Slave Lake, thence overland eighty miles to the Peace River. I crossed
near the entrance of Smokey River, where Sir Alexander Mackenzie had
spent the winter to which I have already made reference.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
TRACKING ON ATHABASKA RIVER]
During this journey I came to admire those half breed river men. It
is a peculiarity of most of those northern rivers that although the
current is very strong there are few interruptions to their navigation
with canoes, York boats or small barges. It is impossible to make
much headway however in going up stream by means of paddles or oars, so
“tracking” is resorted to. This consists of towing the boat by means
of a line, one end of which is attached to the bow of the craft while
to the other are usually harnessed four men, who walk or run along the
shore, often making three or four miles an hour. On one of the usual
river craft, the crew consists, at least, of ten men, four pulling
for about half an hour, while the other four are resting in the boat
during that time, then changing places. In addition to these there is
a bow man and a steersman, the latter being the Captain. From twenty
to twenty-five miles a day are frequently made in this manner. The
discipline and order are as good as on any ship of His Majesty’s navy.
The steersman’s orders are never interfered with, even if an official
of the “The Company” is on board. These men will undergo the most
fatiguing labour “from early dawn to dewy eve,” tugging away during
those long northern summer days over slippery cut banks and fording or
swimming tributary streams without murmur or complaint, and moreover
without profanity. The half breed seems to take this as his work to
do, and well it is that he is so persuaded, for few others would so
cheerfully perform such labour. His reward comes on the return trip
when the boat is simply left to drift down stream both night and day,
and the time of making a journey down is often less than one quarter of
that occupied by the up trip.
The land rises in terraces from the shore of the Athabaska to a height
of from one to four hundred feet. In some places where the river is
straight enough to give a vista of a mile or two, and where the fire
has been merciful enough to leave the hill sides clothed with spruce,
balsam, aspen and birch, with an occasional lobstick standing up as a
sentinel on the water’s edge, the scenery, if not strikingly beautiful,
is at least pleasing in effect. I might here mention that the lobstick
is always a curiosity to a new visitor. It will meet his view on his
arrival at Athabaska Landing, and along the banks of all the rivers of
the north, will be a familiar sight. It is a tree, usually a spruce,
from which the branches have been trimmed off from a point, commencing,
say ten feet from the top and extending down the trunk for eight
or ten feet. The tree chosen is generally a tall conspicuous one,
standing on a point on the shore, and on it near the ground certain
hieroglyphics are inscribed, which record the event for which the
lobstick was made.
In passing it may be observed that in my trip from Athabaska Landing to
Fort McPherson, a distance of 1854 miles, no part of it was up stream,
and consequently, the line was not used.
CHAPTER III
From Athabaska Landing to Great Rapids : The _Midnight Sun_ and
its Voyage.
At Athabaska Landing we found the H.B.C Steamer, _Midnight Sun_ loading
with supplies, all going to the Northern posts. She also towed six
small scows, each carrying from eight to ten tons. These scows are
built from spruce lumber cut at a small saw mill here. They each cost
about one hundred dollars and are seldom brought back up stream, but
are broken up when unloaded and the lumber used for building purposes.
On the afternoon of June 8, we let loose from the shore, and assisted
by the swift current, were soon moving down stream at a speed of about
twelve miles an hour. The cargo of the _Midnight Sun_ as well as that
of the scows, contained almost every article found in a general country
store, flour, bacon, tea, sugar, canned goods, guns, powder, shot,
cartridges, blankets, kettles, axes, clothing, in fact everything that
goes to make life even endurable in those isolated regions. The whole
population of the village was on the bank and waved us _bon voyage_.
The steamer was a flat-bottomed craft, 120 ft. long by 20 ft. beam, and
propelled by a stern wheel, and drew when loaded about 2 ft. 6 ins. of
water.
Once on our way we soon began to look around and make acquaintance
with our fellow passengers. Among others were Chief Trader Anderson,
the Superintendent of the Mackenzie River District for the H.B.C., Mr.
Stefansson, a scientist on his first voyage to the Arctic, and from
whom it is probable the public will have an interesting account when
he returns again from his study of Esquimaux life; four young men, on
their way to Fort McMurray to bore for oil; a Miss Wilgriss, returning
to resume her work at the Anglican Mission at Hay River on the West
shore of Great Slave Lake; Rev. Mr. Winch, a young missionary, _en
route_ to Fort Norman to take charge of the Anglican Mission there; a
tall gaunt white man, reminding one of Abe Lincoln in his early days,
and about half a dozen half breeds, some of them on their way to
different points along the river and others going to their homes in
regions beyond, while of the crew, the captain, engineer and cooks were
white men, the rest half breeds.
We had left “The Landing” at 1.30 P.M. and at seven in the evening tied
up for the night at Calling River about fifty miles from our starting
point, having passed the mouth of Lac La Biche River an hour before.
A half breed, named Piche Prudens, had made a clearing here, where we
found wheat and vegetables growing. He claimed that he raised as good
wheat there as can be grown anywhere on the prairie. We found also in
abundance the pest of all this north land--the mosquito.
The country all the way is forest, though its great enemy, fire has
done its work and left its scars to disfigure the landscape. The timber
consists of spruce, aspen and balsam--poplar, birch, tamarac and
willow. The best spruce lines the river and its tributary streams. Some
of it being large enough for lumber. The soil in many places is sandy
though probably a fair percentage will be found capable of producing
crops. There is very little showing of rock on the surface. The average
width of the river between “The Landing” and Pelican Rapids, which we
reached the second day at 4 P.M., is about sixty rods and of sufficient
depth so far as to afford fair navigation to such a craft as ours.
We tied up for the second night at the upper end of Pelican Rapids,
120 miles below Athabaska Landing. With these rapids we met the first
obstruction to free navigation. It will be seen that this was the
beginning of many annoying delays caused by lack of sufficient water in
the numerous rapids met with all the way to Fort McMurray.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
GRAND RAPIDS ON ATHABASKA RIVER]
Within a short distance from our mooring place was observed a gas well,
sunk by the Dominion Government, from which issued a flame of fire some
fifteen feet in height. A few years ago the Dominion Government sank
several wells in the hope of finding oil on reaching the tar sands,
which will be referred to later on. In this case, after reaching a
depth of 837 ft., 87 ft. being through these tar sands, gas was struck
of such strength as to prevent further drilling. The Government also
put down a hole at Victoria, Alberta, hoping also to strike oil on
reaching the tar sands at a calculated depth of 2100 ft. At 1840 ft.
the casing became wedged and the work was stopped. Another attempt was
made at Athabaska Landing with a similar result at 1770 ft. and within
30 ft. of the calculated depth of the tar sands.
On Monday, June 11, we made a start down these rapids, but what with
the strong current running rapidly over a boulder bottom, the speed of
our boat being accelerated by a strong wind blowing down stream we soon
feared for her safety and were rather pleased than otherwise when our
pilot after an exciting experience of about an hour, ordered another
halt, and we found ourselves again tied up to a tree on the bank.
Early the next morning, the wind having abated, we started again, but
in less than an hour were again tied up. A stone had been stove through
the planking of the bottom. After repairing the damage we made another
attempt and reached House River Rapid. We were now beginning to
realise the fact that the Athabaska in this part of its course scarcely
deserves to be called a navigable stream, except, perhaps when it is
swollen by the sudden melting of the snows in the mountains at its
source.
For the next four days we waited longingly for the spring flood to
overtake us, and finally succeeded on June 16 in reaching a point about
four miles above Grand Rapids. Here again we spent four more weary
waiting days, while the men were busy transferring cargo from the
steamer to scows, taking it down to the head of Grand Rapids, where it
was conveyed across an island in the rapids on a tram car pushed by the
men. The descent in these rapids is about fifty feet, and the length of
them one mile.
On the morning of the 20th the steamer, now considerably lightened,
made a last attempt and came down three miles further to the head of
the Rapids. This ended our voyage on the _Midnight Sun_.
[Illustration: LUNCH TIME ON THE ATHABASKA RIVER]
CHAPTER IV
A Burial in the Wilderness : From Grand Rapids to Fort
McMurray : Tar Sands.
On Wednesday, June 20, about 9.30 P.M., as we were sitting around
a smouldering fire on the bank close to where the steamer lay, and
watching the day darkening into night, a gun shot was heard at the
Rapids, which meant the return from Fort McMurray of some of the river
men, and we were soon possessed of the very welcome news that the
steamer _Grahame_, which plied between McMurray and Smith’s Landing
on the Slave River, was again in commission for the season, and would
be waiting for us at McMurray as soon as we could get there. This
news was very welcome, for it was the first tidings we had received
regarding this boat. What if she had been burnt or had met some serious
accident since she was last heard from the season before? I do not know
whether any of the other passengers had feared the possibility of
such a report, but now with only ninety miles in barges between us and
McMurray, when we would be below the rapids and have smooth sailing,
we all felt like rejoicing. In a few minutes, however, it was suddenly
noticed that every voice on the steamer was hushed, and a moment later
one of the crew came over the gang plank and whispered something to a
man on the shore. We soon learned that the angel of death had visited
the _Midnight Sun_ and claimed as his victim Herbert Bray, our cook.
We had just before listened to uncharitable words from one of the men
to the effect that his illness was only feigned; that the night before
he had seen him walking the deck when all were supposed to be asleep.
While the poor fellow’s condition was too serious to permit us to
believe that he was only acting a part, we rather hoped that this story
might be true, and it may have been that in his delirious state he had
wandered during the night from his room, for he had no nurse to watch
over him. He was a young Englishman of good appearance, who had been
a few years out, living in the neighbourhood of Edmonton. Like many
others in the country he had by camp experience learnt something of
the culinary art, and had engaged in this capacity with the Company.
Only a few days after leaving “The Landing” he was taken ill. Many were
the remedies proposed and a number tried, but all to no effect. It
was probably a case of appendicitis, which even in expert hands often
proves fatal, but it caused us to realise our situation here in the
wilderness where no medical attendance was obtainable.
[Illustration: FUNERAL OF HERBERT BRAY ON THE ATHABASKA RIVER]
The following day a rough coffin was made and we buried him on the bank
of the river. I carved his name and date of death on a small tree near
by and Mr. Stefansson made a lobstick from a spruce growing higher up
the bank. As the grave was being closed over him, one could not but
think of his relatives in the old country, who probably at that moment
were going through their ordinary round of daily duty, while this
wanderer, impelled by the spirit of adventure, was destined to make his
long sleep in this sylvan solitude.
At eight o’clock in the evening of the 21st, we all very gladly took
leave of the _Midnight Sun_. We had been nearly two weeks on board and
had made but 160 miles. From this point to Fort McMurray the river is
very rough and it was necessary to make the passage in scows. Two days
were spent in getting the supplies over the Rapids, during which time a
few of the men were out hunting and succeeded in killing a very large
moose, the fresh meat of which was much relished, since it was the
first we had tasted since leaving “The Landing.”
Specimens of petrified wood are found along the banks in the
neighbourhood of Grand Rapids. Here, too, are seen protruding from
the high sandstone banks and lying along the beach, stones which are
accretions of the same formation, but apparently of a harder texture
but quite separated from the stratified rock. They are of a perfectly
spherical shape and vary in size from two to ten feet in diameter, and
when viewed from the river, one might fancy they were huge bells that
had been shot into the banks by some gigantic mortar.
[Illustration: STONES ON THE ATHABASKA RIVER]
During the next eight days spent in reaching Fort McMurray, the weather
was almost tropical, registering over 90° Fahrenheit in the shade, and
the period of daylight was very long. The sun usually rose long
before any of us, and in the evening lingered around the north-western
horizon as if loath to sink below it. When finally the twilight set
in, the ubiquitous mosquito never failed to sound his musical lay and
to feast on his victims. It seems that as if to make up for the short
summer in those northern latitudes, these pests are more industrious
than farther south. They are certainly found in greater numbers as we
go north, and are not less vicious in character. To illustrate their
persistency it is only necessary to repeat the remark of a young
Englishman of our party as he vigorously attempted to drive them away.
He said they seemed “quoite determined to not go awoye.”
While it would be wearisome to relate the frequent delays on this part
of the journey or to describe the numerous rapids that impeded our
progress, I cannot refrain from mentioning the two cascades. The first
appearance of limestone is met with near Boiler Rapid, about fifty-five
miles below “Grand Rapids,” and the scenery along the banks becomes
more picturesque. Both the Upper and Lower Cascade are formed by the
cleavage in the limestone. It is as if some engineer had laid out a
curved line entirely across the river, after which his workman had cut
with a saw down into the rock, in one case, two feet, and in the other
four, and then removed the rock below this point to that depth, causing
the Cascades.
Owing to the dip of the rock formation, the limestone, which at “The
Landing” is some 1800 feet beneath the surface, makes its first
appearance at the surface of the river’s bed some 220 miles below,
where we first meet the tar sands. These sands bear a good percentage
of bitumen. They extend for about ninety miles along the Athabaska.
This bitumen is, the geologists tell us, an inspissated petroleum,
derived from the subjacent limestones, and reports state that
indications of its presence extend over an area of 1000 square miles of
country. It is more than probable that some day this may be one of the
greatest oil producing districts in the world, though up to this time
I am not aware that it has yet been found in paying quantities, and I
would be sorry that any words of mine should tempt the small capitalist
to invest in prospective oil shares in that wilderness region till
further developments have been made. An analysis of these sands made by
the Geological Department at Ottawa gives the following result:
Bitumen 12·42%
Water 5·85%
Siliceous Sand 81·73%
and a cubic foot of this bituminous sand rock would give 41·59 pounds
of bitumen. In the report accompanying the above analysis it is
estimated that the area covered by this tar sand is, as I have stated,
1000 square miles in extent, and of sufficient depth to give a bulk of
6·50 cubic miles of bitumen. A further deduction is that the amount of
petroleum, which must have issued from the underlying limestone, would
produce by weight 4,700,000 tons of bitumen. I should say that in many
places near McMurray the tar was oozing out along the banks of the
river and emitted a very distinct odour.
It was the first of July, the natal day of the Dominion, that we
arrived at Fort McMurray. Upwards of twenty large boats and barges,
with boatmen and passengers numbering over 100 in all, made a rather
imposing appearance as we rowed and floated down the river on that
bright and exceedingly hot morning. Every craft had some kind of a flag
flying in honour of the day, which caused us to realise that though we
were in a wilderness beyond the borders of civilisation, we were still
in our own country and viewing our own possessions.
About noon, on rounding a point where the Clearwater joins the
Athabaska, a welcome object came in view, the steamer _Grahame_, tied
to the bank at McMurray.
We soon shook off the dust of travel and entered once more upon a
civilised state of existence. We had now been over three weeks in
making the journey from Athabaska Landing, a distance of only 252
miles, while before us on the route to Fort McPherson lay 1600 miles.
Unless we should make better time henceforth, we would find ourselves
just about in time to be frozen in for the long arctic winter on our
arrival there. We were, however, assured that our difficulties were now
over and that with the exception of one portage, which will be referred
to later, we would have hereafter uninterrupted navigation all the way
down, and I may as well anticipate here by stating that on July 21, in
precisely three weeks’ time, we arrived at McPherson.
Fort McMurray, situated at the junction of the Clearwater with the
Athabaska, is not at present a post of very much importance, but it
has a history of considerable interest. It was here that the weary
_voyageur_ in the early days from far away Montreal, figuratively
speaking threw down his pack and gave a sigh of relief as he reached
one of the great tributaries of the Mackenzie. Let us follow him on
his journey from his leaving his home under Mount Royal. We need not
fear that our imagination is misleading us as we see him push his bark
canoe out from the shore and ascend the St. Lawrence, to the junction
of the Ottawa, thence turning northwards he soon encounters the rapids
of St. Annes, whose beauties have been extolled in immortal verse by
the Irish poet, Tom Moore, in his “Canadian Boat Song.” Having made a
portage here and offered up prayers to his patron saint in the little
church hard by, he bids good-bye to his friends, who have accompanied
him thus far. With his crew of canoemen as adventurous as himself
(singing those songs that may still be heard by his compatriots from
the St. Lawrence to the Yukon) they urge their frail craft against the
stream. For over 300 miles they ascend the Ottawa with the familiar
Laurentides to the right. Then turning to the left, they enter the
Mattawa, which they ascend to its source near Lake Nipissing. A portage
is made here into the latter lake. Crossing this sheet of water, they
follow its outlet, the French River, down many rapids and cascades to
the Georgian Bay and Lake Huron; up Lake Huron to Sault Ste Marie; over
the rapids here to the largest body of fresh water in the world, Lake
Superior; up this lake, over 300 miles to Grand Portage; thence up the
Pigeon River, and numerous tributary streams and inland lakes, till the
height of land dividing the St. Lawrence basin from that of the Hudson
Bay is passed; thence down streams and lakes little known even at the
present day, till Rainy Lake is entered and passed; until he finds
himself at Fort Frances. Here he meets canoes laden with furs from far
away Chippewyan on the Lake of the Hills. They exchange cargoes and
each crew starts on his return journey, the one for Montreal with
bales of peltries from the shadows of the Rocky Mountains, the other
for the interior of the far North, his canoe laden with supplies,
passes down that beautiful stream, the Rainy River, to the Lake of the
Woods; across that lake, down Winnipeg River to Lake Winnipeg; up that
lake to the mouth of the great Saskatchewan, thence up the latter to
Cumberland House, and from there through lakes and rivers only known to
him and the native Indian, till finally after a journey of 2500 miles
he arrives at this far away post, McMurray.
But the name, McMurray, is now beginning to be heard in our Legislative
Halls at Edmonton and at Ottawa. Politicians are commencing to search
for it on the maps of the new Province of Alberta, and probably
within two or three years, the whistle of the railway locomotive will
awaken echoes on the surrounding hills. With a railroad completed
from Edmonton to Fort McMurray, the easterner will be able to see
the midnight sun within one month from the day he leaves Montreal or
Toronto.
CHAPTER V
Fort McMurray to Smith’s Landing on the Slave River : The
_Grahame_ : Beauty of Northern Twilights : Fort Chippewyan : The
Slave River : The Peace River Basin.
We found the _Grahame_ a much larger and more comfortable boat than
the _Midnight Sun_, though constructed on the same lines, both being
flat-bottomed craft and propelled by stern wheels.
It was late in the afternoon of another very hot day, July 2, when we
resumed our journey, and sitting on the deck, I watched a panorama of
rare beauty unrolled to view as we descended the river. The Clearwater
mingled its contents slowly and reluctantly with those of the turbid
Athabaska. Islands clothed with green spruce receded from view as
others appeared in the distance.
It was after seven o’clock in the evening, when we left McMurray and
yet we sat for hours taking no note of time, till some one remarked
it was getting late, though the sun, away around in the north-west,
was still a little above the horizon, and seemed very loathe to sink
below it. As in “The Lotos Eaters,” it seemed “a land where it was
always afternoon.” There are two features that cannot fail to impress
the stranger on his visit to these regions, especially in mid-summer;
first, those northern twilights, and second, the profound silence that
always seems to fall like a pall on the wilderness as the gathering
shadows increase more and more till all nature is embraced in silent
slumber.
Frequently we tied up to the shore for the few dark hours we enjoyed at
this time and in this latitude, later we had none--and the deathlike
tranquillity of those approaching nights was almost bewildering in its
intensity. One actually seemed to have approached very near to the
heart of nature.
This sensation brought back to mind the words of George Eliot in the
scene from _Adam Bede_, where she pictures the absolute calm which
prevailed on that night when Adam was engaged long after midnight
in making a coffin for his father, and when resting for a moment,
he looked across the starlit fields where “every blade of grass was
asleep.”
Here, we beheld the wilderness in its lethean repose. Occasionally the
cry of a loon would float over the woods from some inland lake, or
the hooting of an owl would be heard somewhere in the forest. These,
however, seemed rather to add to, than detract from the loneliness that
surrounded us. Those who have seen nature in repose will sympathise
with me in my feeble attempt to convey an impression of that which is
really beyond description.
After the junction of the Clearwater, the Athabaska becomes a stream
varying from a quarter to half a mile in width. Some good spruce timber
is seen on the way. Asphalt and coal are found along the banks below
McMurray. Seams of soft coal of considerable thickness are found in the
neighbourhood of Fort McKay, which is used by the blacksmiths at some
of the posts.
During our stay at McMurray the first flood from the upper sources of
the river overtook us, and on leaving this post the water had risen
about two feet. This accelerated our speed, and from here on we were
running races with this mountain water. Sometimes we were with it, and
then after several hours’ run we would leave it behind till we made
another halt, when it would again overtake us. There was no mistaking
it, as the colour of the new water was much more muddy than that of the
original, which had in its slower course parted with a good portion of
its alluvial matter.
In the course of some twenty-four hours’ run from McMurray the
traveller finds evidences that he is approaching the mouth of the
river. The stream increases to double or treble the width it is above
McMurray. The banks become lower. Willows take the place of the poplar
and spruce. Islands on every hand seem almost to block the passage.
Then drowned land and great marshes, the home of wild fowl innumerable,
stretch away to the horizon and at last the waters of the Lake of the
Hills, now Lake Athabaska, are seen glistening to the east, while hills
of red granite stretch far away to the north and below these along the
shore, the whitewashed buildings of Fort Chippewyan appear.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
FORT CHIPPEWYAN ON ATHABASKA LAKE]
By reference to my diary, I find that it was July 4 that we reached
Chippewyan, and I remember rising before four o’clock, so eager
was I to catch the first glimpse of the lake. We had been for nearly
a month following down a river through a wilderness, where the range
of our vision was limited by the high banks on either side, and it was
like entering a larger world and was really restful when we beheld a
great expanse of blue water extending off to the east as far as the
eye could reach. But here, too, was “loneliness unbroken.” Another of
those excessively hot days, too, that had pursued us for some time, was
again with us. The lake was as smooth as glass, but the most powerful
telescope revealed nothing of life on its surface, save a few wild
fowl, perfectly secure, for no fowler was in sight.
Lake Athabaska is about 200 miles in length from Chippewyan on the west
to Fond du Lac on the east, while its average width is probably about
twenty miles.
The appearance of Chippewyan was quite picturesque as we approached it
from the south.
The Hudson Bay Company’s buildings are in the form of a quadrangle and
appear very attractive from a distance. Those of the Roman Catholic
Mission are quite imposing but lose some of their effect through being
painted a very dull colour.
We only remained at Chippewyan about twelve hours and then started for
the entrance of Slave River and Great Slave Lake. The distance from the
mouth of Athabaska River to the entrance of Slave River is only eight
or ten miles.
