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i 1
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! ■ t : ' 2 3
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
BY
CLI\ E PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY, F.R.d.S .
Late Brifinh Vice-Comul at Kertck,
AUTHOK OK ' SPOKT IN THE CKIMEA AND CAUCASUS,' ' HAVAOK 8VANETIA,' KTC.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENT LEY AND SON,
iJttbliahera in (Oritnari) to Wtt ^ajeatfi the (Jittttn.
1888.
\s
CONTENTS.
LETTER I.
A :Sfontroal hotel— The journey out— Sea-sickness— The St.
Lawrence -Montreal in winter— A queer dentist— Base-ball
LETTER IL
Plattsburg- Hotel life— Lakes George and Champlain-A
thousand ishuids— Fort William Henry hotel-A lake-side
walk— The scenery — Fishing— Glen Falls— The races —
Shamus O'Brien— Luggage charges — Saratoga — A night
walk
k;
LETTER IIL
Lawn-teunis- Ottawa, or ' Lumber-town '—The Parliament
Buildings— Ottawa gay, and sleeping— Pioneer life— Scenes
from the Pullman- Nipissing— Through Trapper Land—
Ojibbeway redskins— The forests— An 'improver !'— Cartier
to Heron Bay— Angling-Winnipeg lands-Saskatchewan—
Climbing the Rockies— Across the Selkirks— A returnin-r
emigrant— Women's rights— ' Through still Avaters '— Vic°-
*o"a 28
LETTER IV.
Princetown-Sport-Vancouver-AtHope-A Siwash postman
— Hope society— Outfit— Estimates— ' Along the track'—
Fly-fishing- Hope Mountains-Grouse— Face to face with a
grizzly— A sensational predicament— A victory— Local game
stories
4G
V5
VI
CONTENTS.
YS
m
lett;:r v.
Pask-tra'n travelling — Incomparable foliage — An adventure-
Camping in the dark — A. bad hulf-hour — Tracking truants —
Similkameen Ra iiiliing — Packing trade — Mule-trains —
'Washing for gold '~A jioliceman'a career — A pioneer's home
— Indiin bear-stories—A capital drive — Nine-mile Creek —
Want of cultivation — I'otato patches and graveyards— A
cactus joke— Another camp - -
LETTER YI.
Camp of the winds — Little Tommy — 'Ciching' luggage— A
derelict brandy-bottle — Sporting irregularities — Four big-
horn — A climb — Cold and snow — A miserable night — A
whisky stimulant— A bad Indian — Our servauts' dignities -
FAUK
03
83
I
LETTER VIL
Following deer — Views from camp— A deceptive rifle — Toma's
first English— Mount lin rams— Another miss-fire — Taking
to a Winchester— ' Pu:ni<ing in lead' — A rest
1)1
LETTER VIII.
A stranger making ' parritch' — Jack rabbits and ' fool hens' —
Dinner at Bighorn Camp — Impudent robber-birds — A new-
comer — Naval whisky— A band of wolves — A lost oppor-
tunity
5t7
4
LETTER IX.
la search of sheep — A broken-winded horse — firalloching —
The wolverine — Rattling of riflet — The first ram — A three-
mile race— The rejoicing afterwards - - - - - 104
LETTER X.
The Dead Forest— A surprise— Full of mule-deer -A big buck
— A lynx-trap — Freezing weather— A break-neck canter —
Another good day— Deer-fat— Unsought shots— An appeal
for mercy — A scalp-lock or a wig ? Ill
M
CONTESTS.
vu
LETTKll XI.
PAi.i:
Wuvoa of purple peakn — Toin;i'8 liesitiition— A l>askot of '^rout
— Oil a ba<l road— I'ho lazy savai,'o— Dragging tlu horses up-
hill—The I'luakest camp — A straago tiiiil— Groat white Bterin
— Toma's liot pursuit— ' Hams lighting' — A largo bighorn —
A night of ft'te— Two lost buasts— A day's snow - All white-
ness— Toma's procautions — More rams— Snow-draped forests
— Turning to homo 1 1 'J
LKTTElt XII.
The moose and the white sheep An Indian 'sweat-horse' —
The character of the Indians— Plentiful goats— Toma's ex-
ortions — Sighting a goat — The ' man-sheep ' — A dead goat
bleating — An omen — The Indian terrified and tired - - KVJ
LETTER XIII.
A scare— Ravages of bears— The boat for Westminster — A
frozen bath at 4 a.m. — A horse-owner's career — The scorn of
beggary — fSood-bye to old IVIr. S. — Large breeds of cattle —
Tempting rise of trout— A little wading — Sinking in a quick-
sand — A rueful spectacle — A river light in dilRculties — Bril-
liant trout— Fourteen Mile House — Free whisky — Riding
through darkness and rain — A fagged-out mare— A dead
stop — In the lurch— A welcome recovery — Arrival in
shelter 14.1
LETTER XIV.
Wild beasts and wild men — Princetown — Old Quilltasket —
Law in British Columbia— Indifferent Christians— Polygamy
— Getting whisky— Traits of civilization— How the Indians
live — A seventh husband — Opinion about the ladies — The
women hardly known from the men . . . - . 1,">2
LETTER XV.
Indian fairy-tales— In cow-market — About Tumisco — His
adventures— The story of Kee-Keo-Was— The story of Sour-
grub — Sense, from Loo-loo-hoo-loo — Smothering invalids —
Funeral feasts— i. child's ' wake '— Waste of goods —The fear
of ghosts— Paying debts of the deceased - - - - 1,'>8
1^
Vlll
CONTENTS.
LETTKU XVI.