For the first ten miles after entering the Slave, the channel, or
rather the one we took, winds in and out between islands and submerged
land, covered with grass. These drowned lands and marshes extend
apparently a long distance west, between the Athabaska and Peace River,
which latter stream joins the Slave about twenty miles down the latter
from the Lake. This is a hunter’s paradise, and when the railway
reaches McMurray the wild goose will soon find its present security
disturbed by the sportsman from the south.
[Illustration: SPRUCE TIMBER ON THE SLAVE RIVER]
At 10 P.M. the steamer tied up for the night. This had been the
hottest day yet experienced. The mercury stood at 100 in the shade at
Chippewyan, but the appearance of the sky portended rain, and as we
retired we heard rumblings of thunder and some lightning was to be
seen. A little later, the welcome drops were heard pattering on the
decks. All welcomed a relief from weather that would be more suitable
to the tropics than to this latitude of 59 degrees north. On waking
the following morning, July 5, we found the air refreshingly cool. It
had rained nearly all night, and from this on we had no more such heat
as we had heretofore experienced. At a distance of some fifteen miles
from Chippewyan, the land becomes higher and is covered with timber,
considerable quantities of which are seen from the river; the varieties
being spruce, poplar, birch, tamarac and willow; some of the first
named being of good quality, running in size up to twenty inches at the
stump. This timber continues somewhat irregularly throughout the whole
course of the Slave from here to Great Slave Lake.
At about twenty miles below Lake Athabaska, the Slave receives the
Peace River, and the former at once becomes an immense stream,
averaging perhaps a mile in width. The Peace itself is really a great
river: rising on the eastern slope of that great Atlas chain of North
America, the Rocky Mountains, it flows easterly and northerly for some
800 miles till finally at this junction its waters mingle with those
coming from the same watershed via the Athabaska.
Ever since the mountain water overtook us, we had witnessed
considerable drift timber, but immediately after passing the junction
of the Peace this greatly increased; and cast up by previous floods
on the shores, sand bars and islands were thousands upon thousands of
spruce trees, sufficiently large for lumbering purposes.
The Peace River deserves more than a passing reference. It is much
the largest of the many tributary streams whose waters find an outlet
to the Arctic Sea through the Mackenzie. In fact, it and the Slave
might be regarded as the Upper Mackenzie with Great Slave Lake as an
immense expansion. It is something in the neighbourhood of 800 miles
from where the Finlay and the Parsnip, under the shadow of the Rockies,
join to form the Peace, and from here to its mouth it flows through a
valley containing a large percentage of exceedingly fertile land. There
have been different opinions as to the future of this valley as an
agricultural district, but it is probable that with the exception of
that portion near the source, where the elevation is considerable, the
basin of the Peace will not be behind that of the North Saskatchewan in
its yield of cereals and vegetables and quite equal to any portion of
the great west as a grazing country, though it must be remembered that
it is more or less wooded.
In the year 1902, I visited the Upper Peace, as before stated, and on
September 16, at a point nearly 500 miles above the mouth, wheat was
already cut, oats mostly cut, and I was informed that this was about
the usual time of harvesting. I also saw at the Roman Catholic Mission,
a few miles above Peace River Crossing, and almost opposite the mouth
of Smokey River, potatoes, cabbage, beets, onions, pumpkins, tomatoes,
muskmelons, etc., and also tobacco. The latter may not be equal to the
famed Havanna leaf, but it possesses sufficient nicotine to gratify the
appetite of those dependent on it for their supply.
The river at this point is considerably over a quarter of a mile wide,
and the water at this season was clear and blue. The valley, which is
here over two miles wide, about one mile on each side of the stream
itself, is six or seven hundred feet lower than the table land above.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown, Edmonton_
RAPIDS ON THE SLAVE RIVER AT THE SECOND PORTAGE]
On the way in from Lesser Slave Lake, I had been told to have my camera
ready as we approached the descent at Peace River Crossing. Even the
stolid half breed who accompanied me was almost enthusiastic in his
description of the view that awaited us, so that I was quite prepared
for what I apprehended would be something like the view of Niagara
River from Queenston Heights. It resembled more the Grand Canyon of
Arizona. All at once there appeared before us something so gigantic in
its dimensions and so bewildering in the beauty of the vista which it
revealed, that I feel any words that I can pen would rather conceal
than reveal any true conception of this wonderful picture. Looking
from the upland in every direction and on both sides of the valley,
the table land seemed to the eye as level as the proverbial billiard
table, while beneath and extending east and west for distances which I
hesitate to estimate, lay this great excavation, for such it really
is, and far below, the blue water of the river was seen threading its
way along the base, at times dividing itself between islands and sand
bars and then reuniting in its hurried flow ever onward and downward in
its course. A few miles above “The Smoky” was seen threading its way
through a similar valley, while farther and farther away were other
tributary streams flowing through other valleys till the vision was
only lost by the interception of the horizon. One can form but a feeble
conception of the energy that nature has expended in excavating this
great canyon, through which now flows a navigable stream with but one
obstruction in its course for some 700 miles. Evidently this has been
accomplished simply by the water from the mountains seeking ever a
lower level. The swift current of the stream was not only sufficient to
delve out the enormous quantity of earth embraced in this valley over
two miles wide and to the depth I have stated, but also to transport it
for hundreds of miles down stream where it was deposited, forming sand
bars and islands all the way to Great Slave Lake.
At the source of the Danube River at Donoueschingen stand two statuary
figures, the one representing the country and the other, the river.
The former is indicating to the latter the route to be taken, and the
injunction is “Go this way and open the wilderness.”
Here we have a valley even greater than that through which the Danube
flows, and the injunction is being obeyed in the opening up of a region
of inestimable value for the benefit of those who will yet seek their
homes in this part of our possessions.
We will now resume our narrative by returning to the Slave River, which
connects Lake Athabaska with Great Slave Lake. It is about 300 miles
in length, but navigation is obstructed by rapids that commence at
Smith’s Landing, 100 miles from Athabaska, and extend down stream to
Fort Smith, a distance of sixteen miles. For this reason, the steamer
_Grahame_, with the scows that she had in tow from McMurray, proceeded
no farther than the former place, and the cargo was freighted overland
to Fort Smith on wagons drawn by oxen, which delayed us about a week.
Most of the country passed over on this portage is very sandy, which
made very heavy drawing. This will be spanned one of these days by an
electric tramway, the motive power for which can easily be obtained
from the rapids near by.
[Illustration: SMITH’S LANDING ON SLAVE RIVER]
The prevailing rock formation between Chippewyan and Smith’s Landing is
granite; that about Chippewyan being of a red colour, while as Smith’s
Landing is approached it is grey, and the soil covering noted on this
section of our journey proved less inviting to the agriculturist
than that either above or below it, where there is a good deposit of
alluvial soil.
At La Bute, forty miles above Smith’s Landing, we saw a good deposit of
tar in the limestone rock on the west side of the river.
While we were staying at Smith’s Landing awaiting the transport of the
cargo across the portage to Fort Smith, a tug towing several scows
which we had passed farther up the river arrived. They were accompanied
by Bishop Grouard and were the property of the Roman Catholic Church
over which he presides in this district, and also in that of the Peace
River country. I was glad of having an opportunity of meeting him
again, especially as he had some years before made the trip which I
proposed to take from Fort McPherson to Fort Yukon.
On July 9, we crossed the sixteen mile portage to Fort Smith just below
the rapids. We had a comfortable carriage drawn by horses and made
the trip in about three hours. Here we boarded the trim-built little
steamer, _Wrigley_, which we found much smaller than the _Grahame_, but
on the whole fairly comfortable. She differed from the _Grahame_ and
the _Midnight Sun_, being built on a different model, the former being
like the Mississippi steamers, with flat bottoms, and drawing only
about two feet of water, while the _Wrigley_ is similar in construction
to the steamers of the lower lakes of Canada, with a screw wheel, and
drawing nearly six feet when loaded.
[Illustration: STEAMER “GRAHAME” AT SMITH’S LANDING]
CHAPTER VI
More About the Slave River : On Steamer _Wrigley_ : Fine Gardens
at Resolution : A Nasty Experience : Bishop Reeves Comes Aboard
for a Round Trip : Miss Wilgriss Leaves : Hay River : Fort
Prudence : The Little Lake : Fort Simpson : A Pathetic Incident :
An Imaginary Cabinet : We Reach Fort Wrigley.
The cargo having all been carted over the portage and loaded on the
_Wrigley_ and her consorts, we left Fort Smith at 3.15 P.M., Mountain
or Pacific time, on this last stage of our journey to Fort McPherson,
in round numbers, 1300 miles distant. The day was cloudy and quite
cool. We were at last clear of all obstructions to navigation.
Throughout the whole remaining distance there would also be very little
darkness, and the steamer was to run both night and day. The country
becomes more level than above the rapids. The banks at first thirty or
forty feet high become gradually lower with the descent of the river,
and the soil reveals a rich alluvial deposit, similar in appearance
to that of the Western prairies. We passed Salt River at 5.30 P.M. and
Bell Rock a little after, and later Gravel Point, where we saw the last
gravel to be met with on these waters.
_Thursday, July 12._ The boat ran all night and at 8.30 A.M. we were
well down the river, being opposite McConnell Island. After leaving
Fort Smith the river expands to probably an average width of a mile and
a half, in some places much more, with numerous islands on the way.
As it widens out the current decreases and the soil held in solution
yields to the law of gravity and is deposited, forming numerous islands
all the way to the lake. The earth, that once rested securely along
the present course of “the Peace” before the waters from the mountains
found their way in that direction and commenced that great excavation,
is here found in these islands, and the newly formed land that is
pushing the southern shore line of Great Slave Lake near the mouth of
this river, farther and farther north. How applicable to this situation
are the words of Tennyson:
[Illustration: LEAVING FORT SMITH ON THE SLAVE RIVER]
“_The sound of streams that swift or slow
Draw down Æonian hills, and sow
The dust of continents to be._”
The land falls gradually away till it is submerged. Islands innumerable
have been formed while others in embryo exist in the sand bars
extending for long distances in the neighbourhood of the channel. It
was difficult to follow the outlet and we grounded several times after
we were well into the lake. However, by appliances peculiar to such
navigation, we finally got into deep water, and an hour’s run brought
us to a fine bay on the shore of which we beheld another whitewashed
village with a hundred or more Indian lodges in the foreground. This
was Fort Resolution, and the lodges were the temporary habitations of
the Chippewyan and Slavey Indians, who were assembled here for the
payment of “treaty,” as they call it, that is to say, the Federal
Government’s grant to Indian tribes. It was late in the afternoon when
we entered the lake. We lost two or three hours on the sand bars and
another in putting on wood, so that when we went ashore at Resolution,
it was near eleven o’clock at night. I remember thinking that we would
have to make our journey short so as to get back before dark; but what
with a visit to the tent of Indian Commissioner Conroy and Dr. West,
and the exchange of information from outside which we possessed, for
that of the interior which they could furnish, and with a visit to the
Indian camps, I was astonished to find that we had passed from one
day into another without having experienced any intervening night. A
dull twilight was giving way to a bright dawn as we went aboard our
ship after midnight. This was the beginning of constant daylight, that
remained with us for several weeks.
I noticed some very well cultivated gardens at Resolution, containing
most of the vegetables we would find in the gardens of Eastern
Canada--potatoes, turnips, peas, cabbage, beets, etc. The potatoes were
particularly good, and so far advanced that by August 1 they would
certainly be fit for use. There were no evidences either that the
“potato bug” had yet visited this district.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
FORT RESOLUTION ON GREAT SLAVE LAKE]
We had before us, between here and Hay River, a large sheet of open
water of over seventy miles to traverse, and delays are frequently
experienced here, especially when a steamer has, as in our case,
several heavily-laden scows in tow.
We left Resolution at 2 o’clock on the morning of July 13, but had soon
to seek shelter under an island and wait for the sea to subside, which
it did sufficiently to allow us to start again about 4 P.M., but for
several hours it seemed doubtful if one of the scows which was leaking
badly could be kept afloat till we should reach Hay River, and we were
glad to find when we arose in the morning that the crew of the leaky
craft had been rewarded for their toil. She was among the other boats
lying along the bank, and without showing much damage either to the
scow itself or to the cargo. The latter was much the more important,
as it contained food and other necessities brought such long distances
and at such great expense, and besides there were anxious men, women,
and children in far outlying posts in this great wilderness, whose very
existence depended on supplies reaching them in good condition.
Awakening early in the morning and before the crew or inhabitants of
the village had risen, I walked up the bank of the river, and finding
a sandy beach was soon enjoying a bath. While engaged in this luxury,
I noticed that I had attracted the attention of half a dozen rather
large-sized and very hungry-looking husky dogs, that came rushing down
the bank barking furiously, evidently thinking me a legitimate object
of prey. In the whole course of my journey this is the only instance
where I was the subject of an attack of any kind, and I must confess
I felt greatly alarmed as I realised my situation, and cannot help
thinking that had it not been for some Indians, the owners of the dogs,
suddenly appearing in a canoe around a point in the river, paddling
quickly to my rescue, the consequences might have been serious. The
hungry creatures probably thought I was some animal from the forest who
was trying to escape them by swimming the river.
Bishop Reeve, of the Anglican Diocese of the Mackenzie River, came
aboard at Hay River for a round trip to McPherson and return, and Miss
Wilgriss left us to resume her position at the Mission here. We were
all impressed with the zeal of this lady in her work, which is
certainly one of self-sacrificing devotion to a great cause.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown, Edmonton_
DOG-RIBBED INDIANS ON GREAT SLAVE LAKE]
Hay River is a stream of considerable size which enters Great Slave
Lake from the west at a distance of some forty miles south of the
entrance to the Mackenzie.
The morning was fine. The wind had subsided, and the great lake, which
serves as a filtering basin for the turbid waters entering it from the
Slave River, was here as clear as that of the great inland lakes of
Eastern Canada--Huron, Erie or Ontario. Wherever a river contains muddy
water, you may at once conclude that it has no large lake expansions
above it. In nearly every stream pouring its waters into the great
clear water lakes of the St. Lawrence basin the water is dark and more
or less impure; very different both in quality and appearance from that
which it assumes after having had a little time to settle. This is, of
course, due to the process of precipitation which the river currents
have previously prevented. The Saskatchewan, the Missouri and the
Mississippi are streams whose waters are similar in appearance to that
of the “Yellow Tiber” at Rome. So, also, are those of the Columbia and
the Fraser of the Pacific slope, and in each case you will search in
vain for any large lake expansions in their courses.
A few hours’ run brought us to a bay with many islands, which gradually
contracted to a width of two or three miles and we now had entered the
great river, the Mackenzie, into which all the waters we had traversed
flow. No more delays were now anticipated, no lakes to cross, no rapids
to encounter, and no darkness to delay us on our course for the rest of
our journey, a thousand miles in all, to the delta of the Mackenzie.
Great Slave Lake impresses the visitor by its size, which approximates
to that of the great lakes of Eastern Canada. For some time we were
entirely out of sight of land. There is a bar at the mouth of the river
which our steamer struck once or twice as she also did in two or three
other places farther down.
After passing what might be called the entrance, the river widens out
into expansions which deserve and receive the distinction of lakes.
Islands covered with green timber are numerous, and the appearance
is suggestive of the lower St. Lawrence. We had some difficulty in
following the channel at the mouth of one of these expansions, named
Beaver Lake, where we grounded twice on a soft bottom. This did no
damage to the steamer but caused us several hours’ delay.
The blowing of the whistle of the _Wrigley_ early on Sunday morning of
July 15 announced that we were approaching Fort Providence, and as the
boat rounded an island in the river, exclamations of astonishment at
the beauty of the picture that lay before us were heard on every hand.
There on the right bank of the river, its waters as clear as those of
the St. Lawrence, lay a village, so strikingly similar in appearance
to those along that familiar stream that we could almost forget the
long distances we had journeyed and fancy ourselves approaching one
of the parishes of old Quebec. The church bells were ringing out a
call to the Sunday morning service. The convent hard by was decorated
with flags betokening some joyful occasion, while the Indian pupils in
their pretty costumes accompanied by their teachers, the sisters of the
Mission, lined the bank to welcome the founder of the school, Sister
Ward, of Montreal, who had accompanied us this far.
This devoted woman first went into the country upwards of forty years
ago, where she became instrumental in organising this and several other
schools during a residence there of more than thirty years. She was at
this time making a visit of inspection to them, intending to return
before the season closed, to the home of her novitiate, the Convent of
the Grey Nuns of Montreal.
The banks of the river here are about thirty feet high. The land is
level and the soil a rich clay loam, and this is the general character
of the soil along the whole of this great river. In the Mission garden
here were found at this time peas fit for use, potatoes in blossom,
tomatoes, rhubarb, beets, cabbages, onions, in fact about the same type
of kitchen garden as would be seen a thousand miles farther south.
Besides the vegetables, were cultivated flowers and also fruit such as
red currants, gooseberries, strawberries, raspberries and saskatoons,
and more surprising still, near by, was a small field of wheat in the
milk, the grain being fully formed, the seed of which had been sown
on May 20. I was anxious to know whether this grain would ripen, and
was fortunate enough to learn later from one of the passengers, who,
returning by the _Wrigley_, visited this field again on July 28, that
it had been harvested before the latter date, probably about two months
after the sowing. This seems almost incredible to those who live in
lower latitudes, but when we remember that during this whole period the
earth had been subjected to almost constant sunlight and heat, coupled
with constant moisture from the frozen ground beneath, the reason for
its rapid, hot house growth is obvious.
[Illustration: FORT PROVIDENCE ON THE MACKENZIE RIVER]
Leaving Fort Providence at 10.40 A.M. we soon entered “The Little
Lake,” one of the numerous expansions of the Upper Mackenzie, and at
10 P.M. reached a point known as “The End of the Line,” so named from
being the place where the boatmen coming up the river could dispense
with the tracking line. As the river widens above this point, the
current decreases so that boats and canoes can be propelled without
outside assistance, while below here till the river widens again near
its mouth, a distance of over 800 miles, the current is too strong for
the general use of oar or paddle, and the line is necessary for the
greater part of the distance. With no interruption from rapids or delay
from darkness and assisted by the current, we reached Fort Simpson on
the following morning at seven o’clock, the run from Providence, 161
miles distant, having been made in about twenty hours.
Fort Simpson is 1078 miles distant by the route we had taken from
Athabaska Landing or 1175 miles from Edmonton. The latitude is 61°
52´ N.; in other words it is 900 miles due north of the international
boundary. It is prettily situated on the left bank of the Mackenzie
just below the mouth of the Liard. Evidently the waters of the latter
stream have no filtering basin such as the Mackenzie has in Great Slave
Lake, for instead of the clear waters through which we have passed
so far on the Mackenzie, we see this great tributary coming from the
west carrying down a segregated mixture of water and yellow soil which
perceptibly changes the colour of the Mackenzie from here all the way
to its mouth. We saw no more the clear sparkling waters of a greenish
blue, so similar to that of the ocean, that had been before our eyes
for the last 300 miles. The banks of the river at Fort Simpson are
about thirty feet high and the stream here must be at least two miles
wide.
Though the hour of our arrival was early, the bank was lined with
the men, women and children of the village, all apparently delighted
to see again the return of the _Wrigley_. Among others I noticed a
well-dressed white man hurrying down from the Hudson Bay Company’s
store, evidently looking for some one among the passengers. Though I
had never seen him before, I at once surmised that this was Charlie
Christie, whose wife was buried at Edmonton a few days before our
departure. During the whole of our journey the thought of the message
we were carrying to the expectant husband was ever with us, and the
nearer we approached his home, the sadder seemed this message. How the
information was to be broken to him had been talked over many times,
but with his hurried steps up the gang plank and eager inquiry if his
wife were aboard, evidently disappointed at not seeing her among the
passengers, all plans were forgotten and the answer to his inquiry was
in a few words which, though uttered in a sympathetic tone, went like
a bullet to the heart of the poor man who had waited through the long
months of the former autumn, winter and spring for the return of the
mother of his children. Such is one of the tragic phases of life in
this wilderness.
I have mentioned that Fort Simpson is about 900 miles in a due course
north of the international boundary, and I repeat it in connection
with the fact that the great staple of our north-west possessions is
grown here, to a sufficient extent to show that we may, in calculating
the width of the wheat zone, reckon it at least that width from north
to south. I do not of course mean that all the land lying between the
forty-ninth parallel and this latitude should be considered arable,
but it is something to know that the climatic conditions up to this
latitude are not too severe for the production of this cereal.
The soil resembles that at Fort Providence and the vegetable gardens
are similar to those seen there. The increased sunlight of the summer
months as we proceed north counterbalances the disadvantages of the
higher latitude. This, however, does not continue indefinitely. Even
at points far south of Simpson the frost never leaves the ground at
certain depths and this depth decreases till it approaches so near the
surface in the far north as to prevent the ripening of either cereals
or vegetables.
Fort Simpson has been regarded for many years as the most noted of the
H.B. Company’s posts in the north, and, though it has now, I believe,
lost some of its importance, it is still a centre of trade for a wide
district of country.
It was here that the supplies were distributed, not only to the
outlying posts farther down the river, but also to those up the Liard
and to numerous inland stations. From here, too, the “Coureurs Du Bois”
or “Trippers” were sent out in winter to the Indian hunting grounds,
carrying with them by dog trains, ammunition and blankets and bringing
back the furs of the country.
It is the last point visited on the journey northward, containing the
vestiges of modern civilised life. The village, which probably contains
300 or 400 inhabitants, can boast of a system of electric lighting,
a needless luxury for a considerable part of the year when there is
scarcely any darkness, but later when the sun declines so low in the
heavens as almost to refuse to dispel the darkness even at noonday,
it serves to somewhat lessen the gloom of the long winter night. It
is perhaps unnecessary to say that the plant was installed by “The
Company.” They have also established a museum here, containing stuffed
exhibits of the animals and birds of the country. That of the latter
is well arranged, and I presume gives a good representation of the
feathered tribe of this north region. Of the former, scarcely as much
can be said, though I remember among them a black bear that was very
creditably set up. In the “Big House,” in other words, the Agent’s
residence, we also found the unusual luxury of a small billiard table,
which it must have cost a goodly sum to transport so far.
The principal buildings in this sub-Arctic “metropolis” are, of course,
those of “The Company,” and the second those connected with the
Anglican Mission. The latter consist of a good dwelling, occupied by
the Rector of the parish, and which also serves as a schoolroom, while
near by is the chapel, a very pretty edifice and creditable to the
enterprise of those who erected it in this far away place.