I'.Mt
FarowcU, ShniniiR — Pcrusinij a guide-book— Arousing illuHtrn-
tions— From Sanitoga to the Illuo Mountains — On the coach
— A change in the programme— Entered for 'hounding' —
The necessaries — Posted out— Interesting M'ork— The plan
of operutions— How the hounds behave — An Ayrshire re-
miniscence — Leo Harris the angler — Daubing his boat with
molasses— The Adirondacks— Want of dose-times - - 171
LETTER XVIL
Life in Victoria — The Celestials — Fushicns and amusements —
Invitations- Descrip' ion of the tow.i — A naval otlicer's ex-
perience with a panther — Looking for a house — A boating
picnic— Salmon- Hshing — Uame-tinding in the forest — The
atmosphere of Victoria -
IHl
i III
LETTER XVIIL
On the Canadian Pacific— A conductor's warning-An Iiish
omnibus-driver — Rumours of moose — The first time without
sun — ' No-raatter-where'— ACanadian Whiteley's— A courtly
manager — Plenty of credit — No bad debts — Arrival of Jocko
— A cart expedition — Jocko's life — Lumberers— Small farms
— Dense woods — A French Canadian trapper — Daikness and
the camp — A last look into the forest — Going moose-hunting
— A miracle of beauty — Blondin-like exertions — Jocko's
perseverance — Disappointment— Seven miles from camp — A
tiring day — Alarmed by wolves — * No-matter-whcre ' better
than Brighton - - - - - - - - -191
LETTER XIX.
Story of two moose-heads — How they were obtained — Plenty
of snow — White-tail tracks — On the scent of a bull moose —
An ideal scene— Lean meat and hunting — The value of fat
— Rewarded at last — One of Nature's first-born — A second
day's wanderings — A fusillade — Dead beat — Two bulls
brought low — Moose-hunting for legislators — One more day
— A major's amusing story --..---
21 r.
CONTENTS.
IX
LETTER XX.
n>'<iiiii,': of gnmo laws— These laws criticised- Plea for co-' '
operativo legislation — The buffalo— His extermination-
Table of close-times for <,'ame— Ditto for fish and fur-bearing
beasts— Pheasants— The traffic in trophies— Old methods of
destruction— Explanation of the tables— Proposal for nations \
park— Amendments in game laws- Leave-taking - - '2iU
POSTSCRIPT.
Canadian and London air-A contrast -The professions in tho
colony -Eli. -gration -Ready employment for good labonr---
Uork and wages-Female labour in great demand-Climose
'"oks~Costof food— Interesting facts— Conclusion - - -Jlx
I
I iH
IXTBODUCTIOX
T^ _. 12, King's Bench "\^'u]k,
-Dear Reader,
I am advised that you will require an
explanation of the form in which these reminis-
cences of an autumn in Canada are offered to
you. I have before written in the ordinary
form, one chapter following another in the order
HI which the incidents chronicled in each chapter
occurred, and all written by the same hand. Now
if I were a Chinaman, writing for possible Chinese
enno-rants, this v.ould be all as it should b.^ A
Chmese emigration k always, I believe, an emigra-
tion of bachelors. They never take their better
halves with them. Englishmen rarely leave those
better halves behind. A Chinaman goes to
«>Iourn for a few years, devoured all the time
by a ye«vui„g fo^. ^j^^ ancestral graveyard, and
xu
INTRODUCTION.
!
determined at all costs, dead or alive, to return
to China. An Englishman not only takes his
wife with him when he emigrates, but generally
goes to stay. This being so, I felt it my duty
to write for both sexes, and as I have very little
knowledge of what ladies like, I took my wife
with me, and have incorporated her letters to n
girl-friend in the same book with letters of mine
to a brother limb of the law in England.
There may be, I hope, a few letters froii
others of our party, who separated from us at
one point or another in our journey across
America. If the}'- keep their promises and
write, I shall give you ^he benefit of their experi-
ences, warning you that in all cases, though I
am responsible for all literary sins within these
covers, the writer of each letter is responsible
for the opinions therein expressed.
It was at the end of the last London season that
our little party got together and booked for
Montreal by the Dominion Line. The tennis-
lawns of Montgomeryshire had grown brown and
dry, and drier and more parched were the bodies
and brains of the husbands and brothers in
London, to whom certain Montgomeryshire
ladies suggested an autumn in Canada.
The papers had been full of rumours of the
great new line which Russia is threatening to
•if
i
hi'
INTRODUCTION.
xm
m
build across Siberia to the Pacific ; of reports of
the great new hne which the British have built
across their Siberia from Montreal to Vancouver.
It is an interesting race, this race of the
Teuton and the Slav for the Pacific, and we all
wanted to see as much of our share of the course
as possible before all this new North-West of ours
shall have become trite and conunoni)lace as a
London suburb. We knew that the same causes
had been at work driving each of these great
colonizing nations forward to the same great
peaceful ocean; that religious persecution had
driven the English to New England, the Russian
to the Caucasus and Siberia ; gold had enticed
the Russian to the Ourals, gold had attracted
the Briton to British Columbia; that the
Hudson Bay trappers had followed beaver and
marten ever further and further west, while his
Cossack rival had followed the fur-bearing beast
ever further and further to the east ; we had
grown interested in this march of rival nations
towards a common goal, led as they are b3'
descendants from the same old sea-kino- stock
whether through Rurik, or our Willkm the
Conqueror ; and, stirred possibly by some tinj-
leaven of the old wandering blood, which is
every Englishman's inheritance, we gave ready
ear to the persuasions of our fiiir friends, and
IIT>-
XIV
INTRODUCTION.
were so amply rewarded, that I dare to lioj^e
even tliese poor sketches of our wanderings may
be interestinjnf to those who have not vet had
time to look at England's great North-West for
themselves, or to take toll of the big game of
Canada before it has all been driven out and
rei)laeed by * bleating idiotic sheep ' and lowing
herds.
I have added to the story of our wanderings a
few words (or my wife has for me) about British
Columbia as a land to live in, for I hear, on
trustworthy authority, that there are more
English gentlemen (retired soldiers and others)
asking for information about our most wes^^ern
towns in America this year than over before,
and almost every number of the Field which I
take up contains some inquiiy a^ "th regard to
British Columbia. Whether Vancouver, the
town, or Victoria, the cai)ital of Vinicouver
Island, becomes the nucleus of the English
population on our Pacific coast, it seems to me
that the degree of England's influence on the
Pacific depends a great deal upon the class of
emiorants we send out there now, and if there is
added to the ofreat mass of Ensflish muscle and
energy which the mines nuist atti-act in the next
few years a projiortion of the more ])olished
elements of English society, I venture to think
INTRODUCTION.