The buildings of the village are of logs, the better ones being sided
up with lumber and whitewashed. Much of this lumber I was informed had
been cut with a whip saw, though a small mill was in operation for a
time. I saw at Simpson some of the finest porcupine quill work that is
made anywhere in the country, the women of one tribe of this region
being famed as experts in this work.
We found the timber, since crossing Great Slave Lake, somewhat smaller
in size, though lumber cut here and used in the buildings at Simpson
is some twelve inches wide, but this is exceptional. One cannot but be
struck with the vast quantities of spruce along the route that is a
little under size for lumber, but which would make excellent pulp wood.
The drift wood coming down the Liard is similar to that from the Peace,
and indicates timber of a larger size farther up the stream than is
found growing at its mouth.
Since leaving Fort Smith, we had been traversing territory beyond the
north limit of the Province of Alberta. The sixtieth degree of latitude
forms the north boundary of that Province and it is supposed to pass
very near Fort Smith.
To wile away the weary hours, some one conceived the idea of forming
a provisional government for this unorganised territory. Mr. Thos.
Anderson, the Company’s Superintendent for this district who was with
us, was, by popular acclaim, made Lieutenant-Governor. He immediately
selected his cabinet from among those on board the _Wrigley_. The
pilot, a very worthy Cree Indian, was chosen as Minister of Marine,
while a countryman of his, who was of a somewhat martial appearance,
was made Minister of War: the tall lank white man, before referred to
as the counterpart of Abraham Lincoln in his rail-splitting days, was
called to the high office of Minister of Justice. The latter had his
blankets tied up with a long rope and His Honour gave as one reason
for his selecting Mr. Leigh (for such was his name) to be that he
carried with him the very article which has served to enforce British
justice the world over.
[Illustration: BISHOP REEVE, STEFANSSON AND RESIDENT CLERGYMAN AT
SIMPSON]
After subscribing to a declaration in which allegiance to “The Company”
(not the King) was the principal article, a cabinet council was held.
Numerous grievances under which this fair portion of Canada had long
suffered were discussed. All were of one mind regarding the existence
of these disabilities, but there was a wide divergence of opinion as to
how they were to be remedied. However, on one subject there was entire
unanimity.
Those who travelled in what were known as the North-West Territories
before the Provinces of Saskatchewan and Alberta were organised, will
remember that intoxicating beverages were prohibited by the laws of
the Dominion. This “tyrannical rule” obtains even at the present day
in this Mackenzie District, and we soon realised that even if the
cabinet had not been personally favourable to the free importation
of this essential article, it would have been impossible for them to
command the confidence of the people unless they passed an ordinance
abolishing this legislation. This was at once done, and received the
immediate assent of the Lieutenant-Governor.
This bit of pleasantry was continued for some time, till it began to
seem almost real, and in some measure to resemble the initial stages of
the uprising many years before of Riel on the banks of the Red River.
The Indian is not incapable of a kind of dry humour, but, at the same
time, he does not always discern whether you are in earnest or merely
jesting, and the result was that the Lieutenant-Governor, in the name
of the Company, dismissed all his Ministers and resumed the intelligent
autocratic control, which he had long exercised over the country.
A CHANGE OF SCENERY
After remaining about twenty-four hours at Simpson, we resumed our
journey at five o’clock in the morning, and at nine caught the first
sight of the Rocky Mountains (Nahanni Range) with their snow-capped
peaks, which attain a height of 5000 ft. above sea level. This change
of scenery was welcomed after six weeks of travel through a vast
wilderness of comparatively level land.
The weather had continued quite hot, with only an exception of a day
or two, from our start, but whether from the effect of the mountains
or not, we experienced a very decided change in the temperature
immediately we reached their vicinity, and from this on we suffered no
more from the excessive heat, which had been as unpleasant as it was
unexpected. We had counted on escaping the usual July heat, but for
the greater part it had really been more oppressive and certainly more
constant, extending right through the long twenty-four-hour day, than I
had ever before experienced.
It strikes the observer as extraordinary that the Mackenzie in its way
to the sea from Great Slave Lake should bear off to the west, so far
as to necessitate its cutting its way between two ranges of the Rocky
Mountains, where a much shorter course and apparently one through a
more level country lay open to the east into Coronation Gulf.
I do not know the opinion of geologists, but it seems probable that the
original outlet of Great Slave Lake has been changed from this course
to the longer one now followed, in the same way as the Niagara has
become the outlet of the waters of Lake Huron instead of the Northern
River of past ages, which flowed directly across country from the
Georgian Bay to Lake Ontario.
At the distance of 136 miles below Simpson, we reach Fort Wrigley. This
is a new post; the old one of the same name twenty-five miles above
having been abandoned owing to its unhealthy locality. The country
about Fort Wrigley is fairly well wooded. I noticed a spruce log, cut
in the vicinity which measured twenty inches in diameter.
The Nahanni river, which is a considerable stream, flows from the west
and joins the Mackenzie about halfway between Simpson and Wrigley. Just
north of it rises Mount Camsell, a snow-clad peak 5000 ft. high.
Below Wrigley the river narrows to from a half to three quarters of a
mile in width. This continues for some distance and then widens out as
we proceed down the stream. Two noted mountain peaks, Mount Bompas and
Mount Wrigley, are seen between Wrigley and Norman. About twenty miles
above Fort Norman and on the left side of the river the clay banks
assume a very red appearance, and the people use the earth as paint.
This condition of the earth has been produced by fire in the coal
seams. For several miles along the route the fire is now apparently
extinct, but as we reached a point eight miles above Fort Norman,
for upwards of two miles along the right bank of the river smoke was
distinctly observed from fires still burning far down in the seams of
coal. It is worthy of note that Sir Alexander Mackenzie makes mention
of these fires in his narrative, as existing in 1789 when he explored
and gave his name to the river.
About sixty miles below Wrigley we passed the mouth of Salt river which
flows from the east. It is so named from deposits of salt that exist
some miles above the mouth. Rock salt is said to exist on the Great
Bear river above Norman, but the salt in use in the country is from
another Salt River sixteen miles below Fort Smith.
At 7 P.M., July 18, we reached Fort Norman at the mouth of the Great
Bear River which is the outlet of Great Bear Lake. Fort Norman is
distant from Fort Wrigley 184 miles and 1398 miles from Athabaska
Landing. Its situation is very picturesque. The mountain peaks stand
up in bold relief out of a vast level plain. Bear Mountain on the
north side of Great Bear River and east of the Mackenzie is the most
conspicuous.
While the steamer lay at Fort Norman, I started down the shore hoping
to reach Great Bear River, but I soon found it dangerous to attempt to
walk along the water’s edge owing to the banks being in some places
too precipitous. I then tried the land farther up from the shore but
was unable to find a trail and soon got into a wet swamp and had, very
much to my regret, to give up the attempt. The width of the river, I
understand to be some 150 or 200 yards and the water clear. This might
be expected as it is the outlet of a lake with an area nearly if not
quite that of Great Slave Lake.
At Fort Norman a fellow passenger in the person of Rev. H. C. Winch,
left us to assume his duties here as a Missionary of the Anglican
Church. He had been my room mate on the _Wrigley_, all the way from
Fort Smith.
In company with several of the passengers I went up to the little house
which was to be his home and remained till about eleven o’clock at
night, and as we bade him good-bye in the twilight the loneliness of
the life that was before him impressed itself on my mind.
Fancy the weird situation here in this wilderness with none but the
native Indians and a few half breeds for companions. This during the
few summer months when the days were long and when the birds and
the wild geese had not left for the South might not be altogether
unpleasant, but when the days would grow short, when the canoeing
on the river was over and the long nights of winter approached, it
certainly would require a good deal of fortitude to bear the part that
he was to endure.
CHAPTER VII
Leaving Fort Norman : A Sad Case : In Arctic Regions : Arrival at
Fort McPherson.
We left Fort Norman about midnight; had a good run, and on rising the
next morning the 19th, were more than half way to Fort Good Hope. At
2 P.M. and at a distance of about six miles above Fort Good Hope we
noticed that all our fellow-passengers who knew the river were on
deck. This meant something, and as we looked forward and on each side
it seemed as if we were in a cul-de-sac. We knew the river must find
a passage somewhere but so far as one could see it seemed impossible
that there could be an opening anywhere of sufficient size to permit
the escape of the waters of this mighty stream. As we were watching
and wondering where the outlet could be the steamer suddenly turned
sharply to starboard and before us lay a narrow strip of shining water
apparently only a few hundred feet in width. Down this we glided
at great speed between cliffs of limestone on either side of great
heights. We had reached the upper ramparts of the Mackenzie. These
walls of perpendicular sandstone resemble huge fortifications, like
another Gibraltar but one which no enemy is likely to approach.
For about four miles we were hurried down this great gorge at almost
railway speed, so it was not long till the waters again expanded to
a width of a mile or more and revealed on the right bank another
picturesque whitewashed village, Fort Good Hope. Its situation on a
level plateau is charming. The banks are about thirty feet high and the
soil is similar to that all along the river, being a rich deposit very
much resembling that of our great prairies. I saw potatoes in blossom,
cabbage, onions and other vegetables in the gardens here, but this was
the last we saw going North. As we proceeded farther the frost in the
soil reached too near the surface to permit their maturing. Spruce
timber of sufficient size for sawing into lumber is obtained on an
island in the river.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
THE RAMPARTS, MACKENZIE RIVER]
A SAD CASE
Some time in April before leaving home I received a letter from an old
friend named Slean. It had been written on Christmas Day from Arctic
Red River Post, some 300 miles beyond Fort Good Hope. The writer, who
had gone north the previous summer from Edmonton was engaged with
an independent fur trading company, and being a young man of good
education was desirous of having some diversion from the everlasting
talk of “Furs and Supplies,” to beguile his lonely life and requested
me to endeavour to get the Government to establish a Meteorological
Office there, and to say that if they would send him a few instruments
and the necessary forms he would be glad to report as frequently as
possible, adding a most unusual proposition for an applicant for a
government position that he would not expect any salary. This request I
forwarded on to my friend Mr. Stupart, Director of the Meteorological
Observatory, and on my way down I had the satisfaction of seeing these
requisites en route.
I did not reply to the letter inasmuch as I was going by the first
transport and would reach his post in person at the same time as a
letter would, and I looked forward with a good deal of pleasure to
surprising him in his distant home.
Just as we were entering Great Slave Lake, a week before reaching Good
Hope, we passed the scows owned by Slean’s Company, also going North as
far as Fort Good Hope, which point we would reach some time before they
would. I was informed by the man in charge that Slean would probably
come up to Good Hope to get the scow containing his supplies which they
pointed out to me as “No. 11,” and that he would likely be there on our
arrival.
Our steamer had been expected at Fort Good Hope for several days and
her arrival was anxiously looked for, so that when she did appear at a
convenient hour all the village was on the bank to greet us. I looked
anxiously among the dusky faces to see the fair complexion of my friend
but he was not present, so I inquired for the buildings of his Company.
A few whitewashed houses were pointed out a little down the river to
which I at once repaired, and on inquiry from a white man whom I met
was informed that my friend was in one of the houses, but that he was
very ill. On entering I was told that he had reached Good Hope two
weeks previously from his own post after a ten days’ journey up stream,
but in such a weak condition that he had to be helped up the bank from
his canoe. Since that time he had continued to get worse and that there
was no hope of his recovery. I was informed that he was sleeping in an
adjoining room. A few moments later he awoke and I entered the room. It
had little the appearance of a sick room except that of the occupant.
We are so accustomed to associate with the sick chamber clean linen,
comfortable bedding, with all the little delicacies of nourishment and
soothing cordials, that the contrast in this case was disheartening.
Not that his two white friends were not less attentive than a trained
nurse would have been. On the contrary they were doing all that mortals
could under the circumstances. One of these men was a Mr. Darrell, who
had accompanied Hanbury, on his trip around the shore of the Arctic
Sea a year or two before, and whose excellent qualities are mentioned
in Hanbury’s narrative of that expedition, and I know he refused a
good offer for the season rather than leave the sick man. The other
young man, Slater, who was also with him I have no reason to think was
less attentive, but it was impossible to obtain, especially before the
arrival of the supplies which our boat brought, food that would tempt
the palate of a white man even in good health. He recognised me at once
and commenced his conversation by informing me in broken accents that
he had taken a little cold on his way up the river but that he was all
right and would get up the next morning, take a good cold bath and be
around again; but I saw at once that he was in a delirious condition
and that in all human probability his wanderings would soon be over.
I spent an hour with him which I repeated before our steamer left at
midnight. His death came even sooner than I expected, for I afterwards
learned that he passed away the next day, and when our steamer called
on her return trip shortly after, the passengers visited a lonely grave
in the Catholic Cemetery in which lay the remains of William John
Slean. This was another reminder that the bright Arctic summer days
sometimes have their dark shadows.
It was a little after midnight of July 20, when we left Good Hope and
on rising next morning I found we had passed the Arctic Circle. The
river is now widening, the banks are getting lower and the timber is
growing smaller, all these indicate that we are fast drifting down
towards the Arctic Sea. Some time in the evening we stopped at Arctic
Red River at the entrance of a stream of the same name. It certainly
was the least desirable place for any civilised man to choose for
a home, that I had yet seen in all this Northland. A few houses,
the church and the graveyard were all crowded on the side of a hill
rising abruptly from the river. Perpetual frost was found only a foot
beneath the surface of the soil, and we no longer beheld the emblems
of civilised life, the vegetable and flower gardens, that go so far to
make many of those lonely posts seem somewhat cheerful.
I wandered up to the log shack which poor Slean had occupied during the
previous winter and which he had left only a few weeks before. A more
dreary habitation it would be difficult to imagine. I looked around the
room to see if there was any memento that I might carry home to his
friends, but the only thing I could see was a little green flag pinned
to the wall, a touching tribute of patriotic devotion to the far away
island which had given him birth. It seemed like desecration to remove
it, so I allowed it to remain where he had placed it.
We only stopped an hour or two at this dreary place and then started
for our last and the most northerly post in the country, Fort
McPherson. At 1.30 the next morning, July 21, I rose as we were
rounding Point Separation, so named from the parting here of Sir John
Franklin and Dr. Richardson in 1825, when they separated for their
perilous trips around the shores of the frozen ocean, Franklin going
west from the mouth of the Mackenzie, and Richardson, coasting easterly
towards Coronation Gulf. The sun was just skirting the northern horizon
and I endeavoured to get a photo of it which I am sorry proved rather a
failure.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
THE MIDNIGHT SUN]
Point Separation lies at the junction of the Peel River with the
Mackenzie, and is in latitude about 67° 50´ N. Below this point lies
the delta of the Mackenzie which is many miles in width, with numerous
islands between here and the sea about 100 miles distant. At the point
where Franklin and Richardson camped two spruce trees were pointed
out marked as lobsticks which are said to have been so marked by them
in commemoration of the event. Both are still standing, though one is
now dead. The Indians have a tradition that a quantity of spirits were
cached somewhere in this vicinity, which they say they have never been
able to discover. Personally, I have very grave doubts of the accuracy
of this report. The Indian is a good hunter, and I know of nothing that
would excite him to greater activity than the prospect of such a reward.
After rounding Point Separation we enter the Peel River which at this
point is over a mile wide. We soon noticed that our speed was much
slower than heretofore and the reason was obvious. For the first time
in our long journey of over 1800 miles we were going against the
current. Heretofore we have been constantly sailing down the Arctic
slope. Shortly after entering the Peel our steamer stopped to take
on wood, this reminded me of the frequent habit of railway trains
which, after running for hundreds of miles on time stop all at once
just outside the station of their destination. We were all anxious to
see this far northern village at the end of our long river journey and
anxiously waited for a final start. After about two hours’ delay a
start was made, and soon after we beheld in the distance on the high
bank of the east side of the Peel, the houses of Fort McPherson with
the white tents of the Esquimaux on the beach below. These Esquimaux
had come over in their whale boats from Herschel Island in the Arctic
Sea to meet the _Wrigley_. Their complexion is almost white with a dash
of ruddy colour that indicates health. They are very cheerful and good
natured, are not at all diffident like so many of our Indian tribes. On
the contrary, they are very inquisitive and disposed to make themselves
almost too familiar. They are of fair stature and do not show any of
the marks of the struggle for existence that is so observable in their
neighbours, the Indians, in this part of the country.
[Illustration: AT MCPHERSON: INDIANS, HALF-BREEDS AND ESQUIMAUX IN
FOREGROUND]
At Fort McPherson, as at all points visited in the last 1300 miles of
our journey, no news from the outside world had been received since the
last winter mail in March. For over four months the news passed on from
post to post was purely local, hunting parties returning from their
winter quarters, whose accounts frequently were of hardships endured,
among which the phrase, “short of meat,” were familiar words even in
the mouths of natives who knew very little English. Another item would
come from the ice bound whalers out on the Arctic Sea.
We were the first to inform them of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius
and of the San Francisco earthquake both of which had happened months
before. Another message was one of sadness to all throughout the
Mackenzie and Yukon Valleys, namely, the death of Bishop Bompas, truly
named the Apostle of the North, who was familiarly known to every
inhabitant and as universally esteemed.
Fort McPherson is as stated the most northerly of the Hudson Bay
Company’s Posts. Its latitude is 67° 25´ and it is truly an Arctic
Village. For six weeks in summer the sun never sets and is constantly
below the horizon for the same time in winter. The thermometer went as
low as 68° below zero (Fahrenheit) the winter before. The inhabitants
are in close touch with the Esquimaux of the Arctic Sea and with the
whaling ships that annually visit these waters. These whalers are
mostly from San Francisco, coming up through Behring Strait in the
early summer and returning in the autumn. In the season of 1905 most
of them were trapped in the ice that blocked the Straits and were
compelled to remain there till the next season. They went into winter
quarters at Herschel Island where there is a detachment of the Royal
North-West Mounted Police. They were not sufficiently supplied with
provisions for this emergency, and they, too, soon became familiar
with the common phrase, “short of meat,” and had to rely largely on
what could be obtained in the country. They engaged the Indians of
the Mainland to supply them with meat from the chase with the result
that the shipment of fur from McPherson for that season was very much
smaller than usual.
CHAPTER VIII
Ice Conditions of the Summer of 1905.
The report by the whalers of the ice conditions of the summer of 1905
is of interest to Arctic navigators. They say that the ice that drove
into Behring’s sea from the north-east and prevented their exit left
that part of the ocean almost free of ice, a very unusual thing; and
one of the captains is reported to have said that he was strongly
tempted to set sail for the pole, as in his experience of twenty or
twenty-five years he had never seen what seemed so good an opportunity
of winning fame by such a venture. But on consideration he decided to
stick to his commission which was to capture whales and not the Pole.
That these reports are correct is borne out by the fact that Captain
Amundsen, who has since discovered the South Pole, was exploring along
the north-east coast, in 1905, finding open water to the west set
sail in that direction, and to his surprise soon found himself in
the company of these whalers near the mouth of the Mackenzie. He was
compelled to go into winter quarters, and laid up with them at Herschel
Island till the summer of my visit when he succeeded in getting out
through Behring’s Strait, being the first to make the entire north-west
passage. During the previous winter he made an overland journey out to
the Yukon and returned again to his ship, the _Gjoa_.
The following season he succeeded along with the whalers in navigating
Behring’s Strait into the Pacific and thence proceeded around Cape Horn
and back to Denmark.
Strange to say that after so many attempts to make the north-west
passage it was accomplished at last quite unexpectedly. Captain
Amundsen’s Mission into these Arctic waters was made for the purpose of
locating the position of the magnetic pole. He succeeded in this and
found it where Ross had located it many years before.
The arrival of the _Wrigley_ was hailed with great rejoicing by the
people of the village, but the arrival of the “Permits,” accompanied
also by the article permitted rather demoralised the community during
my few days’ sojourn there, but I was informed that the limited supply
brought in had been exhausted before I left, and that for the next
twelve months McPherson would be a model prohibition town.
The Indian thinks not of the morrow and certainly obeys the injunction
not to lay up treasures on earth whatever provisions he may make for
his future home.
The _Wrigley_ was to remain only a couple of days at this post and
then start back on her return trip, and the time had not arrived when
I had to decide whether I would return with her or find my way back to
civilisation by a different route. I chose the latter, fully realising
that in one sense my journey was only now commencing, and as I watched
her disappear from sight and walked alone up the bank at midnight the
weirdness of the situation seemed all at once to dawn vividly upon me.
The sun just a few degrees below the horizon cast its after-glow all
over the northern sky. The old familiar polestar barely discernible
hung high in the Arctic heavens, while other stars unfamiliar to me
lay low along the northern horizon. I was now here alone, and certainly
in a strange land. Turning to the south I could not help reflecting
on the vastness of the wilderness, made up of mountains and plain, of
forest, lake and river that lay between this lonely village and the
settlements of this Dominion 2000 miles away, occupying a mere fringe
along the southern border of our possessions.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
FORT MCPHERSON]
CHAPTER IX
From Fort McPherson to Rampart House : Crossing the Peel
River : An Attempt at Intimidation : The Summit of the Rocky
Mountains : In Pacific Waters : The Porcupine : John Quatlot
Departs.
The following day I commenced to make preparations for the next stage
in my trip.
I had hoped to be able to proceed first up Rat Creek to near the summit
of the Rocky Mountains where I would make a portage of some ten miles
over the summit into the waters of the Bell River, a tributary of the
Porcupine, the latter a tributary of the Yukon, all flowing to the
Pacific, and I had brought along a good Peterborough canoe for the
purpose.
There were a few Indians at McPherson who had recently come over from
near Rampart House on the Alaskan boundary and who were willing to
engage in assisting me on my way, but they said that owing to the low
state of the water it would take us three weeks to get to Bell River
via Rat Creek with my canoe. They had come over the long portage of
eighty miles leaving their birch bark canoes at Bell River, and they
advised me to allow them to carry my outfit and supplies over this
trail to their landing place, and that as one of their canoes was a
large one I could have room in it while making the journey down to
Rampart House. This seemed a wise course and I arranged with them for
the trip.
On Tuesday, July 24, at 3.30 P.M., we crossed the Peel River to where
the trail starts. Here we made up our packs. Altogether our party
consisted of four Indians and one squaw. The latter carried only a
small pack but took charge of our three dogs, the latter also each
carrying a pack of about thirty pounds.