\\
it will bo well for British Columbia, well for the
emigrants, and well for England.
Others have written carefully of Canada, town
P TV-f ^r ■''"■'"*' ''"^' (*« Canadian
1 acihc Railway), ste]) by step ; I only offer you
-' couj, dceal of the country as a whole, as you
™ght see ,t if you could spare time yourself to
flit through It this autumn. If you like the
sketch I give you, take my advice ; go and see
the original for yourself.
C. P. w.
i I
h
fi
fi;
A SPORTSMA]!f'S EDEK
•o<-o«
LETTER I.
Typical Hotel, Montreal,
-n T ^<^P^' 6, 1887.
Dear Lena,
At last I have a few minutes in which
to rest and write to you. The long dinner with
Its many courses of quaintly-named dishes is over
and the men of our party have gone off, they
say, to smoke ; but I shrewdly suspect their
search is rather for those stimulants which the
Yankees deny them at dinner, than for the inno-
cent cigarette.
This should be the cosiest hour of the day
but here nothing is cosy ; it is all too big and
bare and brassy. How can one settle down in a
tea-gown and shppers in a room with only bi-
furniture in it (no knick-knacks), bare walls, no
tii-e, and not even a fireplace ? The whole hotel
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
is, to my mind, something between a palace and a
prison, gorgeous as the one and stift' and chilling
as the other. It seems impossible to give the
rooms that air of comfort peculiarly dear to a
woman's heart ; but in sober truth there is
nothing feminine about them. Why, if I ring
for a chambermaid, I am answered by a bell-
boy. An American hotel may be the ideal hotel
of business men, who love places studded with
electric knobs and hung with telephones, but it
is not suited to the cat-like comfort-loving nature
of our sex.
You guessed, I suppose, from my recent silence
that I had won the day with * ce cher mari ' of
mine, and persuaded him to take me with him
on his wild-goose chase to America. By the
way, I fancy there is a letter wrong there ; the
animal we are to pursue spells its name with an
* m ' and not with a * g,' and Lena dear, * we '
are to pursue it ; you, perhaps, don't take in all
that this means at first, but you will by-and-by.
It means that I am to follow this monster of
mine through pine-forests and snowy wastes,
cook his food and clean his rifle, and, as he says,
* make myself generally useful,' instead of fooling
the dollars away in the towns. At first, of
course, I felt inclined to resist. Even in politics
they always have an opposition, and married life
I in'
LETTER I.
ilence
,ri ' of
him
the
the
th an
we '
in all
d-by.
er of
astes,
says,
)oling
it, of
>litics
dlife
requires more to enliven it than even politics.
Eventually we agreed to a peace with honour, of
which the terms were, for me, a visit to all the
chief towns of Canada, including Victoria, in
British Columbia, and a week on Lakes George
and Chamj)lain, America's great holiday resorts,
and a peep at Saratoga. After that I agreed to
sink into the squaw and camp out. You may
think I was mad to undertake so mu(ih. At any
rate, you will look on me as the pioneer of my
sex in this wild life. Xot at all so, little woman.
Even I, in my limited knowledge of the great
world, have heard of one Englishwoman who has
followed the colonel, her husband, over Hima-
layan snows and through the deep jungles of the
Terai to see specimens of almost all the shyest
and fiercest of India's great beasts of forest and
mountain fall to his rifle, while another English
lady even now camps annually on the peaks of
frosty Caucasus.
Up to the present, you will observe from the
post-mark, we have only got to Montreal, and have
hardly learned to walk with comfort on terra firma.
It was the very end of August before I could
tear my lord and master (?) away from those dim
and cobwebbed chambers in which he and his
law-books dwell.
We started at nifrht.
peoph
gome
1-
I 1 1
1
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
m
journey always should do, making sure of a long
day for final preparations, and a (juiot comfortable
dinner before making the plunge. Even at the
outset, the contrasts were striking. One moment
you were rattlinij alonijf beneath the thousand
lamps of London, through all the stir and noise
of its many wheels and million voices, and as it
were the next, the panting of the engine was the
only sound you heard as you glided through
newly-shorn harvest-fields, calm and still, and
white with the dew of dawn.
Here and there my husband pointed out the
vanishing brown wings of a covey of partridges
which our train had frightened off the line, and
then we pulled up suddenly at Liverpool.
This is one of the most uncomfortable stages
of the journey ; you arrive at Liverpool too
early. If after long seeking you find an hotel, it
is in deshabille still. The chambermaids in curl-
papers are on the stairs, and the waiter looks as
if he had only just been roused from a slee])
beneath the table. If you visit the ship in which
you are to sail, you will find her, too, in curl-
papers and the chief steward in an execrable
temper. Poor fellow ! he has confidently counted
on seeing none of the passengers for at least an-
other four hours, and his nerves are not yet
braced for receivino- them.
f
i
'< ! 'I
i
LETTER I.
In spite of tlie unfuvoumblo conditions in which
T generally see it, I like Liverpool. It is an
amphibious town, and one of uncertain nationality.
Its lanij^uairc and manners seem to me to savour
almost as strongly of America as its atmosphere
does of tarred roj)es and salt water, and there is
a freshness and vigour about it which seems to
uic more full of hoj)c and energy than the atmo-
sj)here of any ordinary English town.
But enough of Liverpool. Come on board
and be introduced to our fellow-passengers,
' hoi^' > . ' Canadians for the most part, who have
bet ' Uy celebrating Her Most Gracious
Majcv/ s jubilee in England. Mr. O'Brien, the
irreverent Hibernian of our party, calls them
' Jubilee Yanks.' Don't be disapi)ointed, dear ;
I really am not going to be even a little bit
spiteful about our pretty cousins, for I am fiiin to
confess that they won my heart almost as entirely
as they did my husband's.
But not just at first, Lena, for charity (let
alone love) is a somewhat difficult virtue to cul-
tivate on board ship towards the young women
whose jaunty red hats, blue eyes, and saucy
moods have enslaved and carried off the men,
whose whole time should be devoted to the
arrangement of yoiir wraps and the carriage of
ijour beef-tea. They have not yet forgotten.