It was 5.30 P.M. when all was arranged and we climbed up the steep
bank of the Peel and commenced our overland journey. The weather was
sultry and threatened rain which finally overtook us. Our path was for
a few miles through a rather stunted forest which to a certain extent
protected us, but as we got away from the river the trees became
smaller and more scattered till finally at about ten o’clock we found
ahead of us a dreary Arctic swamp covered only with a short growth of
grass mixed with low shrubbery. This was the tundra so often mentioned
by Arctic travellers. The grass grows in hummocks known as _tête de
femme_ (woman’s head). The trail is generally covered with some water,
and one is often tempted to try to step from one to another of these
tufts of grass, but as the somewhat larger head rests on a slender
neck you will soon prefer to wade along the narrow path, after perhaps
having a few tumbles, which, to any one loaded with a pack, is not a
pleasant experience.
Before entering the open at about 10 P.M. and seven miles from our
starting-point, as the rain was increasing, we determined to camp for
the night. This was accomplished with some difficulty as the wind
had great strength as it blew uninterruptedly in from the dreary
waste stretching away to the north and west of us. However, with the
assistance of Mr. Stefansson, who accompanied me this far we finally
succeeded in getting my tent up and made fast in the swampy soil.
I have already referred to Mr. Stefansson, as one who no doubt will be
heard more of in the future. It is now over five years since we bade
each other good-bye on that dreary night, and ever since he has lived
almost constantly along the Arctic coast, collecting information which
it is hoped he may return to publish. He is at present somewhere in
that barren region busily studying the ethnological characteristics
of that strange race which probably at some time in its past history
was driven by its enemies beyond the habitable land to seek shelter on
these islands and capes which they have now grown to love so dearly
that they would not exchange them for any other.
There seems no reason for this except the sentiment that is enshrined
in the word “Home.” A sentiment that is world wide and which every race
on earth holds dear.
“_The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone
Proclaims the happiest land his own,
The naked negro panting on the line
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine._”
It rained all night and during the early morning, but cleared up about
ten o’clock when we prepared to resume our journey.
I had engaged the Indians to carry my outfit across the portage, thence
in their canoes to Rampart House, for a certain sum, and had paid them
in advance at Fort McPherson. In addition to the four Indians and squaw
whom I have mentioned, a young man had joined the party on starting,
and assisted thus far on the journey.
While we were packing up in the morning this individual in a rather
defiant manner approached me and in fair English informed me that it
would be impossible, without his assistance, for the others to carry
all that I was bringing; at the same time asking me what I proposed to
pay him for helping them across. I realised that I had to act firmly. I
would gladly have engaged him, but I felt that it was, to use a common
phrase, “a hold up,” and that if I allowed him to intimidate me at this
early stage in the journey there was no telling what he might attempt
next. My authority with the others would be weakened and they would
look on him rather than myself as leader of the party. I told him that
all the loads had been weighed before starting from the post, that his
people had been given all they asked for the work, and that if they
wanted his assistance it rested with them to pay him. In a somewhat
angry tone he said “that was not the way for a white man to talk, and
that if I did not pay him he would go ahead light and make the journey
in half the time we would.” I then told him that he must provide for
himself, as I did not want him in our party. With this he hurriedly
gathered up his blankets and a little dried meat he had, and with his
gun started ahead, and we saw no more of him. I felt greatly relieved
when he left, and after this I heard not the slightest complaint from
any one of the party, though they were heavily loaded; so much so that
I could not refrain from assisting them myself, and the fact was that
from this point across I believe I bore my fair share with the rest,
according to my strength, though in real weight I only took a small
fraction of what one of the men carried. This particular Indian and his
wife, who was with us, were really fine specimens of their race. Both
were young, of splendid stature, and really good looking, and though he
must have carried over 100 pounds across that eighty miles, it was all
done without any show of irritability but with the utmost good nature,
while the wife also bore her share without complaint.
We did not get started on this, our second day on the trail, till 11
o’clock, but travelled till 8.30 P.M. and camped on the bank of a
small stream flowing southerly and emptying into a larger one flowing
easterly into the Peel. The latter is known as La Pierre or “Stony
Creek,” and our trail lay in the valley of this stream all the way to
the “great divide.” The small stream where we camped was at this time
only two rods wide and fifteen inches deep, but evidently is one of
considerable size at other seasons of the year.
The weather was hot till late in the afternoon, when it turned cooler.
My Indians informed me that on their trip across this portage a few
weeks before they had suffered with the intense heat and lost some of
their dogs in consequence of it.
This was about the same time that we had experienced the excessive
heat on the Athabaska. Perhaps the reader will recall the extreme
hot weather that I am informed was general throughout what I may call
Southern Canada as well as the United States in the early part of July
1906. It would seem that this hot wave had extended from the Gulf of
Mexico to the Arctic Ocean.
During this second day’s journey the trail was generally through what
might be called an Arctic swamp, but occasionally we would ascend an
eminence, and on each occasion I cast a glance back where I could see
Fort McPherson, but each successive time it grew more indistinct,
till finally it was lost to view and the last link with civilisation
in that direction was broken. It had seemed to me up to this time
that something might happen which would prevent my getting across the
portage and cause me to return to McPherson by the same route which I
had previously taken. But the return would not have been by steamers,
but in my canoe, which was still at McPherson. From now on, however,
there was fortunately no looking backward.
On July 26 we started at 9 A.M. and travelled till 7 P.M., making about
eighteen miles, and crossing another small stream in the afternoon.
Our course still lay westerly up the same valley, with Stony Creek far
below us to the left. The day was quite cool and the night decidedly
so. We were now well up the mountains and some snow was seen in the
ravines. This was the most fatiguing day of the trip. Though there
was really no mountain climbing in the usual sense of the term, the
continual gradual ascent was most wearisome, and right glad was I when
the Indians threw off their packs on the bank of another small creek.
We left camp at 8.30 A.M. on Friday the 27th, and at 1 P.M. reached
“the summit” of the Rocky Mountains at a height of 2600 feet above
sea level in the pass, though the mountains on each side are from two
to three thousand feet higher. Shortly after this we crossed a stream
which flowed into one further south, similar in size to Stony Creek,
but, of course, flowing westerly with its waters coursing on their way
into the Pacific Ocean.
Immediately after crossing the height of land we found the travelling
much easier, for we were now on the descent and though to the eye this
was scarcely discernible, and the swamp was just as wet as before,
yet, when we rested for the night I was by no means so tired as on the
previous night, though we had travelled several miles farther. The
weather was cool and (blessed boon) there were no mosquitoes. We passed
over some snow on the hill sides, but without the least difficulty, as
it was almost as hard as ice.
On Saturday the 28th we started at 8 A.M. and immediately forded the
stream by which we had camped and in the valley of which we had been
travelling since crossing the summit; it was of considerable size, but
at this season was easily forded. Four miles further on we crossed
the same stream again. The mountain scenery here was very beautiful,
though the peaks are not so high as further south, though they probably
attain an elevation of 5000 feet above sea level. No large glaciers
are to be seen in this region, but considerable snow remains the year
round on some of the peaks. At noon a high mountain lay directly in
front of us to the west with great valleys both north and south of it.
Following our trail as it bore off to the north to avoid this mountain,
we finally came to the same stream again which we now crossed for
the last time, now flowing to the north. It had evidently received a
tributary since our last crossing, for its contents were much greater,
and though its depth was not over eighteen inches the current was
very rapid, and without the assistance of one of the Indians I fear I
would have had trouble in making the ford. We camped immediately after
crossing.
So far we had experienced no rain after the first night out, but this
afternoon showed symptoms of an approaching storm, which I greatly
feared, the swamps being bad enough even in dry weather. As we were
wading through one of these the squaw asked me if I would travel the
next day (Sunday). I did not wish to show them a bad example, while
at the same time I disliked halting a whole day when the weather was
threatening and our supplies of food were growing short, so I told her
they could do as they chose in the matter. She immediately replied
that Archdeacon Macdonald always told them it was not wrong to walk on
Sunday when they were short of “grub.” I told her Archdeacon Macdonald
was a good man. She said “yes,” and I knew then what they would do.
On the following morning old John Quatlot, as faithful a man as I ever
met, was up at an unusually early hour and had breakfast ready by
about six o’clock. After this was over and before starting, I walked
down along the stream a short distance, and, on my way back heard an
old familiar hymn, and on approaching found all had joined in the
religious service for this particular day. Each of them had his prayer
and hymn book, while one who was a lay reader had with him Archdeacon
Macdonald’s translation of a portion of the scriptures. After the
service was concluded they shouldered their packs and started again on
the trail, and soon entered one of the worst swamps we had encountered.
After this we made a slight ascent and then commenced the descent of
a steep hill partially wooded, at the foot of which flowed the Bell
River. We had at last, in less than five days, reached the end of the
portage, the length of which was, as has been previously said, about
eighty miles. I have only one further word to say about this trail,
and it is to warn any one not to attempt the journey without a guide,
even in summer, for there is very little travel over it, and the marks
made in the swamps one year will be almost obliterated the next. In
many places the path is covered with water, but there is no fear of
miring anywhere, as perpetual frost is found less than a foot below the
surface.
On the bank of the Bell we left the Indian, Charlie Fox, and his wife
with their dogs, he having given us his canoe. After resting a day or
two he intended to build a raft on which they would float down stream
over a hundred and fifty miles to his home, at the junction of the Old
Crow River with the Porcupine.
It was a pleasant sight to behold the calm waters of the Bell in front
of us and to realise that by our journey of less than five days we had
reached the waters flowing into the Pacific Ocean, but this pleasure
was soon marred when I saw the canoes in which we were about to embark.
I had been assured that one of the three was a large craft capable of
carrying two men with a lot of “dunnage,” I had also expected that this
one would be constructed on lines similar to those used in the east,
where my man would sit in the stern and steer while I would have the
pleasure of a comfortable seat in the bow and be able to assist with
my paddle. But I soon realised that this would be impossible, as this
canoe was built on the same lines as those I had seen at McPherson and
at other points along the Mackenzie. They are very long and narrow
with the bow and stern decked over similar to the Esquimaux kayak. In
other respects they resemble a single scull without the sliding seat.
The Captain, and the propeller of the craft, took his seat near the
centre, and I was assigned one immediately behind him, so near him as
to make it impossible for me to use a paddle. All I had to do was to
sit perfectly still while my man did all the paddling and steering.
The latter was done by his making about four strokes on one side and
then changing his paddle to the other side. However, before starting,
at my instance, they lashed the three canoes together by cross pieces,
making a sort of catamaran, and we were soon gliding down stream at
the rate of about four miles an hour, without any danger of capsizing,
but with some feelings for poor Charlie Fox and his wife, who waved
us good-bye until a turn in the river hid them from view. But this
feeling of security did not last long. After a couple of hours we went
ashore for lunch, and, to my dismay, on starting they insisted on
disengaging the canoes and by no manner nor means could I induce them
to desist from this determination. Finally we compromised on their
agreeing to try how they would go separately, and if not satisfactory
to again lash them together. With great reluctance I took my place in
the largest canoe, weighed down in the centre to about three inches of
the water. In a steady craft this would have been ample, but ours was
about the most cranky of its species. On starting I thought it would be
utterly impossible for us to continue this, but, once under way, the
impetus made it a little steadier, and, as the water this afternoon was
perfectly calm, we succeeded in making a landing in the evening without
any accident, but with the firm determination on my part that we would
revert to our former plan the next morning. In the evening we discussed
the matter as best we could, considering their limited knowledge of
English and my ignorance of their language. They tried to persuade me
that there was less danger separately than when hitched together if
the water became rough, as in that case it would splash up between
the canoes and swamp them, but I soon learned that the real reason
for their refusal was that they could go much faster separately, and
they were in a great hurry to get to their homes before the run of the
salmon was over.
GAME AND FISH
Heretofore the principal talk all down the Mackenzie Valley has been
of the bear, the moose and the caribou but once the Pacific waters are
reached the salmon occupies the same place with the natives that the
wheat crop does with the prairie settler. It forms the great staple
of the country and stands between the inhabitants and starvation. Sir
Alexander Mackenzie tells us of how he intimidated an Indian chief near
the Pacific by informing him that Great Britain owned the ocean and
that unless he treated him properly he would inform his king, who would
stop the salmon from coming up the rivers. His threat had the desired
effect.
The day was cloudy with some rain, but the men paddled hard and on
till ten o’clock at night, and when we went ashore we were probably
between twenty-five and thirty miles from where we started with the
canoes.
The next morning, finding it useless to try to persuade them to connect
their canoes, and seeing that they were making such fast time with them
separated, I docilely took my place again, but I can never forget the
few days during which I occupied this position. I was aware that there
was perhaps little danger if I sat perfectly still, providing we did
not strike a rock or snag in the river, but to sit perfectly still for
about sixteen hours out of the twenty-four was most trying. If I made
the slightest move my man would look round and though he said nothing
there was an expression on his face which conveyed at once a reproof
and a warning. If I could have had anything to do it would have been
a great relief, but to sit upright without moving was exceedingly
wearisome and moreover, after the fatiguing trip across the portage,
once I was relieved of exercise, the monotony of the river journey made
it almost impossible for me to resist falling asleep. This I dared
not do, for the chances would be that once consciousness was gone I
would make a move that would upset our frail craft. I have since read
an account of a canoe trip made across Great Slave Lake over a hundred
years ago, by one of the early traders, in a craft of the same kind,
which graphically describes a similar experience, and in which the
difficulty of keeping awake is emphasised.
Shortly after starting on the first day the Indians killed three wild
geese, which made us an excellent meal, and, strange to say, during the
excitement of the shooting, notwithstanding the greater risk, I forgot
all sense of danger that was otherwise constantly with me.
We reached the mouth of the Bell and entered the Porcupine about 10
o’clock of the second day. The Bell at our start was perhaps a hundred
yards or less in width, which increased as we approached its mouth,
while the Porcupine where we entered it must have been three or four
times as large. The colour of the water in the Bell, too, is darker
than in the larger stream. Both streams, following the character of
many of these northern rivers, have strong currents, but very few
rapids. So much is this the case that even with our small canoes we had
not a single portage to make all the way from our starting point down
to Rampart House on the Alaska boundary, a distance of not less than
225 miles. Not only this, but from Rampart House down to the Yukon, a
distance equally great, was made in a small row boat without a single
interruption.
A fringe of small timber, principally spruce, lines the banks of both
streams but does not extend far back.
The day was cool and cloudy with occasional light showers. The Indians,
however, cared not for these, but paddled very hard all day, and till
9.30 at night, when we went ashore and camped at the mouth of Driftwood
River, having made probably sixty miles. The land along the route so
far was clay and gravel, but no matter what its quality the climate
forbids successful agriculture. At less than a foot below the surface
the ground is constantly frozen, even during the hottest summer months.
The Indians killed several wild geese with very little effort. Most of
them, notwithstanding the fact that they were full size, were unable to
fly, owing to their wings not having yet attained sufficient strength.
They merely chased the fowls to the shore and killed them when they
attempted to climb the steep banks of the river.
On Tuesday, July 31, we left camp at 7 A.M. and made another long
journey about the same distance as the day before, arriving at Old
Crow River at 7 P.M., and killing eight or ten geese on the way;
another twelve wearisome and uneasy hours. A raw wind with showers made
travelling very uncomfortable during the whole day, but the Indians had
set their hearts on reaching their home that night and nothing would
stop them.
Both the Bell and Porcupine are very crooked, so much so that the
distance is probably three times as great by following the windings
of the stream as it would be in a straight line, and while the wind
assisted us on certain stretches, this was more than counter-balanced
by the delay it caused us on others, and I was in almost constant fear
that our canoes would be swamped.
The high cut banks of the Porcupine when seen at a distance through
a haze or light fog take on the most fantastic shapes, frequently
resembling great buildings of all styles of architecture, and it is
impossible for me to adequately describe an illusion of this kind that
met our view as we approached the Indian encampment at the mouth of the
Old Crow River.
It was a cloudy hazy evening with a stiff wind from the north and,
as we rounded a point leading up to the encampment, a great city
apparently lay a few miles away, with piers and vessels in front and
buildings of various kinds extending far back from the shore. There
was a church with its spire so real in its appearance as almost to
persuade me that my Indians had been over modest in not informing me of
their skill in architecture. It was a most bewildering sensation and
gave me some anxious thoughts. Could it be that the strain that I had
undergone, especially during those last few days, produced by fear and
anxiety, was causing such visions to appear, or was it the prelude of a
catastrophe that seemed any moment likely to happen as our little canoe
was at this very time attempting to ride waves on this stretch of the
river which it seemed foolhardy to attempt?
Altogether the situation was to me most perplexing.
This illusion was kept up for fully half an hour, though varying
somewhat in appearance. I watched the panorama till finally through
the haze one portion of the high bank after another gave up its
fancied appearance and resumed its true character, when, instead of
the castellated city, which in this vision I had pictured as the
home of the Indians, I saw only about forty half-starved creatures
out on the bank to welcome us, while behind among the trees were a
dozen dilapidated tents; the entire surroundings indicating want and
starvation, sickness and a struggle for existence known only to those
who are condemned to live in this Arctic land.
AN INDIAN CAMP
Before reaching the village one of my men fired off his gun as a signal
of our approach. This was quickly answered, and shortly after our three
canoes landed and John Tizzard, his son Jacob, and old John Quatlot, my
three companions, were welcomed by their friends.
One old squaw, the wife of John Quatlot, instead of exhibiting joy at
their return seemed overcome with grief and commenced a fearful tale
of woe, which led me to think that some, if not all their family had
died during her husband’s absence. I soon perceived that old John paid
little attention to what she said. I had not yet become acquainted with
the practice of these people on meeting each other, which is first to
tell all the troubles they have had since parting.
The first thing done was to make tea. Then all partook of a meal, which
under the circumstances was a very scanty one indeed. Then a hymn was
sung and a thanksgiving service offered up, which certainly seemed very
appropriate. After this there was so much to relate that the short
twilight had given place to the dawning of another day before they
retired to rest.
So anxious were they all to hear the news on our arrival that I had
difficulty in getting any assistance in putting up my tent. Finally a
young man came over and helped me for a few moments and then hurried
back, evidently anxious not to miss any of the news. Of course I
understood but little of what was said, but I heard over and over again
the names of Bishop Bompas and Mary Christie, for they all knew the
late beloved Bishop and some of them were related to the young wife
whose death at Edmonton I have already mentioned. My supplies were
nearly exhausted and dry bread and tea had to suffice for my supper.
The Indian always expects a feast when a white man visits him,
and great was their disappointment when I failed to gratify their
anticipations.
The weather cleared up during the night, and when I awoke in the
morning and walked out from my tent with the sun shining in all its
Arctic splendour the view was more than charming. Our camp was on a
point some forty feet above the river, and, below, the calm waters
glistened in the sunlight like a sea of glass. What a change from
the night before; when the same waters, angered by the north wind,
threatened our little canoes and caused me an hour of downright fear
such as I had never before experienced. For miles and miles the river
could be traced, winding through the valley land, while far beyond
were the mountains with their snow capped peaks, one beyond the other
as far as the eye could reach.
What a smiling morning! All nature was so tranquil, that any
forebodings for the future were too pessimistic, and one could scarcely
even feel lonely or isolated. To add to the picture the Indians were
seen out on the river in their little canoes, at home in their favoured
vocation--fishing for the salmon. Altogether it was such a scene that
the contemplation of it even yet brings the keenest enjoyment.
When the canoes came ashore they were fairly well laden with the
choicest of fish. Owing to the state of my larder I was particularly
glad of their success. I bought a few, giving them money and a little
tea in exchange and promised them that when I got to Rampart House,
where I expected to get fresh supplies, I would send them a present,
especially of tea and tobacco. An Indian camp is always in a starving
condition if it is out of these two articles. The order of supplies
are, first tea, next tobacco, then meat and lastly flour.
In every Indian village along the whole route it was disheartening
to see so many of the people sick and without any means of getting
medical treatment, but this encampment was perhaps the worst of any
in this respect, and the appeals for medicine were most urgent. They
know nothing as to what remedies should be taken for any specific
ailment, but think that any kind of medicine should cure any disease
in the calendar. I remember an incident at Fort Frances many years
ago. A young Indian who had a sprained wrist, insisted that by taking
painkiller inwardly he was greatly relieved, saying that it went down
his throat and then right down to his wrist. Probably the spirits in
this remedy was what he liked most, but I have known them to take other
remedies that certainly were not palatable, where the effect was as
remote from the ailment as in the former case.
During our trip I heard much from John Quatlot regarding his son Elias.
The poor old Indian seemed very proud of his boy, as well as of his
given name, which he took pains to tell me was in the Bible. John
Tizzard seemed to regard this as a boast, and on one occasion made the
remark that the name Jacob, by which his own son was known, was also
in the Bible.
Quatlot informed me, too, that his son had other accomplishments.
He was a good hunter, a good Christian, and he could talk to me in
English. I was further informed that he was an expert canoe man, and of
this I would have proof as he intended having him take me in his big
canoe from Old Crow to Rampart House, the old man explaining that he
was tired and needed a rest after his long journey.
My expectations, however, were doomed to disappointment on several
points. Elias spoke sufficient English to ask me how much I intended
to give him for his proposed services. I had already paid considerably
more than I had promised, and the agreement was that they should take
me to Rampart House, so I told him that in this case he was taking the
place of his father, who needed a rest; that I was not anxious that
he should come except to relieve his father; and that it rested with
himself to say whether he wished to come or not. At this he seemed very
much displeased, and the old man himself made ready to start. It was
really painful to see how chagrined he felt at his son’s conduct; not
so much for the work he was compelled to do, as for the unfavourable
impression which he knew I had formed regarding his boy. He said very
little for some time, but his affection for Elias was stronger than
his resentment, and in his very broken English he at length tried to
make excuses for him, saying he was a good boy but that he was not well
enough to come.
A VISIT TO RAMPART HOUSE
About ten o’clock in the morning we started. Our party now consisting
of Jacob in a single canoe and old John and I in another, John Tizzard
remaining with his people at the Old Crow encampment. There was no big
canoe, however, and I took my place behind the old man in the same one
that had carried me before, but as it was not quite so heavily loaded I
felt more comfortable. The day continued fine throughout, the water was
without a ripple, the current strong, and we glided down the tortuous
course of the stream at almost steamboat speed. At night we reached a
point near the entrance of Blue Fish River, a long distance from our
start in the morning, and camped on the beach. The Porcupine is here
about sixty rods wide, and the water becomes clearer as the stream
descends. The night was clear and calm. This was the first of August,
over a month beyond the summer solstice. Consequently the period of
perpetual daylight was passed and the stars were faintly visible for an
hour or more before and after midnight.
I had a restful and refreshing sleep with less forebodings of accident
than I had enjoyed since starting with the canoes. To-morrow we should
reach Rampart House if all should go well. There is one point, however,
on this stretch of the river which we were told at McPherson might
prove dangerous because of a partially submerged rock in a short rapid.