A SPOIiTSMAN'S EDEN.
tlioHo fair * Ciumcks,' many of the wilos of their
li^reat-j^Tandinuiniuas, nor lost any of tliat pretty
art of coquetry wliich those worthy daines im-
ported from hi belle France in the seventeenth
century. * Irish mavourneens with French man-
ners/ one of the men called them ; but though
he nmy have been a judge of mavourneens, his
knowledge of French, at least Canadian French,
api)eared to us at Quebec somewhat limited.
My dear, Madame F., the old French governess
at the school where you and I were taught, could
not herself make those cabmen of Montreal un-
derstand either French or English. To return
to the ladies ; don't imagine that you will win
your way to their hearts by reminding them
of any French blood which may be in their
veins. On the contraiy, if you intend to carry
their affections by storm, mistake them for Avan-
derers, like yourself, from the old country. You
will soon find that they are more English than
the English, and that they * want in the worst
way * to persuade you that Canada has no accent
and no odd little idioms in her English, and they
will * go lio])ping mad ' if you dare to disagree
with them.
If you read your Queen conscientiously, you
will find two queries often repeated with regard
to sea- voyages. In various keys the wail is
I
LETTER T.
you
repoatofl, })ut the burden is always the same :
* How shall I avoid sea-sickness, and what must
T wear at dinner?' The second question won't
hother you much at first, Lena ; believe me, you
won't risk an entry into the bii^ salon, where the
stewaixls wobble unsteadily, and the soup descends
in a torrent on your shoulders for the first four
days. After that, if you come down to dinner
you will find nothinof more needed than a morninir-
frock with pretty lace fichus and ribbons.
As for sea-sickness, you cannot a\ j;d it.
None of the remedies api)ear to me to be of any
good ; 1 Lit whatever you do, avoid sodium. I
don't know that sodium is anyone's patent, so I
attack it boldlv, with no fear of an action for libel
before my eyes. It is an innocent-looking little
white i)owder, which in our case was brought on
board by a singularly benevolent-looking little
lady, who had been taking it steadily for weeks
beforehand. The coffin which the ship's car-
penter built for that little lady was fortunately
not wanted, but she deserved it.
My husband and I chose the St. Lawrence
route to Canada, chiefly because it is advertised
as the shortest route in open water. So I suji-
pose it is, but the St. Lawrence is no duck-pond,
and quite capable of bei >o^ rough at times.
As to the scenery, I \ as a little disappointed,
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
i»ii
but you will say that I have seen too much, and
am blaseo. At Kimouski, the first lA'dce at which
we touched after leaving Moville, we put a few
passengers ashore, losing them and ourselves in a
dense fog.
Out of the fog, we steamed slowly up a fair
broad water-way between two low, gray walls of
rock, hard and bare, looking more like the teeth
of a trap than the banks of a river.
Behind these ice-worn rocks lie low, level
lands, stretching back unbroken to the horizon,
and so flat that the trees appear to rise from the
river-bed. Scores of white cottaores strasc^'le in
a disorderly way along the banks, not in separate
hamlets, but in one long irregular line. There
appear to be no big houses, and no factories.
Such as they are now, the white houses have
been for generations, and will be for generations
to come. The people who inhabit them care not
for great things, but ai'c content to remain men
of low estate.
There was something in the still, broad water-
way, level lands, and green stretches of wild-
fowl haunted rush and sedges, which, as we drew
near Montreal, reminded me of Holland, and a
big, broad-sailed boat (the sail absurdly too big
for the boat), bearing down upon us through
the evening haze, strengthened the impression.
LETTER I.
tcr-
i
m
fe^
•ew
*i
.1^
I a
big
^
igh
Montreal, they say, is an island, but I did not
notice this as we drew in to harbour. A mass
of spires and lofty buildings seemed to rise from
the water, while behind them lay the low hill
which bears the proud title of Mount Royal.
It is a pretty town from the water ; most
towns so seen are ; but when you land at the
wharf it is just as if you had travelled only from
one dock at Liverpool to another. The same
smell of tar and ro})cs ; the same nautical shouting
and confusion ; the same blending of Yankee and
Britisher, only here there is a third element,
more noisy than either — the Fi'ench.
You notice, dear, I have gone by the grim old
citadel of Quebec without a word. I did so on
purpose. One of our many invitations from
Canadian friends on board is one to stay at
Quebec on our way liome and see the town and
town life in winter. This we mean to do, so that
you will hear all about Quebec in due season.
Of course all Canada should be seen in winter
— at least the towns, and especially Montreal,
when its glorious ice-palace gleams outside with
frosty diamonds, and inside glows with human
life and colour ; when sleigh-bells make nuisic in
the air, and you feel you are in the very home of
dear old Father Christmas, in the land of free
frolic and winter revelry.
n
M
10
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
I! 'HP
Summer in Montreal, they say, is too hot for
anything but salamanders ; but now, in early
autumn, the temperature is perfect, the weather
exquisite.
Mount Royal is thickly wooded, and just now
its woods are bright with colours which would
put to shame an English flower-garden.
We wandered up it to-day, discoveiing a large
colony of beautiful little bungalows and cottages,
nestlinof amonof the woods from base to summit.
The woodwork and roofs of these cottages are
painted in the most gorgeous colours ; but colour-
ing which would be offensive elsewhere is here
lost sight of in summer and autumn in the bril-
liance of the surrounding foliage, and in \vmter
stands out a pleasing relief from, and contrast to,
the white monotony of the snow.
Most of the cottages are empty, and we met
scarcely a soul in the pai'k. The Montrealers
are away in the big hotels of Saratoga, in the
cockney fied sporting-grounds of the Adirondacks,
or more wisely in the seclusion of Nepigon and
her sister lakes.
From the top of the Mount you get a fine
view of the rich flat country round the town, if
you are not too hot to enjoy it. And, indeed, it
was hot. At home we connect Canada in our
minds with blizzards and frost-bite, and here
LETTER I.