I talked this over as best I could with my two men, but they told me
there would be no danger at the existing depth of the water. This we
afterwards found to be the case.
On Thursday, August 2, another lovely summer day, we left camp at 8.45
A.M. In a few hours the river narrowed to less than half its usual
width, and the current correspondingly increased, carrying us along
at great speed. We were now in the upper ramparts of the Porcupine.
Though not to be compared in grandeur with those of the Mackenzie,
they nevertheless possess characteristics that are entirely unique.
The stream winds around between sandstone banks, and at every turn in
the descent, new scenes open up to view that are very tempting to the
photographer. At noon we saw a tent on the beach, and as we approached
found it occupied by a white man, the first we had seen since leaving
McPherson. He was engaged in fishing, laying up his winter supply for
himself and his dogs.
I soon learned that he was a member of a distinguished family of
Eastern Canada, the son of a man to the foresight and energy of whom
the city and Port of Montreal are greatly indebted. He had wandered
far from his old home and associates through this northern wilderness,
strangely infatuated with the wild life and the charm which it
possesses. He informed me that he was expecting an appointment as
Customs officer from the Dominion Government for Rampart House on the
Alaska boundary, and I told him that I had seen what was undoubtedly
his commission with the forms appertaining to his office many times
on our way down to Fort McPherson, as the mail bag was opened at the
different posts, and that it was then awaiting him at the Fort on
Peel River. Whether he received these precious documents or not I am
unable to say. About an hour after we beheld a few log buildings on
the right bank of the river, and were greeted by the barking of dogs
and a cordial welcome from the inhabitants of this isolated village,
Rampart House. We had looked anxiously forward to our arrival here for
two reasons: first because our supplies of food were all but entirely
exhausted, and secondly it was here where I hoped to be able to discard
those cockle shells of canoes for more comfortable craft.
The white man whom we met an hour before, however, while holding out
some hopes of my getting a row boat from a half breed, conveyed to me
the unwelcome information that the season’s provisions had not yet
reached the post, and that I would probably have to be satisfied with
obtaining only a little dried meat; that they might have a little tea
and tobacco left also, but that they were absolutely out of flour, the
very article I was needing most.
Just as we reached the landing I saw a large row boat tied up at the
shore, on which were a few white men. They were bound for the Upper
Porcupine, where they intended to spend the autumn and winter in
trapping, and also in exploring for mineral in that region. I saw one
of the men sitting in his boat with an Indian at his side, busily
obtaining such information as he could get of the geography of the
upper river country, with which he was a stranger. From the instruction
given him he was endeavouring to construct a map, which I soon saw
would be of little service to him. It so happened I had with me a
lithographed map conveying just the information he needed. Here was
my opportunity, and it was not long till we had made a bargain. For a
few pounds of flour I handed over the map, which was of no further use
to me, but which I had little doubt would be of great service to him;
a good illustration of the fact that barter between individuals is
frequently profitable to both parties.
Rampart House is in Canadian territory, but the 141st meridian which
divides our territory from that of Alaska is only a few hundred yards
west of the post. In fact the surveyed line between the two is within
sight of the village. It was formerly a post of the Hudson Bay Company,
but is now occupied by Mr. Dan Cadzow, an independent trader. He was at
this time absent from his post, having gone to Dawson City some time
before for his winter’s stock of supplies. He was expected back any
day, and his return was eagerly looked for by the few people of the
post as well as by the Indian hunters of the district, all of whom were
dependent on him for many of the necessaries of life.
A French Canadian, bearing the Hibernian name of Healy, was the only
white man at the post during Cadzow’s absence and was in charge of
the store--if such it could be called. Shortly after my arrival, on
learning that I was from Ottawa, he confidentially informed me that he
was expecting the appointment of Customs officer and beseeched me to
urge his claims for the position. The fact of there being two aspirants
for an office that certainly could not be a remunerative one was a
reminder that I was approaching civilisation. Beyond the prestige that
the office might give to the holder among the Indians and half breeds
of the district, I could not see why any one should wish to hold it.
Healy could not speak the Loucheaux tongue, the language of the country
himself, but his better half, an Indian woman, known by the “classic
name” of Big Mary, possessed as he said “Les Deux Langues,” and was the
interpreter for the post.
It was difficult for me to realise that within the comparatively short
period of nine days I had travelled fully 300 miles through a most
inhospitable wilderness, and it was a relief to know that from here on
I would probably have no longer to endure the anxiety that had attended
me from day to day ever since leaving the Peel river at McPherson.
[Illustration: RAMPART HOUSE ON THE PORCUPINE RIVER]
Great news greeted us on our arrival here. Some hunters had come in
from the mountains to the North bearing a report that the caribou had
arrived. They had already shot eleven and could have had many more but
that they were short of ammunition. It was pleasant to see how this
information cheered up the poor natives. Instead of the sad and
hopeless expression which had characterised nearly every one we had
heretofore met, all now looked happy in anticipation of what was to
come. The words which we had so often heard and which meant “short of
meat,” were now changed to “_plenty caribou_,” the latter spoken in
English.
Old John Quatlot spoke more English than I ever thought him capable of,
as he made me understand that he was going to leave his canoe here and
that he and Jacob would go back to their home over the mountains, where
they would be sure to meet the caribou and lay in a winter’s supply of
meat.
Right glad was I to leave him in such a cheerful mood. Surely, if there
is anything in the law of compensation, such a noble disposition as his
deserved some recompense. I have long contended that there is just as
great a diversity of character in individuals in savage as in civilised
life, and this ignorant Loucheaux Indian possessed qualities that would
adorn the life of the best in any society. As I bade him good-bye he
took my hand in his and said that I would go away off to my home in
the south while he would return to his at “Old Crow”; that by-and-by he
would die and I would die, and that then we would make a long journey
through the air; that finally we would meet, and the Great Spirit would
join our hands again. Such simple childlike faith, coupled with such a
warmth of feeling, was almost sublime.
CHAPTER X
From Rampart House to Fort Yukon : In Alaska : With Dan Cadzow’s
Party.
Having rested two days at Rampart House I hired a half breed with a
row boat and started down stream at noon on August 4 and immediately
crossed the 141st meridian and entered Alaska. We will now be under
the flag of the United States for several hundred miles. It was a
great relief to have a boat in which I could move about freely without
any danger of upsetting it. Taking a seat in the stern I steered, and
paddled also when I wished, while my man and a boy, whom he engaged,
did the rowing.
About 5 P.M., at a distance of some twenty-seven miles, we passed the
site of Old Rampart House, now abandoned, and at ten miles farther down
we saw a tent on the beach, which proved to belong to a party of United
States Geological Surveyors in charge of a Mr. Kindle of Washington,
D.C. We camped here for the night and greatly enjoyed the company of
our American cousins. We at once felt that, though still in this Arctic
wilderness we had left behind us the misery and want as well as the
dull monotony of semi-civilised life.
Starting the next morning at nine o’clock we soon left the Upper
Ramparts of the Porcupine, those walls of rock which had enclosed the
river for the last forty or fifty miles. The current was strong, and,
though we camped earlier than usual on account of rain, we must have
gone at least forty miles in eight hours’ time.
The next morning, August 6, we left camp at seven o’clock and soon
entered the Lower Ramparts, which extended for only five miles but
were very beautiful. After this the country becomes level, the banks
get lower, and the river widens considerably. The timber, principally
of spruce, improves, resembling in size that growing along the Peel at
McPherson.
This was a fine day and we made about sixty miles, camping at eleven
o’clock, after sixteen hours of almost constant rowing and paddling.
Notwithstanding this I felt much less fatigued than on any one
of those anxious days of the week before, when my part was to do
absolutely nothing.
On Tuesday, August 7, we started at 6 A.M. It proved a windy day,
which somewhat retarded our speed. All appearances seemed to indicate
that we were approaching a lake. The banks became low and the country
flat. Instead of the fringe of spruce there was grass growing, often
down to the water’s edge, and, looking on either side, the appearance
was different from anything we had seen for over 2000 miles. It
resembled very much the flat prairie of the Red River below Selkirk but
without the fertile soil. Instead of a lake, however, we were really
approaching the Yukon Flats, but at the same time I venture the opinion
that appearances were not very misleading, for in no very remote period
a lake evidently had covered a large area in the neighbourhood of the
junction of the Porcupine and Yukon.
There was during the forenoon a difference of opinion between my two
men regarding our distance from Fort Yukon. One said that we could not
reach there for two days, while the other, who had been twice over
the route, contended that we should be at the mouth of the river that
same night. My experience had taught me not to underrate distances, and
I had about made up my mind that we should do well if we saw the Fort
at any time the following day, but, to my surprise and satisfaction,
on rounding an elbow in the stream, some well-known landmark appeared,
and both men agreed that we were only a half day’s journey from our
objective point, so the oars were plied more vigorously than ever.
At about six o’clock in the evening, as we looked down the river and
across the level land bounding it, we observed a sail in the distance,
and an hour later we were taking a meal with Dan Cadzow’s party.
They had camped for the night on a point in the river only a mile from
its mouth, and had a very large boat laden with the supplies that had
been so long looked for at Rampart House. They had come from Dawson
City, nearly four hundred miles up the Yukon, but thus far they had
been going with the current, whereas from now on for most of the
remaining distance of over two hundred miles the towline would have to
be used. This necessitated Cadzow’s having with him a party of about
a dozen men. My men were greatly pleased. Each day since we started
they had expected to meet this party, and they certainly had luck with
them, for they at once engaged with Cadzow, who would make a start up
the river on the following morning. Instead of having to “track” their
own boat back they would hitch it behind the larger craft, and not
only earn wages on their home trip, but what they valued even more,
participate in the food with which this outfit was well supplied. It
is difficult for the inexperienced dweller in old settled parts to
understand the sense of satisfaction that these men felt when they
realised that instead of working their own boat back with a little
dried meat as the principal food, and with only a blanket apiece to
cover them during the nights that were now becoming cold, they would
not only be paid for their work, but also have an abundance of food
prepared by one whom they said was the best cook in the country.
Besides, they were supplied with large tents and an abundance of
blankets, and added to all was the company of their fellow men, which
these people enjoy equally with those in other conditions of life.
Their four days’ hard rowing had gained for them a good reward.
After a good dinner we started again, Cadzow having to return to
Fort Yukon for something he had forgotten there, accompanied us. It
only took a few minutes to reach the mouth of the river, but as Fort
Yukon lies on the Yukon River about two miles above the mouth of the
Porcupine we soon realised the difference in going up instead of down
stream.
It will have been noticed that in our whole course hitherto from
Athabaska Landing to this point we had never once, with the exception
of about thirty miles on the Peel river, had to contend with adverse
river currents, but immediately we entered the Yukon conditions were
entirely changed, and it took us fully an hour and a half of hard
pulling and some tracking to make these two miles.
[Illustration: YUKON RIVER AT FORT YUKON]
We reached Fort Yukon near midnight, just two weeks after leaving Fort
McPherson, and the reader can well imagine how pleased I was that I
had again arrived at a point where steam navigation, with a short rail
trip, would make the remaining journey less arduous.
CHAPTER XI
The Ramparts of the Porcupine : An Unoccupied House : A Girl’s
Unhappiness : Awaiting an Up-going Steamer : From Fort Yukon to
Dawson City.
A further reference to the ramparts of the Porcupine may be permissible
here. They are very picturesque, often rising to heights varying from
fifty to two hundred feet. Frequently the river narrows to from five
to eight hundred feet, in some cases much less; and with frequent
abrupt changes in the direction of the stream, they often appear when
looking ahead, completely to block the river, and with the sunlight
glistening on the rocks, and a haze rising from the water they exhibit
the peculiar appearances already noticed.
The upper ramparts begin about ten or twelve miles above the Alaska
boundary and extend down stream some forty or fifty miles. The rock
formation as we descend is for the first twenty-five miles a hard
sandstone and quartzite, then changes to basalt for some distance, and
below this, limestone and shale penetrate upwards through the basalt.
The lower ramparts begin some twenty or twenty-five miles below the
end of the upper ramparts. The formation of the former is principally
magnesian limestone and shales, the limestone being the predominant
rock. The banks of the river between the upper and lower ramparts are
composed of clay, sand, and gravel.
When at Rampart House I had learned something of what to expect in
the way of accommodation at Fort Yukon. Under ordinary circumstances
it would not have been anything to look forward to with very much
pleasure, but compared with what I had recently experienced it was
quite reassuring. Jim Healy was kind enough to give me a key to an
unoccupied road house which he said he owned and where I could sleep.
He also informed me that I could probably get my meals at the home of a
half breed who was a relative of his wife.
[Illustration: FORT YUKON IN ALASKA]
On ascending the bank we were greeted by the usual barking of dogs,
and shortly after a few Indians and one white man, the latter a
storekeeper, came down to the landing, but it was growing dark, and I
felt like getting to rest for the night. I repaired to the road house,
unlocked the door, and fortunately found an old coal oil lamp by the
light of which I explored the premises, then unpacking my blankets and
spreading them on a cot in one of the rooms, I was soon prepared for a
much-needed sleep. It was some time, however, before unconsciousness
came to me, but it was delightful and refreshing to reflect that I had
at last, after just a fortnight’s hard work, succeeded in reaching a
point where all I had to do was simply to wait for a steamer in order
to continue my journey. Finally I fell asleep and did not waken till
about eight o’clock the next morning. The sun was shining in all its
Arctic brilliancy; the sky was without a cloud and the great river in
front flowed swiftly on without a breeze to disturb its glassy surface.
I found my temporary home was one of perhaps thirty log houses which,
with a few frame buildings, mostly all unoccupied, comprised the
village.
My first task was to look around for a meal, and, naturally, I went for
information to the white storekeeper, thinking he might be able to
favour me, but it was the old story. His supplies had not yet arrived,
and he was on short rations himself. I then informed him that I had
been recommended to apply to a half breed family, but he advised me
to try at the other store farther down the river, as the lady of this
house was a white woman whose cooking would probably be more to my
taste than what I could get at the other place. I took his advice, and
soon after presented myself at the door of the house, which, to my
surprise, was opened by a good looking and well dressed young lady, and
on telling her the object of my visit she said they were also short
of supplies, but that she would be glad to accommodate me as best she
could during my short stay in the village.
I was asked in and introduced to the Post Office Inspector for
Alaska--the ubiquitous government official again. He was also waiting
for the first boat to Dawson City, and in the meantime was occupying
another road house, but receiving his meals here also. Though we had
to do without meat, we had canned salmon and fresh fish in abundance
with some vegetables such as peas, potatoes, lettuce, beans, beets, &c.
These were grown in a little garden on the south side of the building.
This is worthy of mention, as Fort Yukon is a few miles north of the
Arctic Circle and farther north than I had seen any such growth east of
the mountains.
We meet young men, enticed by the love of adventure or of gold in
nearly every border settlement and in regions even more remote than
these, who, in their early years, knew only the luxuries of city life,
but who now are enduring hardships undreamed of by their parents at
home. But to find a young woman scarcely passed the period of girlhood
condemned to a life of exile such as my hostess was enduring is rare
indeed.
How came she here?
I can only give the story as told to me.
In one of the wholesale stores in New York City on a certain day in
midsummer, when the heat was almost intolerable, a customer presented
himself; his object being to make purchases for his establishment in
far away Alaska.
Instead of being in the garb of a frontiersman he was faultlessly
attired in the latest fashions of the great metropolis. Instead of the
blanket coat and toque, he wore a frock coat and silk hat and carried
a cane, the shaggy hair and long beard which had helped to protect him
from the Arctic winds of the far north were carefully trimmed, and by
artificial means changed from their natural colour becoming a man of
over seventy years to one of less than half that age. In short, to use
an expression common in the north-west, he was “properly togged out for
business.”
After making some selection in other departments he was introduced by
the proprietor to the young lady in charge of the millinery branch.
The first topic of conversation was, of course, the weather and the
depressing heat of the city. This opened to him a chance to boast of
the “cool breezes” for which his country is justly famed. He then drew
a romantic picture of his beautiful home on the bank of the Yukon.
All of which had its desired effect, with the result that within a
fortnight a newly-married but mismated couple were on their way to the
land of the midnight sun, but rumour had it that the romance was ended
long before they reached the palatial residence of which she had heard
so much. It proved to be a long shanty fairly well furnished for such a
locality, but without a single attractive feature in the surroundings
save the great river, which flowed by the door, and reminded her
somewhat of her old home. His sons and daughters by a former wife, who
were older than herself, failed to recognise her, and through their
influence even the half breeds mistrusted her.
Such I understood was the state of affairs at the time of my visit.
Evidently this could not last and I subsequently learned that taking
advantage of the absence of the Lord of the Manor on a certain day, she
boarded a passing steamer for the outside world, and she has probably
ere this resumed her former vocation either in her native city or
somewhere else, but far from the land, the lure of which had captivated
her youthful fancy.
I have already stated that Fort Yukon is a few miles north of the
Arctic Circle. Its longitude is also a little over 145 degrees west
of Greenwich, and the local time is about four and a half hours
slower than at Ottawa. Perhaps many who are tolerably familiar with
the geography of Canada would be surprised to learn that even Fort
McPherson, which lies east of the main chain of the Rocky Mountains
is much farther west than any part of Vancouver Island, while Fort
Yukon is ten degrees farther west still. Even in our journey to Fort
McPherson we changed time twice, about half an hour each time, and
notwithstanding this on our arrival there we found the local time an
hour slower than that used in the most westerly part of Canada. The
reason is apparent. Our general course down the Mackenzie had been
considerably west of north, and as we ascend towards the pole the
convergence of the meridians so increases that a degree is soon passed
over.
I watched eagerly for the arrival of an upgoing steamer, but three days
passed without anything appearing larger than a canoe; then finally, a
large steam craft appeared, and I made preparations for leaving, but it
was soon revealed that she was only going a part of the way to Dawson
and it was useless to take passage on her. After five days of patient
waiting, on a Saturday afternoon, a whistle was heard, and at once the
_Lavelle Young_, from Tanana, a mining town down the river, appeared in
view. I was not long in securing a passage and soon took leave of this
sleepy village.
The Yukon River for seventy-five miles below Fort Yukon, and probably
as far above, is many miles in width, forming what is known as the
Yukon Flats. This portion of the river is almost filled with islands
and partly submerged land, and it would be unwise for any one
unacquainted with the proper courses to attempt its ascent without a
guide, as he would be almost certain to get into wrong channels. As
before stated, these flats have evidently once formed the basin of a
large inland lake.
The Yukon is a swift flowing stream, especially after leaving the
flats, and as the machinery of our steamer was partially disabled
we were five days in making the trip to Dawson. The passengers were
largely made up of miners from down the river. I secured a state room
along with two other men, who, however, left me as sole occupant during
each night, they being busily employed at playing cards in the cabin,
and I understood one of them succeeded in ridding himself of the
greater part of the results of his two years’ hard labour in the mines
before we arrived at our destination.
We crossed the international boundary on the forenoon of August 17 and
again entered Canadian territory which I had left at Rampart House
twelve days before, and at five o’clock of the same day arrived at the
most important place on the river, the far-famed Dawson City.
CHAPTER XII
Dawson City: In Civilisation Once More: High Prices: To
Whitehorse on the _Dawson_: Gamblers’ Tricks.
Some one has defined enjoyment as the reflex of successful effort,
and another has said that pleasure is largely a matter of comparison.
That there is much truth in both remarks is unquestionable and the
five days I remained at Dawson were the most serene and restful I had
ever experienced. To be sure there were many stages where conditions
had constantly improved since that anxious and wearisome time in the
canoes; first the visit at Rampart House, next the trip in the row boat
to Fort Yukon, then the rest in the road house there, followed by the
trip on the _Lavelle Young_. The few days’ passage on the latter should
have been pleasant but unfortunately this ship had seen her best days,
and very soon after starting it was noticed that through the opening
of some old break the lower deck was half filled with steam, and the
farther we went the worse it got. This not only lessened her speed by
one half but caused us considerable uneasiness during nearly the whole
passage. It was not pleasant to contemplate that after all, my trip
might end up by a boiler explosion.
But here at Dawson I had again reached civilisation, where I received
letters from home, the first since leaving Edmonton nearly three months
previously. I also availed myself of the telegraph and set at rest any
anxiety that my friends at home may have felt for my safety.
[Illustration: DAWSON CITY]
There were minor things that were necessary to transform me from the
bushman of the north to a passable member of Dawson society. First
the barber devoted his attention to me to the extent of a dollar and
a half. I suppose it was worth it. On returning from the enjoyment of
this civilising process I noticed in a shop window some newspapers
presumably for sale, and it dawned on me that something might have
occurred in the outside world during my absence, so I bought a copy
of a _Toronto Journal_ about two weeks old and one of Vancouver of the
week before, for which I paid the moderate sum of fifty cents. This
reminded me that I was in a golden city. It also reminded me of the
early days in Winnipeg before the copper coins were introduced. It was
during the boom of 1882, when every one in Ontario thought himself
unfortunate if he were not the possessor of some soil in the west. On
a certain morning a gentleman who had only arrived in Winnipeg the
night before stepped out from his hotel and met a newsboy from whom he
took a copy of the _Manitoba Free Press_ handing the vendor a cent in
payment. The youngster looked at the coin and then handed it back with
the remark for him to keep it as he might need it when he went back to
Ontario. In Dawson they look with disdain on any currency of a smaller
denomination than “two bits”--twenty-five cents.
I remained five days at Dawson waiting for a boat to Whitehorse, and,
during that time had an opportunity of visiting the mines in its
vicinity and of hearing the wonderful stories of the fortunes made
by the pioneers from the sands of the Klondike and its tributaries.
But the day for the hand miner with his rocker has passed and instead
hydraulic mining and dredging has taken its place. The Guggenheims and
others have purchased most of the old claims and it is interesting
to witness the great streams of water tearing down the earth of the
hillsides and revealing the old cribbing which the former proprietor
had erected when the Dawson camp was the wonder of the continent.
The pioneers, as they deserved, got wonderful returns of coarse gold
and exhausted the richest earth, but the men of capital still find
sufficient left to reward them liberally for operations on a larger
scale. The bed rock along the streams and the bottom land along each
side is a soft mica schist easily scooped out with dredges; this almost
invariably carries a fair percentage of gold, quite sufficient to
bring a good margin of profit when so worked whereas it would not pay
expenses if worked under the old system. What struck me very forcibly
was the way in which the timber had been completely stripped from the
hills, the larger for building purposes, for mining props and for
fuel, and the brush for building embankments to hold the tailings.
Look in whatever direction you would and scarcely a green twig could
be seen, and spruce wood for fuel was selling when I was there for
thirteen dollars a cord.