II
and
fine
n, if
d, it
our
here
were we in September, on the highest point in
Montreal, gasping for heat. Even the chip-
munks were too hot to chatter, and the water-
barrel, with its little tin pannikin, put out on the
grass by some benevolent citizen, looked (and
was) as dry as a husband's homily on tidiness.
There must be some very wealthy people here
amongst the 250,000 who make up the popula-
tion, for the houses are, some of them, quite
magnificent stone structures, with smart grass-
plots and ornamental trees round them. As the
owners and their servants are away or asleep this
hot afternoon, the trees and grass-plots are alive
with robins. * Robins,' Lena ! I'll trouble you !
birds, my dear, about as big as domestic fowls,
with big red waistcoats and heavy gait, about as
much like our smart little birds as a Scotch cook
is like a French maid.
After ' doing ' the Mount, we walked down
Xotre Dame Street and alonsf the lines of the
tramcars, to the country outside Montreal.
But what ai e the shops like ? I hear ycju ask.
Well, dear, there are only two kinds here which
would interest you, and if you had such a husband
as mine you would not be able to see much of
them. What a hurry men always are in when a
bonnet-shop is anywhere near ! I have seen
my better-half almost steeplechasing over the
fT
12
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
perambulators in High Street, Kensington, in
his desire to avoid John Barker's pretty windows.
The confectioners and the furriers are the shops
par excellence in Canada ; and as about half of
the shops in the main streets belong to one or
other of these classes, we have little to complain
of Red foxtail boas, and a silvery moonlit sort
of fur, which they call grizzly bear, are amongst
the prettiest exhibits in the furriers' windows ;
and a box of what the natives call * mallows,' sent
to you by this post, will convey some idea of the
confectioner's skill to your palate.
The men chaff us in a superior kind of way
about our taste for sweets, but they forget the
beam in their own mouths. I mean the cigar.
Don't you think it is simply that to suck some-
thing is a necessity of the race ? Both sexes
start level on thumbs ; in later life consoling
themselves with sucfar or tobacco, accordinsx to
sex. The result in both cases is the same — tooth-
ache ; and this brings me naturally to a physical
trait in our Canadian cousins which is as notice-
able as any — I mean their ' golden ' smiles.
* A beaux dents fennne n'etait jamais laide,'
you know ; but when all nature's pearls are set
in gold, how can a woman's smile be anything
but bewitching ? Really some of the girls you
meot carry quite a small foitune in their mouths.
■f
3
LETTER I.
13
Tempted by them, I visited a ' dental doctor,'
and for the first time passed an hour in one of
those terrible chairs peculiar to dentists' surgeries,
without suftering any pain worth complaining of
' Shall I stop it with gold or composition, miss V
inquires the tormentor. ' Which do you recom-
niend, doctor?' 'Oh, please yourself; it's your
funeral, not mine,' was the queer retort.
From the main street we wandered out by the
tram-lines into the suburbs, passing on our way
through a poor quarter, where almost all the
inhabitants were Frencli. It seems to me that
two-thii-ds of the population of Montreal is
French, and quite three-fourths of the wealth
Englisli. Along the river's bank, for quite four
nnlcs outside the town, a long line of villas takes
up every available building site, the gardens
running down to the river's brim.
Hospitals and lunatic asylums abound, and
(much more interesting) there is a irreat dairy-
farm doing a cai)ital business, ' run,' hke most of
the nnlk business of Montreal, by Englishmen.
But I must cut my rambles in pen and hik short,
Lena, f.r liere are the men anxious to arran<rc'
.■ibout a visit to ' the kennels,' and a base-ball
matcli to-morrow.
Fancy, my dear, an Englisli club, a racquet
court, and the kennels of a well-managed pack of
^r
m
14
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
i
m
foxhounds, all perfectly in keeping with the life
that surrounds them, on the very spot Avhere,
three hundred years ago, clustered the teepees of
the red men of Hochelaga !
Your wandering crony,
J. P. W.
P.S. — I have just come back from the base-
ball match, and am not much impressed by the
game (which is difficult to understand) or the
play. Though unable to judge of it as a Avhole,
I could not help noticing that the fielding was
inflimous. Catches, my dear, which a village
team would have secured were missed over and
over again by these * champions,' and no one
seemed surprised. I am told that the long
winter, and sodden condition of the ground when
the thaw sets in, ruin any cricket-ground which
is attempted near Montreal ; but even if this
were not so, I doubt if our Canadian cousins
have the same genius for cricket as those other
cousins of ours in the antipodes. The worst
trait, my husband says, both of Canadian and
Yankee character, is the want of enthusiasm for
games which require physical exertion. Almost
all the base-ball i)layers, for instance, are pro-
fessionals, and there is a very serious cash com-
petition for the services of any exceptionally good
life
e
LETTER I, j^
man, while betting on the various teanis~mns
very high. Amateurs are rare in the extreme—
at least, so we were informed by a Canadian
gentleman with whom we travelled. Ah, well ;
I expect the fact is that the ardent spirits who
could find no better battlefield than the cricket-
ground if they were at home in England are in
Canada measuring their strength against the wild
woods of untamed nature, and winning, not a
match, but a livelihood by the work of their own
hands, knocking down trees with a girth of thirty
feet instead of hitting sixes to Ug,
i*'.'
■p^
i6
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
LETTER II.
i
■p.
'W
Saratoga,
%/. 15, 18«7.
Dear Lena,
We have been having what our Ameri-
can friends would call a very breezy time of it
since I last w^rote to you. The men at one time
got quite * out of hand,' and at Plattsbui'g poor
Mrs. W.'s popularity as guide went down a long
way below par. Now I am glad to say it is u[)
again to some fabulous point to which my know-
ledge of Stock Exchange terms cannot attain.
Forgive me these phrases, Lena, but what can
you expect of a woman who has been living in
hotels in which the favourite lounge is like the
waiting-room of some gorgeous railway-station,
with a bookstall, telegraph office, and ' the latest
Stock reports ' all within reach of her rocking-
chair ? Xow that I am beginning to get used to
the ways of this very New World, I am im-
mensely interested, and would gladly stay longer,
LETTER II.
17
the
tion,
Itest
ling-
ll to
iin-
S
■m
•f
1
-■■*
l)iit the first pluni^e into it is rather Hke your
first i)lunge in the sea ; it leaves you gasp-
ing.
On the way from Montreal to Lake George,
tlie traveller must stav at Plattsbur,<T, whence
the boat starts uj) the lake next morning
at a terribly early hour. Hotel life does not
suit men, my dcai', and ten days on a steamer is
the worst possible prelude to it. They smoke
too many cigars and get thirsty too often, the
result being what they call ' liver.' Our three
* lords of creation ' had been very good until they
got to Plattsburg. There they broke down.
It was a very pretty hotel we stayed at, but
there was nothing to do but to sit in a row in rock-
ing-chairs and rock. At sui)i)er-time (our dinner)
the waiting was infamous ; that duty being jjer-
formed by women. I heard my husband declare
that Shanms O'Brien was the only one who could
get attended to, and he only because he had such
an Irish way of putting his arm round the wait-
resses' waists, ' No apollinaris, no soda, no
whisky, nothing to eat except pickles, and
nothing to eat them with except dessert-knives
which would not cut butter ; a sufficiency of
nothing except iced water, electric lights, and
brass spittoons as large as Lake Ontario.' So the
men grumbled, and when to console myself I
2
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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picked up an American i)aper (The Doctor, July
1st, 1887) and read there that one of the con-
tributors considered liis compatriots * mucli less
than half baked, so infernally and eternally crude,'
I felt inclined to agree with him, and to long for
the more mellow manners and greater comfort
(without the glare) of the old country.
All American hotels seem to me mere hot-
house productions, * forced,' so to speak, until
they have all the outward marks of the last
degree of civilized excellence, without any of the
thousand and one little things which come of
slow growth and a century's experience, and are
so essential to one's comfort. But I will stop
grumbling if I can, for as in fancy I step with
you on board the great lake steamer, to begin
our journey down Lakes George and Champlain,
scenes of real beauty open out all round us, and
if only man were less and nature more, if the
great saloon, * finished in black walnut and butter-
nut,' were a little less noisy than the jjarrot-house
at the * Zoo,' I could be content almost to sail
for ever on those silver waters, studded w^ith isles
innumerable, wooded to the very water with dark
pine and silver-white birch-trees. I have never
read what other people say of these lakes (more
shame to me, perhajjs), but they strike me as
being the cockney camping-grounds of New
LETTER II.
19
•A
^
vk
>lain,
^■■'
and
"4-
the
tter-
-■■'*
ouse
^&L
sail
■v^
isles
^A^fljn
dark
ever
M
wore
■/■if:
e as
N^ew
York, just as the Thames' hanks in sunnner are
the dwelHng-place of the nomadic Londoner.
I said that there are a thousand islands, but
on each of them is a camp. On most of them it
is a permanent camp. At the head of the lake
it is an Indian wigwam which has grown into
the Fort William Henry Hotel, a palatial bar-
racks over a hundred yards in length. Over all
the lake the same phenomenon is taking place in
difterent stages of completion. Here the en-
campment is only a little white tent, which
gleams prettily amongst the island greenery. On
the next island the tent has given place to a
temporary shanty of wood, more comfortable,
perhajis, but less picturesque ; and so the forms
of men's shells grow and vary from tent to castle,
from chalet to pagoda, but everywhere the
pagoda, with red roof and coloured walls, pre-
dominates ; white boats, red-rimmed, dart out
from, or lie idle in, the bays of every islet ; every
island creek is bridged by white Chinese bridges.
At one landing-stage a chorus of picnicking
damsels in white tam-o'-shanters come down and
spell the name of their camp as a part song for
the edification of our passengers ; at the next
point a gay i)arty lounges in front of a new hotel,
whose trim lawns and red gravelled walks look
out of harmony with the silver lake which Feni-
w
20
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
nioro Cooper sang so sweetly, and on which you
listen rather for the war-whoop of the Mohican
than the everlasting ' toot ' of the steam launch.
You know, Lena, that I am a thorough rustic,
that I hold that the coaching meet is almost the
only really pretty sight in Ltmdon, and that I
am condemned to dwell witli a husband whose
tastes are purely barbaric, so you will take my
descriptions with the necessary grain of salt. To
do the * lakes ' justice they are very, very beautiful,
very bright with colour ; the local guide-book
srys * the tree-tops blush with bunting ; shores
put on a flannelly hue, and shadowy points
blossom out in duck and dimity.' And the
guide-book is right ; but what I should like to
see just once is the lakes at rest, with only the
colour of their autumn woods to brighten them ;
only the blue smoke of a wigwam fire to suggest
man's presence, and only tlie cry of the fish-
hawk, or Ihe splash of the rising trout, to break
the stillness.
Wo were tired when we got to the hotel, and
glad to rest in its vast piazza, supported by a
grove of Corinthian columns, until it was time to
dine, and felt hope spring again within us as we
noticed the number of tennis costumes about the
grounds. But we were doomed to disappoint-
ment. The American youth wears * blazers,' it
■^.
:%
i
4
and
we
the
lint-
/it
if
LETTER II.
21
f
4
:f
is true, and there are tennis-courts, but we never
saw anyone i)laying upon them, or indeed doing
anything else more energetic than the smoking
of ciirarettes and drinking of cocktails.
The Americans work so hard, I suppose, that
they have no energy left to play. Rock, rock,
rock ! went the scores of chairs all day, slowly
and sleepily — like the roll of the Pacific, said one
of the men ; but the boats lay idle. No one rode
the saddle-horses, and those who went for a drive
only went to be driven.
At one of the last lake-stations we astonished
our American friends by announcing our inten-
tion of landing and walking the rest of the way
round the shore to the great hotel. It was a
nine-mile walk, and a walk well worth taking,
though the road w^as six inches deep in sand,
making every mile worth two for training 2)ur-
poses, so my husband said. Golden rods and
single sunflowers, with a host of other blossoms,
of which I do not know the names, mingled with
the great ferns by the roadside. Houses, with
well-kept lawns and ornamental flower-gardens,
alternated with bits of forest or aj^ple-orchards,
whose rosy fruit hung temptingly by the wny-
side. On the lake side of the road every patch
of land was either built on or showed some siern
of being reclaimed, if it was but a land-agent's
m
ui;|
I ;
I
m
t ;•
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
placard of *a valuable building lot, with a lake
view.' The hotel was chiefly peopled by ladies ;
the male element appeared to have migrated,
and the women seemed so wearied that they had
taken (some of them) to cultivating the dramatic
talents of the negro waiters, a troujDe of whom
had recently delighted the guests with recitations
and scenes from Shakespeare.