The journey from Dawson City to Whitehorse, some 460 miles, was
comfortably made on a well equipped steamer, the _Dawson_. She left on
Wednesday evening, August 22, and we arrived at Whitehorse on Sunday
afternoon, August 26, and on the following morning at 9.30 we took the
train for Skagway, arriving there at 4.30 P.M.
This road, which is 111 miles in length, is a narrow gauge, but the
road bed is good and the cars comfortable. Along the route as far as
the south end of Lake Bennet there is nothing specially worthy of note.
The soil is generally sandy. Jackpine and spruce, of little value for
lumber, are seen along the track. After leaving Bennet, the road winds
up the mountain to the summit of the pass, which is 2897 feet above the
sea. Here we pass again into United States territory. The road descends
twenty-one miles with a very steep grade to Skagway, at tidewater on
an arm of the Lynn canal. The trip between Bennet and Skagway affords
some exceedingly fine mountain scenery. In many places we pass near the
snow line, and from Skagway a large glacier is visible. The country is
almost devoid of timber. The rocks are granite, and in no part have I
seen a more desolate landscape. Looking out of the car window as we
glided swiftly down grade following a little mountain stream, we could
see across the ravine the old trail of 1897, clinging close to the
mountainside, while at short intervals were the abandoned bunk houses
where the weary gold seeker sought shelter at night and freely parted
with his coin for the privilege of spreading his blankets on a rough
wooden floor.
Along this trail passed men from every country in Europe and America
as well as a number from Eastern Asia each speaking a different tongue
but all pressing forward to the Mecca of their hope and all with the
one idea that of gaining riches from this great Northern Eldorado. If
those old buildings could speak what tragedies they would reveal. Many
a young man, so the story goes, seeing his purse so depleted when he
had reached Skagway that it would be impossible for him to reach his
destination, soon beheld by the wayside a gambler’s chance of escape
from his difficulties. There was always on hand an engaging young man
to sympathise with him and to relate an experience similar to his own.
Then would come the interesting story of his success at cards through
having learned the gamblers’ tricks. These he would impart to his new
found friend who would introduce him to his comrades. There is no
use pursuing the story further. The poor victim with an empty pocket
book, and finding his hopes and dreams of great wealth all shattered,
frequently the battle ended in a tragedy. The stories of those days, as
sometimes related by the pioneers, are sad indeed.
CHAPTER XIII
From Skagway to Vancouver : On the _Princess May_ : Fort
Simpson : Prince Rupert : End of the Journey.
The ocean voyage between Skagway and Vancouver is so well known that I
need only refer to it briefly. Nearly the whole course is so sheltered
on the one side by the main land, and on the other by islands, almost
innumerable, that it was easier to fancy that we were back on the
_Wrigley_ threading the islands of the Mackenzie rather than that we
were on the waters of the great Pacific.
The fine C.P.R. steamer _Princess May_ was waiting at the dock at
Skagway when we arrived, and at 8 P.M. on Monday, August 27, we
started for Vancouver. I was sorry that the trip down the Lynn canal
was made at night, and a very dark one at that, which prevented our
having a view of the glaciers that otherwise would have been visible.
Tuesday was a dull, rainy day without anything of interest to record.
The steamer called at Fort Simpson early on Wednesday morning, and
passed Kaein Island, the site of the future city Prince Rupert, in the
forenoon, but did not stop. A little later we called at Port Essington
but the tide was out and our steamer was unable to reach the dock.
Further on we called at Caxton where there is a very large cannery and
where we took on a quantity of canned salmon. On Thursday, at 6 A.M.,
we called at Bella Bella, and at 3 P.M. at Alert Bay on Vancouver
Island, to see the totem poles of the Indian village there.
Fort Simpson deserves more than a passing reference. It was for many
years the chief place on the west coast north of Victoria, and it
had for some time great hopes of being the western terminus of the
G.T.P. Railway. This last aspiration has, however, been blasted by the
selection of Prince Rupert, twenty-five miles farther south, but, as
in many other small places, the few residents have an abiding faith
that their town will yet be a great city outrivalling any other from
San Francisco north, and they now pin their faith on the Canadian
Northern Railway making this their northern ocean port.
[Illustration: INDIAN CHILDREN AT FORT SIMPSON]
Fort Simpson enjoys the distinction of being the home of a band of
Indians who surpass any I have ever seen in the east in general
intelligence as well as in their advancement in civilisation. Fully
three fourths of the inhabitants of the village are native Indians
of the Tsimpsian tribe. They are not only industrious but also
frugal; live in good frame houses painted white and all numbered. In
front of the dwelling usually stands a totem pole with its strange
hieroglyphics. These dwellings are for the most part comfortably
furnished. I had not the privilege of seeing the interior of a very
fine looking house owned by the chief of the band, but was informed
that the furniture cost several thousand dollars.
In addition to the village house most of the families have a small plot
of land outside the town with a small house erected on it where they
spend part of the summer cultivating vegetables for their use. The
community owns a saw mill that supplies them with lumber. The affairs
of the village are managed by a council presided over by their chief.
I am unable to say whether they manage their public affairs as well as
some of our municipalities do. They could scarcely be managed worse
than some are. They can all speak English, but conversation among
themselves is usually in their own tongue. They build and equip their
own fishing and sail boats, of sufficient size to weather the heavy
seas and tidal currents of the coast.
In the early spring they move out to their garden plot generally in a
small valley sloping down to the sea. Here they plant their potatoes
and other vegetables. Next comes the fishing season and the canneries
rely largely on the catch made by these people. When the run of the
salmon is plentiful, the money earned by a family with a good boat and
plenty of nets is quite equal to the proceeds from an ordinary farm.
The fishing season over, they next go south to the valleys of southern
British Columbia and Washington State where they further increase their
earnings by assisting in the hop fields there.
Then they return home in time to store their vegetables before the wet
weather sets in. Finally, the year is rounded off by the winter hunt.
The result is that scarcely a family is without some ready money, while
many have considerable, either kept safely at home or deposited in
banks at Victoria or Vancouver.
Thanks to the enterprise of the early missionaries in establishing
schools among these people they are now fairly well educated. The
Anglican and Methodist churches were early in the field and the fruit
of their labour is apparent.
Prince Rupert from its geographical position might be called the
Canadian Vladivostock. Each city is the ocean terminus of a great
transcontinental railway. Each can boast of a high northern latitude,
and consequently lessened distances between meridians. Prince Rupert
however, has a great advantage over its _vis-à-vis_ in one particular.
The Siberian Port is practically closed during the whole of the winter
season, while the magnificent harbour at Prince Rupert, though many
degrees farther north, is open the year round.
The Grand Trunk Pacific engineers searched diligently along this
northern coast to find a harbour worthy of such a railway. There were
many places offering special advantages of situation but which perhaps
lacked some essential qualification. Those of first importance were a
depth of water covering a large area; shelter from the ocean; ease of
access both by rail and water, and (on this coast, the most difficult
of all) a good shore line for wharves with at least some adjacent land
where a city could be built. It was finally decided that the north and
east coast of Kaien Island fulfilled the requirements more nearly than
any other point and the present site of Prince Rupert was selected.
There is no question that few ports in the world offer greater
attraction to the mariner; the area is large enough to accommodate the
navies of the world, the approach is easy, and with few currents to
trouble the navigator. The shelter is secure; the water deep and the
wharves convenient. The approach by the railway too in the vicinity of
the port is for miles along the sea almost on a level.
It has been said that the greater portion of British Columbia “stands
on end,” and certainly to no portion of the Province does this more
aptly apply than to this northern coast, and there, perhaps, was never
a case in the history of the world, a case where the initial cost in
the building of a city was as great as it is there to-day. The land for
about a mile and a quarter back from the shore is a succession of rock
ridges with swampy land intervening. At the present time in order to
make streets these rocks are being levelled down to afford a passable
grade. In most cases this necessitates the cutting down of the adjacent
lots to get a frontage on the street level. The amount of explosives
being used for this purpose must be very great. Blasting is constantly
going on and the visitor can easily fancy himself in a beseiged town.
On waking on Friday morning, August 31, I found we were approaching
Vancouver. It was a delightful morning, and as we entered the narrows
and then passed around Brockton Point and entered Burrard inlet, we
beheld that great modern city which, in a few years has risen from a
small village to one of the foremost places in the Dominion. I felt
that at last I was practically home again. The distance I had travelled
from Edmonton to this point was about 4250 miles, and had occupied a
few days less than three months.
I had now time to look over my diary and to recall to memory many
incidents which had received little attention at the time. In fact
nothing counted for much then that did not aid me in what I had
undertaken. My one idea was by some means to make the trip to the
Arctic and return exactly as I had planned it, and in doing so every
day had brought its duties, and there was little time to recall what
was past. The present and the future took all our immediate attention.
But now there was time and with it the inclination, to retrace every
foot of the journey from start to finish.
What a panorama opened to view. There was the wearisome journey on the
Athabaska ending at the “Lake of the Hills.” Then opened to the mental
vision the Slave River, Slave Lake and the Mackenzie ending at that
strange but interesting Arctic village, McPherson. Then those anxious
days on the trail over the mountains. Then the canoe trip on the Bell
and Porcupine with three Indians. The encampment at Old Crow and
next the arrival at Rampart House.
[Illustration: TOTUM POLES AT ALERT BAY ON VANCOUVER ISLAND]
Then the somewhat pleasant trip still down the Porcupine till Fort
Yukon is reached. The road house there. The slow trip up the Yukon to
Dawson and finally the journey from Dawson to Vancouver. All these with
the numerous incidents on the way passed before the vision. It was like
the developing of a picture without the aid of any camera except that
furnished by the human eye and recorded in the mind of the observer.
And even yet, though several years have elapsed, those impressions
of places, of people and of events frequently pass vividly in review
before my mental vision. These impressions I have, with a feeble pen,
attempted to develop for any who have had the patience to follow this
review, but I am painfully conscious of my failure to pass on to my
indulgent readers anything more than the bare outlines of a picture
which to my own mind is not only vivid but intensely fascinating.
PART II
FOREWORD
It may be well for me to add to the foregoing narrative a few brief
general observations on certain characteristics and productions of
the country, such as the climate, the soil, the minerals, the timber;
of the animals, the fish, the wild fowl, that migrate there and breed
during the summer months; and, lastly, of the native inhabitants, as
well as the traders and missionaries who have for the last century or
more made their home in the country.
SECTION I
CLIMATE
I have already referred to the extreme heat which we experienced along
the Athabaska River and at Fort Chippewyan, and that this hot wave
extended beyond the Arctic Circle was testified to by Indians who
suffered the loss of some of their dogs from this cause, on crossing
the portage between the Bell River and Fort McPherson. Of course this
was exceptional and lasted only a few days, but nevertheless, there
is no question that for a couple of months in midsummer the aggregate
amount of heat which is imparted by the sun’s rays interrupted only for
a few hours out of the twenty-four, and shining through a wonderfully
clear atmosphere goes far to counter-balance what is lost by their
refraction owing to the obliquity of their course in reaching the
earth. The law of compensation here makes heroic efforts to assert its
claim, and though it fails in giving to those regions an equality
of heat, it does succeed to the last fraction in bestowing on every
portion of the globe an equality of light, the great luminary gives to
the Esquimaux exactly as much sunlight during the entire year as the
dweller on the far off Amazon or the Nile. There is as much truth as
poetry in the lines of the old song: “For taking the year all round my
dear, There isn’t more night than day.”
We found it difficult when we got below the last obstruction to
navigation, and began to make rapid progress to the north, to accustom
ourselves to the changed conditions and to seek rest at the old
accustomed hours, and frequently while waiting for the darkness, the
midnight hour was passed and the northern dawn was upon us before we
realised that the evening and morning twilight were not separated by
any perceptible intervening darkness. The wonderful beauty of the
tropical dawn has been told by every traveller in the equatorial
regions, but in these regions only a few minutes elapses from the time
it begins till the sun asserts its supremacy and dispels the brilliant
colouring. In the sub-Arctic regions there is no such haste. When
the glittering rays no longer reach us we can watch their reflection in
the clear ethereal spaces above during the whole of that period we call
night. But I have dwelt, perhaps, too long and too frequently on this
subject, and my only apology is that this portion of time was to me
always a recompense for any of the labours or hardships of the previous
day, and one is apt to be garrulous over what has afforded him pleasure.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
ESQUIMAUX IN THEIR KAYAKS]
It was difficult on those exceedingly hot days of midsummer to realise
that in a few months’ time the ice king would reign supreme over all
the land. But this is a country of extremes, and even in some of the
hottest days when the wind would turn suddenly to the north and angry
clouds would arise from the horizon and spread across the heavens
obscuring the sun from view, one could form a faint idea of what would
happen a few months later.
After entering the Mackenzie we noticed the constant dropping of earth
from the banks causing a dull splash in the water. This was caused by
the melting of the frozen earth along the shore of the stream. In
some cases the action of the water had worn deep caverns into the
perpendicular clay banks. When these caverns had become so large as
to remove the support of the superincumbent mass, an earth slide of
considerable magnitude would occur. In the greater part of this whole
country frost is found at varying depths during the whole year, and of
course the distance below the surface decreases as we go north. On our
journey across from McPherson to Bell River we found it a little less
than a foot to perpetual frost.
Some one has suggested the building of a line of railway between the
Peel and Bell Rivers. All I would say of this visionary enterprise is
that a solid ice foundation for the roadbed will certainly be found
without much excavation. Bearing on this subject a well authenticated
story is told. Some years ago an agent of the Hudson Bay Company died
at Fort McPherson, and, being a man of some importance a deep grave
was excavated for his remains out of the frozen earth. Some time
after stories were told of strange appearances around this grave. As
the years went by one after another of the inhabitants of the place
imagined that he saw something uncanny around the resting place of the
former master of the post. Finally, it became the settled belief of the
community, that the lonely grave had frequent visits from unearthly
beings. This went so far as to menace the existence of the post, and
the company at length concluded either to move it to another locality
or to remove the cause of the trouble to another resting place. It was
finally decided that it would be better to take the remains up to Fort
Simpson and inter them in the churchyard there where no uncanny visitor
would dare to approach.
The winter season was chosen for the removal. An escort of natives
with a team of dogs hitched to a toboggan was engaged for the work.
After considerable difficulty the frozen earth was removed and the
rude coffin taken up when the occupant was found just as he had been
when placed there some twenty years before, in a perfect state of
preservation. The grave had been made below the perpetual frost line
and an eternity of years would under such conditions have failed to
render literally applicable the words “Dust thou art and to dust thou
shalt return.”
The winter previous to my visit, viz., that of 1905–6 was a
particularly cold one. The thermometer went as low as sixty-eight
degrees below zero, Fahrenheit, and added to this there was a great
deal of wind, but, not having had an opportunity of experiencing
a winter in those latitudes, I shall leave to others the task of
describing it.
In Captain McClintock’s narrative “The Voyage of the _Fox_ in Arctic
Seas” there is found incidentally a most graphic word picture of an
Arctic winter night. It will be remembered that Captain McClintock
commanded the expedition sent out by Lady Franklin in 1857, in search
of her husband, Sir John Franklin. The author makes no attempt at
anything more than giving the occurrences as they took place from day
to day, as recorded in his diary, but one paragraph headed “Burial in
the Pack” is given in words that paint the scene in colours that remain
in the mind of the reader, and I shall quote a couple of extracts which
read as follows:
_December 4, 1857._--“I have just returned on board from the
performance of the most solemn duty a commander can be called upon to
fulfil. A funeral at sea is always peculiarly impressive; but this
evening as we gathered around the sad remains of poor Scott, reposing
under a Union Jack, and read the burial service by the light of
lanterns, the effect could not fail to awaken serious emotions.
The greater part of the church service was read on board, under shelter
of the housing; the body was then placed upon a sledge, and drawn by
the messmates of the deceased to a distance from the ship, where a hole
through the ice had been cut; it was then ‘committed to the deep,’
and the service completed. What a scene it was; I shall never forget
it. The _Lonely Fox_, almost buried in snow, completely isolated from
the habitable world, her colours half-mast with the bell mournfully
tolling; our little procession slowly marching over the rough surface
of the frozen deep, guided by lanterns and direction posts amid the
dreary darkness of an Arctic winter; the deathlike stillness around,
the intense cold, and the threatening aspect of a murky overcast sky;
and all this heightened by one of those strange lunar phenomena which
are but seldom seen even here, a complete halo encircling the moon,
through which passed a horizontal band of pale light that encompassed
the heavens; above the moon appeared the segments of two other halos,
and there were also mock moons or para-selenæ to the number of six.
The misty atmosphere lent a very ghastly hue to this singular display,
which lasted for rather more than an hour.
Scarcely had the burial service been completed, when our poor dogs,
discovering that the ship was deserted, set up a most dismal unearthly
moaning, continuing it until we returned on board. Coming to us from a
distance across the ice, at such a solemn moment, this most strange and
mournful sound was both startling and impressive.”
Again on the eleventh he says: “Position 74 degrees, 31 N 68·21
W. Calm, clear weather, pleasant for exercise, but steadily cold;
thermometer varies between twenty and thirty degrees below zero. At
noon the blush of dawn tints the southern horizon, to the north
the sky remains inky blue, whilst overhead it is bright and clear,
the stars shining, and the pole star near the zenith very distinct.
Although there is a light north wind, thin mackerel clouds are passing
from south to north and the temperature has risen ten degrees.”
What a contrast to this a few months’ time will bring when the king
of the universe has again appeared in constant view, dispelling all
the darkness and bringing warmth in his rays. Then the wild fowl will
come up in myriads from the south to build their nests and rear their
young in rivers, creeks and pools in this boreal land. Then too, the
Esquimaux will lay aside the snow sled for the kaiak. The tent will
take the place of the iglo and his period of real enjoyment will have
begun.
These are, no doubt, the conditions that appeal to him as ideal and
which no other latitude could afford, and so it is that he prefers his
home to that of any other.
SECTION II
SOIL
I have already made frequent reference to the soil conditions as
observed on my line of travel. Of course I had little opportunity of
forming more than a general idea. Before any accurate report can be
given on this subject it will be necessary for the Government to have
an exploration survey made by men competent to give an authoritative
opinion. For many years I have been impressed with the idea that Canada
has failed to realise what it is losing year after year from its lack
of information of its unoccupied areas.
What would be thought of the settler who built his house and commenced
to clear and till his land on the front of his lot without ever taking
the trouble to examine the rest of his possessions? The chances
are that he would afterwards find that much of his labour had been
misdirected. In many parts of the country land has been surveyed and
opened up for settlement that was unfit for Agriculture, and which
should have been left for the growth of timber for which it was well
suited. Frequently this land looked attractive to the inexperienced,
and in many cases the settler spent years of hard labour only to find
at last that beneath the few inches of humus there was nothing but
barren sand.
Our governments are wisely spending much public money in bringing
agricultural immigrants into the country, and their next step should
be to direct them to fields where their labour will receive its just
reward.
On the great plains of our north-west this was perhaps not so
necessary, but in the country under consideration, which is mostly
wooded like our eastern Provinces, such supervision should not be
neglected.
Extending from Lesser Slave Lake through to the valley of the Peace
River, and throughout the whole course of that stream, as well as down
the Slave River and the Mackenzie even to the delta of the latter,
the soil appears to be a rich alluvial deposit, broken in some cases
by rocky land and in others by sandy ridges. East of this we may
expect to find more exposed rock, and probably less land which would
be attractive to the agriculturist. I am well aware, however, that
north of the North Saskatchewan, to east of the district I have named,
and in perhaps some instances extending well up to the barren lands,
may be many valleys that will yet be inhabited, but it remains for the
Government to ascertain where these lie in order to direct the incoming
settler aright. The life of the tiller of the soil is arduous enough
in any case, and in a country such as ours there is no reason why his
labour need be in vain.
Beyond the watershed of the North Saskatchewan there are millions upon
millions of acres in the aggregate fully as suitable for settlement as
many parts of Northern Europe which now afford homes for a prosperous
people. Of course this being a wooded country and the climate more
severe, it does not offer the same attractions as the rich prairies
farther south, but after these have been settled the emigrant from
Scandinavia and Russia will find here a new home similar to the one he
has left.
SECTION III
MINERALS
Reference has already been made to the tar sands along the Athabaska
River which evidence the presence of bitumen in great abundance, to
coal along the same river and also on the banks of the Mackenzie near
Fort Norman; to salt at different points on the Slave and Mackenzie
Rivers, and to copper on the Coppermine River near the Arctic Sea. But
these are probably only a few out of many varieties that exist in that
vast unknown region.
The gold of the Yukon and of Alaska in America and the various mineral
products of Siberia in Northern Europe and Asia prove that neither the
precious or baser metals are confined to the lower latitudes, and it is
more than probable that sub-Arctic Canada may yet be heard from as the
depository of what are now hidden treasures.
I have perhaps already wearied the reader with reiterating the need of
more exploration work in Northern Canada. The work of the geological
survey is worthy of all praise, but the annual appropriations for this
department are entirely inadequate to compass so vast a field.
The output of gold in the neighbourhood of Dawson City on the Yukon
with the more recent discoveries of silver at Cobalt, and of gold at
the Porcupine will lure the adventurous explorer into far northern
fields, where much of his time will be spent in not only acquiring a
knowledge of the geology of the country but also in tracing the courses
of unknown rivers and locating great mountain ranges, which information
will be for the benefit of Canada as a whole, and which she herself
should supply in advance.
The press of the country is just now publishing accounts of the
preparation of a vessel to be named the _Princess Patricia_, which will
sail shortly from Newfoundland in quest of gold and coal in Northern
Baffin Land. This expedition is being undertaken by a Canadian named
A. W. Scott, usually known as “Lucky Scott,” and is the result of a
report of Captain Robert S. Janes who was second officer in command of
the Canadian Government steamer _Arctic_ which returned from northern
waters in the summer of 1911.
Captain Janes will be the guide of the expedition and it is his
discoveries which will be examined. The following extracts are from
Captain Janes’ report:
“The _Arctic_ wintered in the north and in December 1910, Captain Janes
was sent by Captain Bernier the commander to North-East Baffin Land
with three Esquimaux, three comatocks, and thirty Esquimaux dogs for
the purpose of exploring that section. During the months of January
and February little work could be done owing to the Arctic night being
on, and the sun only came back in February little by little, but the
intense frost and short days prevented anything being done before
April of 1911. From that time till August, however, Captain Janes was
employed in exploring that section of Northern Baffin Land.”