These negroes display, I believe, considerable
talent, and a great desire to pu^ii tuemselves in
life, some even (here again I speak from hearsay)
having been educated at Harvard University.
A nigger Othello might pass muster, but Lena !
imasfine Hamlet done in black !
About the second day our men had tried the
fishing, discovered that the trout in the streams
were neither as numerous nor as large as the gay
little fellows in our Welsh brooks, that a jDickerel
is only a diminutive 'Jack,' and in spite of a
bucket of cockroaches, to be impaled alive, had
failed to obtain a specimen of the famous black
bass. So my husband threatened Rocky Moun-
tains ; and even Mr. L., always amiable and
contented, hinted at a visit to the Adirondacks.
Ireland came gallantly to the rescue. Lena,
if you ever travel, make a note of this. Forget
your Baedeker if you like ; your purse if your
husband is with you ; your music if you really
I a
i
LETTER II.
23
Ihj
don't want to sing ; but don't forget to take an
Irishman * along.' They may be a very disreput-
able lot politically — I believe they are (I'd give
them Home Rule if I had one for a husband) —
but as travelling companions they have no equal.
Oar Irishman had discovered, whilst teaching his
compatriot, the ba^-tender, how to make a Man-
hattan cocktail, that there were races about to
take place at Glen Falls tliat afternoon. In ten
minutes he had organized a party to attend them,
and I am bound to admit that he took at any
rate all the prettiest bonnets about the hotel with
him. That was a merry afternoon. Glen Falls
is a town of exceedingly pretty houses, peeping
out from very wooded streets, and most of its
ten thousand inhabitants were at the races that
day. The races themselves astonished me. In
every one of them there were * tvhccls.' No
riding, ;vll driving ; and such driving ! Two
large, light wheels ran close against the horse's
quarters, and over a little board, supported by
the wheels, lay the horse's swish tail, on which
sat the jockey. At first I thought I was watch-
inoc drivintf -races between tailed men ; later on I
discovered to whom the tails belonged. All that
afternoon the fun was fast and furious, Ireland
versus America being a very pretty match in the
matter of wit. Poor Mr. O'Brien ! 1 really
IMP
24
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
m
thought his enterprising little companion had
completely silenccJ even him at lunch ; for in
a pause we all heard this terrible sentence :
* Misther O'Brien,' mimicking his brogue to the
life, * maybe if your mouth wasn't so full I'd be
better able to hear what you are whispering in
my ear.' Poor O'Brien was very hungry, and
very talkative, but, nothing daunted, he replied :
* Sure, lady, it's onl}'' my heart that's in my
mouth when I'm talking to you.' What followed,
history does not record, but surely Mr. Shamus's
whisperings deserved a hearing after that.
However, even race meetings would not induce
our restless ones to remain at Lake George, where
they said you had to pay two shillings for the
privilege of bathing in the lake, and the same
sum for every article brought up for you from
the boat to the hotel. When we landed and
walked on to the hotel in the lirst instance, one of
our party left a hand-bag behind him, which he
declares was unfortunatel}' open. The contents
came out, and were carried up separately at two
shillings apiece, by the steamboat peoi)le, who
have a right to deliver your things (and charge
for so doing) if you are not present to instruct
the hotel porters to take charge of them for you.
The hotel proprietor was very good about this
charge, and did what he could, but of course he
LETTER II.
was helpless and blameless in the matter. For
the future we determined nothing should part us
from our luggage, and when, a day or two later,
we arrived at Saratoga, it was very amusing to
see the men clinging like bulldogs to their heavy
bags and our bonnet-boxes, and resisting all the
importunities of the hotel porters, who were
\n;.ious to relieve them of their loads, and would
h lave charofed a cent for so doinar.
I dare say you will be disappointed, but I am
not going to tell you much about Saratoga. I
don't like it, and I am tired of fault-finding. I
am sure I shall find lots to admire in America,
and I like its kindly, genial people immensely ;
but I do not like its big hotels, with their pub-
licity, noise, and discomfort, and the hotels have
been getting bigger and more unpleasant all the
way from - ,V;ebec, until they come to a climax
in Sara'A''4'''!.
Of con v„> v^aratoga is what Bath was, and
what some pc \q say Bath is going to be again,
that is, a piuuo to drink waters in, to gamble,
flirt, and spend money in, and tlierefore the
gayest, wickedest, most amusing place on earth.
I don't know whether America is old enough to
have li .? gout ; at any rate, she has no lack of
curati\ ; -r ••^"^j^k. There is hardly anything, Lena,
which you can find in the chemists' shops at
1
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26
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
^n
home, which you cannot take ' naturally ' in one
or other of the waters of Saratoga. Take my
advice, dear — a little champagne of a good brand
is better, and does you more good than any of
them.
But, after all, the best of Saratoga was a
certain evening walk we took when we arrived.
The road (I don't ki. 'ts name) led out of
town, was very, very broad, and all along each
side of it ran a line of pretty detached bungalows
(that is what I should call them, at least), low
houses, with fanciful roofs and irregular outlines,
with large porches, smothered with flowers, and
standing, as often as not, in unfenced gardens
reaching down to the trottoirs. All the windows
were ablaze with light ; pretty pictures of squire
and dame, of girls singing at pianos, of all the
phases of home life, glanced past as you walked
along — too public for your eyes to avoid them,
too private for your good taste to allow you to
dwell upon them. The night was sc beautiful,
the light so bright, the tree-frogs even so musical
in the trees, that the only thing like it which 1
remember is the opening scene in Mrs. Praed's
novel, * Moloch.' I am sorry I ever saw Saratoga
by daylight, for, 'n my case, daylight brought
disenchantment. And now, Ijena, good-bye. Our
party has just broken up. Even Mr. Shamus's
LETTER IT. ^7
eloquence could not keep us together any longer.