His report says, “We found in May a coal field extending about thirty
miles from the coast and eight miles from navigable waters. Along the
strike of this outcrop coal could be easily picked up anywhere and I
discovered and staked one coal seam fifteen feet thick without a break.
I burned this coal in a cook stove and it gave forth a tremendous heat
with very little smoke and very little ash. In June I found another
coal field 100 miles north-west. This coal bed extends right to the
water’s edge. I pitched coal from it right into my boat which was tied
at the beach. I think it would be perfectly feasible to transport the
coal by water to a point on the south-east coast of Baffin Land at the
entrance to the Hudson Straits, where it could be used to coal the
grain-carrying fleet which will pass there when the Hudson Bay Railway
is built.”
SECTION IV
PLACER GOLD
Captain Janes also reports the discovery of placer gold. He says
that he found gold quartz with gold in it on the bank of a river and
regarding this he writes as follows:
“I washed out the nuggets and small particles of gold which I brought
back with me, from a dark sand mixed with fine pebbles, found on the
edge of this river. Close to this I found specimens of block tin,
copper and iron. In other districts I also discovered graphite in
abundance. I also discovered a very peculiar and heavy stone or metal
which resembled lead, in the same district in which the coal was
located. This material when put on the coal fire threw off an excessive
amount of sulphur. This includes only a small section of Baffin Land
that I had a chance to prospect. There is a large area that I had not
time to examine.”
Captain Janes further states: “Game of all descriptions is in
abundance and many fur-bearing foxes, white and blue which the natives
trap in great numbers. There is also plenty of bear, musk ox, walrus,
seal and narwhale, which latter is valuable for its ivories.
“On June 1 the whole country becomes alive. Birds of all descriptions
including ducks and geese immigrate from the south. I killed several
white bear myself and saw many interesting bear fights.” He concludes
as follows:
“I have sailed for twenty years on my own vessel as master on the coast
of Newfoundland, Labrador, and in northern waters in the seal and
fishing industry, and I am expecting that this expedition will be a
great success.”
If Captain Janes’ report is verified it is very probable that Canada’s
hinterland will soon furnish the unique spectacle of great mining
enterprises in operation, in regions beyond the Arctic Circle.
SECTION V
TIMBER
As we go north the varieties of trees greatly decrease in number,
and in the sub-Arctic forest belt they are reduced to eight species,
namely, white spruce (_picea Canadensis_), black spruce (_picea
Mariana_), larch or tamarac (_larix Americana_), jack or Banksian
pine (_pinus banksiana_), Canada Balsam (_abies balsamea_), aspen or
white poplar (_populus tremuloides_), balsam poplar or balm of Gilead
(_populus balsamea_), and canoe birch (_betula Papyrifers_).
The first five of these belong to the coniferous family, while the last
three, namely the aspen, the balsam poplar, and the canoe birch, are of
the broad leaf variety.
In addition to these are various species of willow, extending
throughout the whole region, but they are too small in size to be
classed as trees.
The larch or tamarac continues pretty well north to prefer the swampy
land, but as we approach the Arctic regions it attains its best growth
on higher ground.
The black spruce also follows the example of the tamarac in this
respect, while the white spruce thrives best on the higher and drier
land and throughout the whole of the sub-Arctic watershed. The tamarac
vies with the white spruce in enduring the Arctic climate, and is found
almost to the limit of tree growth.
The wood of the tamarac is harder and better than the spruce for
purposes where strength and durability are required. It is also the
best, perhaps excepting the birch of these northern species, for
fuel. Though widely distributed it is only found in little quantities
here and there in scattered patches, whereas the spruces of different
varieties are found in almost every part of Canada from the Atlantic
to the Pacific, and from the southern boundary of the Dominion to the
tundra and frozen land beyond the Arctic Circle.
It would undoubtedly be misleading with our limited knowledge of the
greater part of the country, to attempt to define the areas that may,
with the settlement of the country, offer profitable fields to the
lumberman. It is true that there has been for many years a good deal of
travel through the country, but the routes taken are mostly confined to
the great water courses. While in the country I made diligent inquiries
from those I met who are engaged by the companies, and who take the
place of the old _coureurs du bois_, of the early days in “tripping”
in winter, visiting the hunting lodges of the Indians to get furs.
Occasionally some of the information obtained seemed valuable, but
even these routes or dog trails are always chosen where there is the
least timber to obstruct the course, generally along the lakes and
rivers, or through level and sparsely timbered muskegs. The Indians
being interested in the fish and game of the country, can give reliable
information concerning them, but it would be unwise to make any
calculations from what information can be gained from them regarding
either the quantity or quality of timber in the country.
So far as our present knowledge affords us a means of judging, the
whole of the Arctic basin, except the barren lands of the far north
and certain limited areas in the watersheds of the Athabaska and Peace
Rivers, which latter are prairie, may be correctly described as forest
land.
It must not be inferred that the whole of the vast area is timbered in
the same sense that Ontario and Quebec were in their primeval state.
The timber is not as large, and by no means as evenly distributed. Very
frequently after proceeding a mile or less from one of the large rivers
we will enter a muskeg with only a few small scattered spruce and
tamarac here and there dotting the landscape.
This will probably continue till we approach a small stream draining
the muskeg, and as we pass down such a stream we will frequently find
very good spruce, poplar and birch along the banks and extending for
varying distances to the right and left.
From the information at hand I think it is quite safe to assert that
the largest extent of timber in the Mackenzie basin as well as the
largest in size, is to be found along the tributaries of the Mackenzie
which flow from the west, such as the Athabaska, Peace, Laird, Nahanni
and others. It must be remembered that these are themselves great
rivers with many tributary streams and the aggregate quantity of spruce
suitable for lumber which is the principal timber tree in that region,
must be very large; while trees of the same variety large enough for
pulpwood are found in great quantities throughout the whole of the
Mackenzie waters extending all the way down to the delta of that river.
This spruce is of two varieties, namely, the white and black spruce;
the former is the larger and more valuable. Both varieties when
accessible are now becoming very valuable, as they furnish the best
material for the manufacture of pulp, and this district contains a
world’s supply of such timber of sufficient size for that purpose. At
present there is no outlet for this supply, but if a railway were built
between Athabaska Lake and Fort Churchill it would open a pulp district
extending from tide water to the Rocky Mountains.
SECTION VI
ANIMALS
One of the resources to which I have not yet referred is the native
wild animals that find a home in the wilderness. Among them are, the
moose, the caribou, the bear, the wood buffalo, and the musk ox, and
the experiments recently made in Alaska and on the Labrador Coast by
the introduction of the Lapland reindeer indicate that the semi-barren
lands may yet furnish meat for export.
To these must be added the fur-bearing animals for which the country
is already famous. The beaker, martin, fox and mink are only a few
of the varieties with which the country abounds. It is unnecessary
to say that but for the fur that these produce it is probable that
the country would never have been visited except by a few adventurous
explorers and missionaries. Attracted, however, by the value of these
furs, the North-West Company and “The Honourable The Hudson’s Bay
Company,” were early in the field, and to-day in addition to the
latter there are a large number of independent traders whose agents
traverse practically the whole of the country, and if records of their
journeyings were collected, very interesting information of great value
would be obtained. I might remark that at certain of the Hudson’s
Bay posts diaries written by the agents may be seen which record the
most interesting events that have come under their notice almost from
the establishment of these stations. Some of them convey graphic
descriptions of every day life in those regions. Here is a virgin field
for any adventurous author who wishes to gather details at first hand.
[Illustration: A MOOSE AND INDIAN TEPEE]
As one observes on a winter’s day in our cities and towns the great
quantity of furs that are worn practically by all classes of our
population, most of which come from this north country, he cannot
but be impressed by the fact that we owe a debt of gratitude to that
country and to those who endure its rigours for our comfort. Whether
this supply will diminish in the future is a question of very great
importance to us. Though I have already stated that certain parts
of this region will probably in time be settled, there is yet a vast
proportion of it that will remain probably for all time uninhabited,
and there seems no reason why in those parts the productiveness of
the valuable furs may not only be maintained but greatly increased if
judicious supervision is established and proper methods adopted. The
forest reserves should be utilised as game preserves and it can be
scarcely doubted, considering the rapidly increasing value of the fur
product, that they could be made to yield a splendid profit.
SECTION VII
FISH
The fish found in those cool northern waters are, as might be expected,
for the most part of excellent quality. They are found in abundance in
all the northern lakes and rivers; the whitefish (_coregonus_) being
the most widely distributed. The pike (_lucius_) is also common in most
of the waters. The fresh-water linge (_lota_) and the Arctic trout,
sometimes called Back’s trout, are found in many of the lakes and
streams. The inconnu (_stenodus_) is peculiar to the Mackenzie River.
It was named _Inconnu_ (unknown) by Sir Alexander Mackenzie’s exploring
party, as it was to them an unfamiliar fish. It is of excellent quality
and is also the largest of any of the species found in the Arctic
watershed.
The salmon is the great fish of the Pacific waters, and of it there are
a great many species. Among them are the King salmon, in Alaska and
the Yukon; the spring salmon and the sock eye or blue back, called also
the red fish of British Columbia. The last named is the most valuable
for canning purposes, on account of its flavour and for the deep red
colour of its flesh. Another species called the coho, or silver sides,
is of less importance than the sock eye on account of the colour. It is
generally frozen for use. The dog salmon reaches a considerable size.
It is chiefly salted for the Japanese market. The hump back is seldom
over five or six pounds in weight. It is chiefly used by the Indians.
One of the very best fish found on the coast is the steel head. It is
large, weighing from twenty to forty pounds. It is unlike in appearance
any of the other salmon of the west, and exactly resembles the salmon
of Eastern Canada and Europe. It is very good for cooking and is
pronounced one of the most delicious of fish.
SECTION VIII
WILD FOWL
The forest of America in the far north is essentially a solitude. In
winter the stillness is deathlike and profound. In summer a few birds
may be seen in the woods bordering on the great wilderness, but like
man, they do not penetrate beyond its outskirts. It is true that the
loon seeks out unfrequented lakes and his doleful cry may be heard
where it is the only thing to indicate the existence of animal life.
The visitor from more southern latitudes will certainly miss the
melodious bird songs with which he is familiar.
However, in certain localities where marshes are found and where
feeding grounds exist, these are visited by ducks and wild geese in
vast numbers during the summer months. Here they build their nests and
rear their young. I have already referred to the great area of drowned
land and marsh lying along the west shore of Athabaska Lake and
extending from the Athabaska River on the south to the Peace River on
the north. This is one of the favourite resorts for both ducks and wild
geese and will yet be known as the fowlers’ paradise.
This great lagoon resembles those on the shore of the Gulf of Mexico
south of Vera Cruz, and it may be that these two localities are the
homes, in alternate seasons, of members of this favoured division of
the animal creation.
It is a fortunate thing for the native to have his home in a country
where fish and wild fowl abound, and without these it is doubtful if
the native Indian could have preserved his existence. True it is that
the caribou comes somewhat irregularly up from the barren lands and
then there is abundance of meat. The moose and the bear also at times
serve to keep starvation from the wigwam, but frequently they all fail
to appear, but the wild fowl come as regularly as the seasons, and the
fish is a constant occupant of the lakes and streams.
On our trip down the Porcupine we saw very few duck but the wild goose
was there in great quantities. The young brood almost full grown, but
with wings not yet strong enough to fly, were, as has been previously
described, chased to the shore and killed in their attempt to climb
the steep banks of the stream, without the waste of the precious
ammunition. They were young and tender and had no fishy taste, as one
would expect, at least I did not detect any. I have often wondered
since whether under different conditions my taste would have been more
delicate. However, I will always remember gratefully the manner in
which they came to our aid when our food supplies were rapidly growing
near to the vanishing point; and ever since, when in the spring I see
these wonderful creatures wending their unerring way in the upper air
to their summer home in the far north, I am not only impressed with the
thought of that marvellous instinct that guides them in their flight,
but also with the knowledge that they are going to supply food to
some of those poor natives who depend on them to supply them on their
journeys through the country.
Though, as I have stated, it was an easy matter to capture all we
required, here in their summer home, it is a very different matter
to attempt to intercept them on their journey either to or from the
country. To be sure they have certain resting places where they can get
a food supply. This is obtained from the wild rice growing in shallow
water in the marshes, in the uncultivated districts, and from the grain
fields farther south; here they are often shot in great numbers, but to
bring down a flock from a high altitude when engaged in making their
long journey, one would perhaps think impossible. However, I have seen
this done. The desire for companionship is a very wide law in creation,
and the Indian is an adept in imitating the sounds made by the wild
animals with which he is familiar, as well as those of the bird tribe;
and these he often employs to attract those he wishes to capture. On
one occasion I saw this gift exercised with great success where I
thought at first the attempt was useless. It was on the Little Slave
River near the lake of the same name.
We saw a flock of wild geese in the distance at a very high altitude
going south. At once the Indians ran the boat into some rushes along
the shore, and we all lay flat and motionless in the bottom, while
one commenced in a loud voice to imitate the cry of the goose. The
flock were ranged up in their usual triangular manner with the leader
in front. Presently we saw that the sound had reached them, their
direction was immediately changed and we could also see that they were
coming nearer the earth. Our Indian kept on in the vernacular of the
goose, which was answered back by the latter. It was most interesting
to see that the leader of the flock was unable to detect exactly from
what particular direction the sound came. Two or three circles were
made around us, each one smaller than the other. Evidently they were
surprised at not finding the others where the sound came from. Finally
the circle narrowed, and the altitude decreased till it was brought
within gunshot range, when two of their number were shot and went to
furnish our evening meal.
After this their broken ranks were reformed, and under the same leader
they resumed their flight.
SECTION IX
INHABITANTS
Interesting as are the natural characteristics of the country and its
undeveloped resources, the inhabitants who make their home there should
demand from us first consideration.
The Indian, the Esquimaux, the half breed, the white trader and the
missionary constitute the different classes of the very scattered
population of that vast region between the borders of civilisation on
the south and the Arctic sea on the north.
In the region traversed between Edmonton and Fort Yukon we meet with
several tribes of Indians speaking as many different tongues. The
first of these as we go north are the Wood Crees, the Knisteneaux, of
Mackenzie. Then as we reach Athabaska Lake we have the Chippewyan; next
the Slaves, and lastly the Loucheaux or Squint Eyes.
The Cree, the Chippewyan and the Slave though differing somewhat in
speech resemble each other in character and in appearance, but when
we come to the Loucheaux we seem to have reached a different type and
one more closely allied to the eastern Asiatic than to the American
Indian. They inhabit the country of the lower Mackenzie, the Porcupine
and the lower Yukon. They are of rather small stature and dark
colour; are very inquisitive and much disposed to imitate the white
man in several particulars. In one characteristic, however, that of
cleanliness, perhaps from lack of example on the part of our race, they
have made very little progress. They are very devout in their religious
observances, most of them being members of the Anglican Church, and,
so far as I could judge, they lived a life quite as consistent with
its teachings as their white brethren. In the following reference to
Indian character and characteristics I wish it understood that I refer
to the other tribes not including the Loucheaux. On account of my short
acquaintance with the latter it would be presumptuous for me to say
anything further.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown_
COMING IN FROM THE NORTH]
The ordinary Indian is usually considered stoical and unsympathetic.
In the first of these qualities he certainly in some respects deserves
a place not second to his Greek prototype. He will endure torture as a
matter of pride that would shock the sensitive. His self-denial in some
cases also is almost heroic. To rob a cache, even when he is enduring
extreme hunger would be to him an unworthy act if he knew that the
owner were depending on it for his own use.
I wish also to qualify this by the statement that I am speaking of the
race as a whole and not of every individual constituting it. There is
diversity of individual character among the uncivilised equal to that
found in civilised society. It is incorrect also to deny to the native
Indian the possession of any measure of human sympathy. It is quite
true that he may sometimes seem to us cold and indifferent, but this is
more in appearance than in reality.
When fortune favours the hunter and he brings home a moose to his
wigwam, the first thing he does is to send a piece of the meat to his
neighbours. These may be many miles away. I remember on one occasion
in winter I engaged an Indian with two teams of dogs and toboggans to
bring me from the northern boundary of Ontario out to the main line
of the Canadian Pacific Railway. It had happened that just before
starting he had shot two moose. On the route were a few wigwams at long
distances apart, and at every one of these a present of fresh venison
was made. In some cases no one was in the wigwams at the hour of our
visit, but nevertheless, a portion of the meat was always left; a
pleasant surprise for the occupant on his return.
Their affection for their kindred and for their children is quite equal
to that of the ordinary white man. There is something very morose in
this affection. It was my fortune to spend a winter on Rainy River many
years ago before the railway had entered any part of Canada beyond Lake
Superior. There were several Indian settlements along the stream. Wild
game, especially the caribou and moose, were plentiful in the woods and
fish abundant in the river, so they were seldom in actual want of food
such as they were accustomed to. Very little sickness among them was
then heard of, but years after I went up the same river in a steamer
and sad were the stories told of the misfortunes that had come upon
these people. With the white settlers came the contagious diseases
such as smallpox, measles, scarlet fever, and others of even a worse
nature with the result that their settlements were practically wiped
out, and the graveyards, with their numerous little wooden houses built
over each grave, showed where the stalwart braves with their wives and
children had gone.
We noticed one old man who had lost all his family in one of those
epidemics, walking aimlessly among the graves, and we were told that he
spent most of his time there, no doubt in fancied communication with
the spirits of the departed.
The grief of the Indian woman at the loss of her child is very
touching. On one occasion I remember seeing at a distance two Indians
and a squaw pulling a little sleigh up the bank of a river, and
curiosity prompted me to join them when I saw them stop at a little
open space where there was a new made open grave. Then I noticed on
the sleigh the dead child which they proceeded to bury. The mother
was perfectly quiet until the men commenced to cover up the grave when
she uttered a wild shriek which revealed the depth of her maternal
feelings. She seemed to protest at what the men were doing, and on
inquiring from them I learned that she belonged to a tribe who buried
their young children in trees. This was done by cutting out a section
of the tree of sufficient size to receive the body and then closing it
up again, their belief being that the child would in some way enjoy
the life of the tree. Their ideas of these matters are vague and
undefined, but the grief of this poor mother at the thought that her
child was smothered in the earth instead of in some way living another
form of life in conjunction with the tree, showed that ages of struggle
for existence in the wilderness had failed to obliterate those finer
feelings of the soul.
On another occasion an Indian, residing on one of the reserves on the
Spanish River in Northern Ontario was engaged on a tug that towed scows
on that stream during the construction of the Algoma branch of the
C.P.R. His wife, living at their home on the bank of the river, seeing
the boat with her barges coming down stream hurriedly, gathered up her
husband’s laundry garments which she had ready, and picking up her baby
rushed down to her birch bark canoe, placed the little infant in its
wooden cradle in the bottom of the canoe and soon reached the barge,
but as she came in contract with it her canoe was upset. The tug was
stopped and a boat quickly launched and the mother rescued and taken
ashore while the upset canoe went floating down stream. Immediately she
recovered consciousness her first words were “Where is my baby?” This
was the first the men knew that the baby had been with her and they at
once paddled out to the canoe, and on turning it over found the little
one was there uninjured, between two cross pieces in the canoe the
baby in the wooden cradle was supported. They, of course, lost no time
in bringing it to its mother who received it with all the affection
possible, and during the whole of the afternoon she would laugh and
then burst out crying, uttering words in her own tongue which meant “I
thought I lost my baby.”
Turning from the serious and sentimental to the humorous or droll we
will find that the Indian is by no means lacking in his sense of the
ludicrous, neither is he slow in imitating by word and action any
individual who excites his mirth. He is really a born mimic and the
rehearsals around the camp fire are often as humorous as one would find
in any comic play. There comes now to my mind a dirty little Indian boy
who could easily make his mark in any of our theatres. He had the gift
of portraying the appearance, the actions and the walk of others and
of imitating the voice in a manner which I have never seen surpassed.
He had attended a mission school for some time, and one evening I
overheard him at their camp fire, intoning the English Church service
in a manner so like the Oxford graduate that it was difficult to
believe that the beautifully modulated sentences were uttered by this
little ragamuffin.
Let no white man who has any peculiarities of action or speech (and who
has not), visit an Indian settlement without expecting to have these
dramatised by the wit of the band.
They have also the gift of inventing names for individuals which aptly
hit off their character. For instance, during the long period in
office of the late Sir John A. Macdonald he was frequently visited by
deputations of Indians, which, like most deputations, asked for more
than could be conveniently given. Sir John was too astute to make any
definite promise that he knew could not be fulfilled, and too wise to
refuse them point blank, so he usually told them that he would consult
the great Queen Mother who was a good friend of the red man and that
they could go home trusting that they would be well treated.
These visits were repeated frequently without the desired result. As
one of the members expressed it, it was always to be done to-morrow,
till finally, Sir John was given the name “Old To-morrow.”
Another individual who occupied a prominent government position in the
early days, in the country west of Lake Superior was the late Simon
J. Dawson, the originator of the Dawson route between Thunder Bay and
the Red River of the North. He was known by every Indian between Fort
William and Fort Garry and from his official position they regarded
him practically as the government, and in fact it was not uncommon for
them to call him “Government,” but he, too, earned from them a derisive
name. Mr. Dawson was also a man of tact who lived up to the maxim
that a “soft answer turneth away wrath.” The Indians were not slow in
detecting this characteristic, and they humorously applied to him the
name of “Old Smoothbore,” and it would have been impossible to choose a
name that fitted his character so well.
At one time I had in my employ on the Saskatchewan River a number
of men, some of whom were Indians. One day on the trail the Indians
were conversing among themselves in the Cree language, and the word
“Mooneas,” which really means greenhorn, was frequently repeated. One
of the white men, a Canadian, could not restrain his curiosity, and
inquired from one of the Indians who spoke English as to the meaning of
the word. The reply came quickly with a chuckle “Canadian,” which was
followed by a shout of laughter.
They are also quick to detect anything in an argument or discourse
that to them does not seem logical. On one occasion a young clergyman
arrived at Norway House, north-east of Lake Winnipeg where he became
the guest of the agent of the post. The Indians were asked on Sunday
morning to come into the big room for Divine service. Obedient to the
invitation the Chief appeared with his people and listened attentively
to the sermon which was made intelligible to them through an
interpreter. The minister took for his text “Lay not up for yourselves
treasures on earth.” After the return to the post the agent made bold
to tell the young man that he thought his text rather inapplicable
to his audience; that the hoarding up of treasures could scarcely be
called the besetting sin of the native Indian, that in fact, his own
efforts and also those of the company, were constantly exercised in
urging them to provide for the morrow. The young man replied that
this phase of the situation had not presented itself to him but
that he would the following Sunday morning endeavour to correct the
evident mistake. So on the next occasion before the same audience he
prefaced his remarks by a few observations on his previous sermon by
stating--that what he had previously said was not to be taken literally
but figuratively; but when this reached the ears of the Chief through
the interpreter it meant that what he had said the former Sunday was
not true. Immediately this sermon was concluded the chief gathered his
men around him and told them that this man told lies; that he had just
told them that what he had said before was not true and that he did not
want to hear him any more.
On a Sunday morning in summer at Fort Simpson, the Roman Catholic
population of the little village were assembled at early mass in
obedience to the call of the visiting priest he would be with them the
following Sunday, and that he wished all his children to come prepared
to contribute liberally to a special collection that would then be
taken. On the following Saturday an Indian, or perhaps more properly
a half breed, for though practically an Indian he had inherited
sufficient French blood to entitle him to the name of Antoine, visited
the priest and asked him to lend him two dollars in hard money
(silver), stating that he would soon return it. The priest knowing that
Antoine always had a good account at the Company’s store readily gave
him the money. Antoine accompanied by his sweetheart was in attendance
the next day at the service and astonished the congregation by
ostentatiously drooping two dollars on the collection plate. Some time
passed without Antoine offering to return the money. Finally, one day
as the priest was preparing to leave on one of his periodical visits to
other members of his flock he accidentally met Antoine and reminded him
of the fact, to which the latter replied that he had already paid him
in church. The priest informed that this money was not for him but for
God. To this Antoine replied that God did not need the money, that he
was rich, at the same time reminding the priest of a recent sermon of
his, in which he had stated that where God lived all the streets were
made of gold, and ended by advising the priest to keep the money and
not be foolish.
It is a very noted characteristic of the Indian not to exhibit surprise
under any circumstance. Whether this is owing to his indifference or
whether it is an instance of his restraint born of his stoical nature I
am unable to say.
I had a young man of the Ojibway tribe in my employ for a whole winter
on one occasion. Fully fifteen years afterwards I requested the agent
at a post of a Hudson’s Bay Company to engage an Indian with his canoe
for me for a few days. On the following morning a middle-aged man
appeared. He spoke fair English and conversed freely as we paddled
around among the islands in the Lake of the Woods till noon when we
went ashore and had lunch; after which we resumed work and continued
till evening. On leaving for his camp he inquired if I wished him
for the following day, to which I replied in the affirmative. On the
following day at the noon hour I asked him his name. His reply was
simply “John.” I told him I knew that, but asked for his full name to
which his reply was “John Begg.” I told him that I had had a young man
of that name many years before who worked several months for me on the
Rainy River, and asked him if he knew him. His reply was simply “Was
me.”
After this he talked very freely and recalled to my memory many
incidents of the former period that I had almost forgotten, but I have
little doubt that though he knew me from the start if I had not made
the advance he would have left me without revealing his identity.
One other very similar case comes to my mind. When I was a boy, my
father used to employ, at certain times of the year, Indians living on
a reserve near by. Among these was a boy who spoke good English and who
was known by and answered to the euphonious name of “Hickory Jackson.”
For several successive summers he was almost a companion to my brother
and myself. As time went on my place of residence was changed and
probably twenty years after on visiting my old home I was taking a
stroll along the banks of a very familiar stream in the dusk of a
summer evening. The time and place served to call up many incidents of
my early days. When absorbed in such reminiscences I barely noticed in
the twilight the figure of an Indian with a boy walking behind him
on the opposite side of the road, who, in a dull monotone uttered the
words intended for me, “where you going,” and without halting passed
on out of sight. This was “Hickory Jackson” whom I had not seen since
I was a boy and never since. Though he manifested this indifference I
have little doubt knowing his character that when he reached his wigwam
this incident would be related to his family coupled with that of many
others of past years.
There is to my mind something very fascinating in the contemplation
of the characteristics, of the impulses and modes of thought, so to
speak, of those members of the human family who have not come under the
influence of civilised life where the Divine spark has had only nature
for its tutor.
Sitting by the camp fire I have often watched the immobile countenance
of the savage, (if such a name is applicable), and refrained from
making any suggestion as I wondered what was passing through his mind;
whether his thoughts were simply of the earth earthy, or whether there
was enjoyment in the contemplation of higher things. Does nature, of
which he is a child, furnish him with her richer gifts? If so, then he
should seldom be without enjoyment, for certainly his life is spent
close to her very heart.
Without pretending to answer these questions I am not unwilling to
reaffirm what I have said before, that in the uncivilised man we have
just as great a divergence of character as we have in civilised society.
That some among them take pleasure in and are appreciative of the
beautiful in nature is certain, and few there are who do not enjoy
melody, whether expressed in the semi-religious chants or the more
melodious songs of the feathered creation.
I must refer to one other characteristic which seems common to the
North American Indian irrespective of the tribe to which he may belong,
and that is his superiority over most civilised nations in his good
humour. It is very rare indeed to find any quarrelling among them, and
rarer still is such a thing as fighting among individuals unless they
are under the influence of spirits.
SECTION X
HALF BREEDS
The term “Half breed” is applied throughout Western Canada in a general
and indifferent way to the individual in whose veins there is an
admixture of Indian and European blood. In some cases the proportion
may be very largely that of the native race and in others quite the
reverse; but in each case the individual is quite content to be classed
under the general name.
In the early days the country along the Red River and the Assiniboine
in the Province of Manitoba was divided into parishes, in some of which
the inhabitants were almost all Scotch in others English and in others
still French, and from each of these races in alliance with the native
red men sprang the Scotch, English or French half breeds all having
certain similar characteristics combined in their several cases with
others as different as the several nationalities referred to.
The Frenchman coming principally from the Province of Quebec, where
his ancestors had already during two centuries become inured to
forest life, more readily adopted the life of the wigwam, and his
children became frequently Indians in many respects, while the English
and Scotch settler coming direct from the old land made a somewhat
unsuccessful attempt to bring up the children of his native wife as
Scotchmen or Englishmen. In nothing is this difference more noticeable
than in the speech of these different inheritors of Indian blood. Even
to-day in the parish of Kildonan, below Winnipeg, where there are many
descendants of the union of the Scotchman with native Indian women you
will hear a strange dialect, but still with sufficient similarity to
that spoken in certain shires in old Scotia to indicate its origin. The
terms “boy” and “whatever,” the latter peculiarly characteristic of the
Highlands of Scotland, are here used with great freedom, no matter what
the age or station of the party so addressed may be.
On one occasion the Bishop of Saskatchewan who was somewhat
irreverently-called “Saskatchewan Jack” had in his employ a half breed
boy as his valet. I am not aware that this individual ever dared, at
least in his Lordship’s presence, to use the latter term, but in the
most reverential tone he invariably addressed him as “boy My Lord.”
On one occasion I had in my employ one of these Scottish half breeds
whose constant reiteration of the word “whatever” became wearisome,
and I asked him why he employed it so frequently. To which he replied
“We use the word because we could not express ourselves without it
whatever.” Then rather piqued at my criticism he asked “Is it not a
correct word, whatever?” I said that it was correct in certain cases
but unnecessary in nine out of ten where he used it. To this he replied
that if it was a correct word he could see no objection to using it
“whatever!” This ended the conversation for the time.
The half breed whether of English, Scotch or French descent has
inherited from the Indian side certain qualities peculiar to that
race. While he has in many cases lost to a degree some of the higher
qualities of his untutored ancestor of the wilderness such as absolute
honesty, for which the latter was once famous, he has retained the
quality of enduring the greatest privations without complaint. He has
also usually a better physique than his native Indian cousin, and in
many instances is possessed of great strength. The loads that men of
his type frequently carry for great distances on rough trails, over
hills and even mountains is truly remarkable. On the other hand they
have little idea of the value of time--and are never in a hurry. This
they inherit from the Indian whose boast is that he has no need to be
in a hurry; that he owns all the time there is, and will tell you that
the white man acts as if there were no to-morrow. This characteristic
has also impressed itself on the few white men whose lot has been to
pass their existence in the lonely outposts. The dull monotony of
life at a trading post in unsettled Canada could hardly fail to have
this effect. Procrastination is common enough everywhere, but the
complacent way in which these people, whether Indian, half breed or
white, will allow the opportune moments to escape, frequently results
in far greater work for them in the future, and is very trying if not
exasperating to the ambitious traveller, delayed by their deliberate
methods. As an example of this I once had a journey to make in a very
rough country but where there was a chain of lakes leading out to my
destination. With the lakes open, a pleasure trip was possible, but
winter was fast setting in, and from the time the ice began to take
on the lakes, till it would be safe to travel over it, weeks might
elapse, and as there were no trails overland this would be our only
alternative. I had arranged with some Indians and half breeds who
possessed bark canoes to commence the trip on a certain morning. We
were up early and waiting for them to arrive. The morning was passing
without their appearance and precious time was being lost. We all
longed to be on our journey back to civilisation after months in the
woods. But there was no sign of their arrival. Finally I took a small
canoe, only capable of carrying two persons, and went in search of our
Indians. On arriving at a small lake we found them having rare sport
with some loons. The latter would dive and after several minutes come
to the surface when the men would try their luck with their rifles. In
this way they had spent a full half day at our expense. What mattered
to them if the lakes froze over that night? They were at their home and
had indulged in a forenoon’s sport which apparently had afforded them
great enjoyment. For days after they talked and laughed like children
over this adventure.
SECTION XI
THE TRADERS
I have already referred to the two great trading companies which a
century ago held undisputed sway over the whole north country of what
is now known as Canada.
After the union of these corporations under the name of the Hudson’s
Bay Company many years elapsed before the merged enterprises had much
opposition. During these years they established many posts some of
which were enclosed by a wall or stockade and dignified by the name
of fort. The officers at the more important posts were generally men
brought out from the Old Country largely from the North of Scotland and
the Orkney Islands. Most of them reached the country by way of Hudson’s
Bay and had had no opportunity of seeing the older Canadian Provinces.
Some of these men were of good families at home and had received a fair
education before leaving. All were honest and their loyalty to the
Company even surpassed that which they owed to their sovereign. It was
looked upon by them as treason almost worthy of death for any employee
of the Company to traffic in furs except for the Company, and the
independent trader was an Ishmael in the land.
These days have now changed. In addition to the great French House of
“Revillon et Frères” which has recently established posts at most of
the important points in the wild lands of Canada, there are a number of
other companies who have their tugs and barges on the rivers and lakes
which transport their supplies to their stores scattered here and there
along the route. Still the old Company with its organised staff and
well equipped service does by far the largest business in the peltries
of the country. Whatever may be said to the contrary the Hudson’s Bay
Company has much to its credit for its honourable dealings with the
Indians. As a result of its policy the Indian grew to respect the white
man and in a measure to acknowledge his authority so that when the
Canadian Government took over the north-west in the early seventies the
transition of authority from the Company to the latter was made without
difficulty, and the pioneer settler suffered little at the hands of
the red man. How different the history of pioneer life in the Western
States where massacres of the white settlers constantly occurred! This
I think should be largely attributed to the policy and conduct of this
pioneer Company.
[Illustration:
_Copyright Ernest Brown, Edmonton_
TRADING WITH THE ESQUIMAUX]
A post of this historic corporation is a veritable house of refuge
to the weary traveller through the great wilderness. The agent is
proverbial for his hospitality and the traveller from the outside world
is royally welcomed, especially if he comes accredited by some one
of authority belonging to the “Company.” None but the traveller who
has been so favoured can appreciate the comfort that he experiences
on being welcomed by a fellow white man at one of these posts after
perhaps weeks of travel; over a rough trail in winter, or through
dangerous rapids in summer. This enjoyment too, is not lessened by the
consciousness which he feels that his visit is welcome. He can on his
part afford some enjoyment to his entertainers in the way of furnishing
news of what has recently occurred in the outside world, for the agent
and his family have little to break the dull monotony of their lives.
If you want to enjoy absolute quiet for a season you can have it with
a few days’ travel by visiting one of those posts just outside the
borders of Canadian civilisation.
No rumblings of carriages, no screeching of whistles, no ringing of
bells greet you in the morning. You may perchance hear a cow bell
somewhere, but it is in perfect keeping with the tranquil surroundings.
In summer if the post is on a lake or river as it usually is you may
amuse yourself by paddling or fishing and shooting. But whatever you
do it will be in no haste. Even the sun seems to move so slowly,
and the days--especially the afternoon--seem loathe to give way to
the evenings; and the evenings never end till you have succumbed to
somnolent influences and have entered the land of dreams. If I were a
physician I would send my over wrought and brain racked patients to
one of these posts, and would guarantee a cure of all ordinary mental
troubles.
On the Lower Mackenzie the great event of the year is the arrival of
the Hudson’s Bay Company’s steamer which makes but one trip a year to
Fort McPherson. This steamer takes in the year’s supplies and brings
out the furs that have been gathered during the past season from all
the surrounding country. In addition to this she brings the “permits.”
This term includes not only _permission_ for the individual named to
receive ardent spirits but also the article itself which accompanies
the permit.
The quantity allowed any one person is supposed to be sufficient
to last him till the boat returns again a year hence, but with the
improvidence so characteristic of the native, and which the half breed
and white trader seem to have copied, this supply is usually consumed
in a few days. In some cases the agent at the post may retain a little
of the much prized article to treat his brother officers on state
occasions, but even this is exceptional.
The story is told of a meeting of officials at one of these posts
on a certain occasion after the annual supply had long since been
exhausted. During the preceding summer the post had been visited by
a party of entomologists who, on leaving for home had left a small
jar containing a liquid necessary for their work. After the ordinary
business had been attended to, the resident agent expressed his regret
at not having the wherewithal properly to entertain his guests.
This important and rather unexpected announcement caused a feeling
of sadness and disappointment to pass over the visitors which was
plainly visible as well as painful to the host, when all at once he
remembered that the summer visitors had left something that might in
combination with a liberal amount of water act as a substitute for the
“real stuff.” The jar was at once sent for and minutely inspected, but
whether it would be even safe to taste it, was a question. One of the
party expressed himself very strongly that it was nothing “whatever”
but deadly poison.
The host however, was very resourceful and just at the psychological
moment he saw one of his men, a faithful Scotch half breed, passing
with a team of dogs. He at once hailed him and asked him into the
august presence of the great men of the company. Archie, with cap in
hand, greatly surprised at such conduct on the part of his master,
wondered at first what fearful act of insubordination he had committed.
To his surprise, however, he was asked to help himself to a decoction
which the agent prepared. Archie was then asked to sit down and smoke
his pipe before starting out on his long journey with his dog team. The
assembly watched eagerly to see the effects on him but none appeared,
when the agent filled his glass again making the mixture stronger than
before. Sufficient time was then given to show that no evil effects
were to follow, when Archie was told that his dogs would be getting
cold and that he could go. What happened after this need not be
stated!
SECTION XII
MISSIONARIES
The different religious denominations have left to the Roman Catholic
and the Anglican the vast field included in the Arctic slope drained
by the Mackenzie and its tributaries, as well as that of the Porcupine
country to the west and the shores of the Arctic Sea to the north.
At several points here and there over this vast area these two
bodies have established missions and schools. Both bodies have been
represented by Bishops whose names will not be forgotten by this or the
succeeding generation. Bompas of the Anglicans and Grouard of the Roman
Catholics well deserve to rank among the greatest of modern missioners.
The former came out from England many years ago, and at once entered
this far away field. He soon became proficient in the different
languages of the country and lived a life of toil and privation of
which but little is known, for it is said he seldom spoke of such
things. He died at Carcross on the Upper Yukon in 1906 a few months
before I was there. His life work has been well portrayed in a recent
publication by one of his clergy to which I would refer any one who
wishes to be informed on the life and work of this “Great Apostle of
the North.”
On our journey from Hay River to Fort McPherson we had as a fellow
passenger Bishop Reeves who, for many years had been a co-worker with
Bishop Bompas, and his many accounts of the self-sacrificing devotion
of the latter prevented our learning much of his own experiences of
which he seemed too modest to speak, though it is well known that
his best days were spent in the country from which he has recently
returned, and is now Coadjutor Bishop of Toronto.
Bishop Grouard, though now well advanced in years, continues a work
very similar to that of his great contemporary. Both were familiar with
all the great streams of the north. Each had trodden over the same
trails, each knew as few others did the natives for whose welfare they
had both in their early life relinquished pleasant surroundings in the
Old World, for both belonged to influential if not noble families,
Bompas in England and Grouard in France.
I met Bishop Grouard only twice. First _en route_ on the Upper
Athabaska on my way back from Peace River, and a few years later at
Smith’s Landing on the Slave River. At first he was far from his home,
visiting his scattered flock and superintending the work of his clergy
over a diocese much larger than the whole of his native country.
On the last occasion he was hurrying back to his head-quarters before
starting for a journey to Rome where he expected to be in about six
weeks, but only for a short time, for circumstances compelled him to be
back with his charge before the long winter set in.
It is said that politics make strange bedfellows. The same may be
said of travelling in the sparsely settled districts of the north.
More particularly in what might be called the border land between
the pioneer settlements and the wilderness. When a journey is to
be made in the latter, one goes prepared with his own tent and camp
equipment and in most cases he is much more comfortable than when
he is approaching civilisation where there are certain houses of
accommodation called “sleeping places,” but usually pronounced without
the sound of the final “g” in the first word.
Once I had the honour of occupying a place on a wide bed made on the
floor of one of these road houses. Among the company thus accommodated
were Bishop Young of Athabaska Landing, the late Bishop Holmes, then
Archdeacon of Lesser Slave Lake, a Roman Catholic priest from Peace
River and several half breeds. Bishop Young and I agreed to “double up”
under the same blankets while the Archdeacon and Père Lazaret made the
same arrangement.
After each of the men of Holy Orders had offered up his evening
devotions in his own forms, the priest and the Archdeacon, who were
neighbours in the mission field, commenced a conversation, not in the
native language of either the one or the other but in the Cree tongue.
There was no affectation in this on the part of either. Father Lazaret
was of course familiar with French his mother tongue but knew very
little English, while the Archdeacon, an Englishman by birth, was not
particularly fluent in _la langue Française_; but a common ground of
communication was found in the tongue of the Cree Indian in which both
were equally at home.
Father Lazaret was at this time fifty-four years of age. Twenty-seven
years before he had come out from France as a young missionary at once
entering the field in the neighbourhood of Peace River, and this was
the first time that he had ventured out even as far as Edmonton. As we
approached this modern city in the evening with its lighted streets
and throngs of busy people and he mentally compared it with the little
port of the lonely post twenty-seven years before, his surprise at the
change can well be imagined. He was then on his way back to visit his
aged mother and to bid her a last farewell; then to return again to end
his days on the banks of the Peace; for him at least, so happily named.
Speaking of the use of different languages reminds me of the case of
a lay brother of the Oblate Brotherhood whom we met at the Roman
Catholic mission at Fort Good Hope near the Arctic Circle on the
Mackenzie. Forty years before he had left Ireland and joined the
members of his order in that distant field. Most of the clergy were
French and it was seldom indeed that he heard his mother tongue. The
consequence was that while he spoke French fluently, with a Hibernian
accent, and also the language of the Indian tribes of the country he
informed me that it was with great difficulty that he could remember
how to express himself in the tongue of his fathers. Thus do men of the
older civilisations sacrifice themselves for the sake of the most lofty
ideal the world has ever known.
CONCLUSION
AN APPEAL
I cannot close without calling public attention to a matter that
impressed me very forcibly on my journey and which has ever since been
before my mind, and that is the great need for the establishment of
a hospital somewhere in that vast region of the Mackenzie watershed
and its vicinity. Here is a country sparsely populated to be sure,
but of vast extent compared with which most European countries are
insignificant. Between Edmonton and the Arctic Sea we pass over sixteen
degrees of latitude, while the distance by the travelled route is over
2000 miles. Again from the Rocky Mountains on the west to the Hudson
Bay on the east the distance is almost equally as great.
At Athabaska Landing and at Peace River on the southern fringe of this
great wilderness a few physicians have now established themselves
but beyond these places the only medical aid available is from an
occasional visit of the Government physician and what the missionaries
are able to furnish. At practically every post and Indian village on
our way we were besieged for medicine by the afflicted. In many cases
they were the victims of chronic diseases which would undoubtedly
yield to surgical treatment provided proper means were afforded for
attendance and nursing.
A few of the missionaries have some knowledge. One of them, perhaps
the most proficient in this respect, informed me that appendicitis was
quite as prevalent among the Indians of those regions as it is in the
outside world, but that he felt incompetent to attempt an operation,
and, moreover, even if such operations were properly performed, the
conditions of life in the wigwam would afford poor chances for an
ultimate recovery.
If a small hospital properly equipped were established say at Fort
Simpson, at the junction of the Laird and Mackenzie Rivers, or at some
point on Great Slave Lake, it could be reached by canoes in summer
from points all along the Mackenzie even down to the sea on the north
as well as the country to the south along the Athabaska and Great Slave
Lakes and their tributary streams. By this means the poor people who
are at present compelled to live out a life of suffering till death
comes to their relief, would have the benefits that modern science
affords to the afflicted in civilised life.
All know the splendid results that have attended similar efforts on the
Atlantic Coast between Newfoundland and Hudson’s Straits through the
agency of Dr. Grenfell. Here is a field even greater than that of the
Labrador but where no such a benefactor has yet appeared, and my last
words in this connection must be an appeal to our people on both sides
of the Atlantic to unite in what would really be a most beneficent work
for suffering humanity. I cannot but believe that if this want were
generally known it would not be long till the charitably disposed would
come to the relief of those lonely and helpless people.
I have now concluded an imperfect narrative of a hasty trip through
the country, and I may as well confess that it is doubtful if I would
have sought the public ear through this publication had I not thought
it my duty to call attention to this matter, and if words of mine
should aid in bringing about an amelioration of the sufferings of those
dwelling in that lone wilderness, I shall feel well rewarded for having
attempted an unfamiliar task in the preparation of this narrative.
[Illustration:
Department of the Interior
HONOURABLE ROBERT ROGERS. MINISTER
W. W. CORY. DEPUTY MINISTER
WESTERN CANADA
_Route followed in 1905 by Elihu Stewart, D.S.L._
_Accompanying Report of Elihu Stewart, D.S.L._
]
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.
Text uses “totem” but one illustration uses “totum” in its caption and
in the List of Illustrations. Both spellings have been retained here.
Two duplicate pages between the Title page and the Preface have been
deleted by the Transcriber.
Page 70: “Donoueschingen” should be “Donaueschingen.”
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Down the Mackenzie and up the Yukon in 1906" ***
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