It was a sad scene when, in our private roonChe
produced from somewhere in his Gladstone-ba'g a
bottle of ' rale old Irish whisky/ and with this
and his native blarney tried to keep the men
together for another day. But it was no good.
Mr. L. ivill go to the Adirondacks to shoot a
stag, which my husband says he will never see
except in guide-book pictures ; and my husband
is off to the Rockies or the Cascades, or some-
where, where people don't wear collars, where
people don't need dollars, and, above all, where
there are no hotels.
Thine, etc.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
LETTER III.
Victoria,
British Columbia.
Dear Lena,
It is almost impossible to believe that
I am not dreaming. Sitting by the open window,
the drowsy summer air comes in off the sea and
fans my forehead ; from the lawn outside I can
hear, * Well played,' * Love thirty,' * Deuce,' and
other scraps of tennis jargon from lips of Eng-
lish men and women. I.i fancy I can see the
gray stone walls of your old English rectory and
its wreaths of blue clematis ; but if I open my
eyes, they look, it is true, across green tennis-
lawns and past English players, but the skies are
bluer than those skies of Gloucestershire ever
were ; instead of the Cotswold hills are the snow
caps of the Olympian mountains, the houses
round me are of timber instead of stone, and just
beyond are pine-forests, in which the trees are
so vast that a sinofle one of them contains
almost as much timber as stands in an English
wood.
It. ;'■
I it !
til:
LETTER III.
29
The room I am in is full of English trifles,
the things which seem to grow round a woman :
delicate ornaments, frames and photograph -
albums, full of honest English faces ; but if I
ring the bell, a pig-tailed Chinaman in a pro-
fusion of beautifully white linen will respond (at
his leisure) to my summons, to remind me that I
am on the very Western brink of the world,
with 6,000 miles between you and me.
You know how we wandered about until we
got to Ottawa, for I wrote you all the news of
my travels up to that date. Let me pick up the
thread of my wanderings at that fair city which
has already had three names at least, none of
which seem, to my mind, to fit it. Neither
Bytown, nor Hole in the Woods, nor Ottawa,
should it be called if I could have my way, but
just simply Lumber-town, because it is the capital
of Canada, and lumber has made Canada ; because
it lies in the heart of a lumber district ; because
lumbering (next to legislating) is its principal
business ; its waters are red with dust from the
lumber-mills ; its streets are full of the lumber-
men ; its air is full of the scent of lumber fresh
sawn, and standing on the terrace of its really
beautiful Parliament Buildings, you look across a
broad river, the high-road of millions of logs from
the central lakes, on to acres and acres, nay.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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miles on miles of timber-yards, piled high with
planks and boarding ready for export. It is
wonderful, standing beside the falls, to see the
logs come shooting down the slides prejDared for
them. Up stream you get a glimpse of heavy
waters gliding on to the brink of that caldron
into which they eventually rush, waters gliding
down from distant woods, whose fringes of birch
and majile you can just see : down stream the
spires and buttresses of Parliament Buildings, from
their overhanging cliff, are mirrored in the waters.
On one side the bridge on which you stand are
the falls, on the other the saw-mills. At the
foot of each mill is a pool, into which one after
another the logs come swinnning down, after their
many weeks' journey through wood and waste.
Standing there waiting for them are two or three
men with big gaffs in their hands. Selecting a
log, they strike their gaffs into it, drag it to the
foot of a little ladder, attach a hook to it, a wheel
grates and goes round, and the dead tree slides
up the ladder, passes through the jaws of certain
great steel instruments, and in three minutes is
ready cut and trimmed humdrum everyday
12 -inch boarding. A cent a foot for the pine
that has grown a hundred years in God's free air
and sunlight ; listened to the throbbing of the
\y jezes in its branches, to the roar of the falls
LETTER III.
31
below, or the live thunder among the mountain
peaks. I felt sorry as I looked, and almost angry
that the pine's majestic beauty should be sacri-
ficed and turned to such humble uses.
Ottawa, I believe, is gay enough in its season ;
it looks bright even in the dead time during
which we visited it ; but, of course, when the
House is not sitting, Ottawa sleeps. The little
town (for she has only 40,000 inhabitants as yet)
has a very English tone about her, and is right
loyal to the sovereign who gave her her pre-
eminence among Canadian cities.
Even the flowers round Parliament Buildings
were so trained in this year of Jubilee as to spell
with their blossoms a loyal greeting to our Queen.
On leaving Ottawa we settled down steadily to a
week's railway travelling, more or less. ' Xo more
stoppages ' between this and Vancouver Avas our
watch- word. My husband was tired of hotel
life and pining for barbarism. All men, Lena,
revert quite naturally to barbarism, and I honestly
believe, were it not for our benign influence and
the necessity of providing payment for milliners'
bills, etc., a great many of them would even
sacrifice their clubs for the supreme pleasure of
working with their hands in the open air rather
than indoors with their heads. And really, seen
from a comfortable Pullman car, this war of man
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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with Xuture in her very wildest moods looks
wonderfully noble and attractive. I would my-
self much rather be a slave and have someone
to look after my comforts and be responsible for
iny daily bread ; but for anyone who loves
absolute freedom and is stron<x enoutyh to survive
in such a state, earning all he wants by his own
unaided exertions, this pioneer life in America
must be perfect. I don't wonder at the pioneers
holding their heads high ; at their little boys,
hardly old enough to play marbles, carrying six-
shooters and talking like men ; for though you are
not making a fortune, it is something to feel that
the house you live in, you built ; if it wants re-
pairing, you or the boys must repair it (no
plumbers or carpenters to send for here) ; the
fields you till, you reclaimed ; the bread you eat,
you grew ; and that though from your doorway
to the sky-line there is no neighbour's house,
though the prairie stretches like a vast un-
tenanted ocean round your tiny cottage, you are
in yourself strong enough to live there, unaided,
self-supporting, * boss of your own show,' as they
quaintly phrase it.
On leavino" Ottawa the C. P. R. has at first
to force its way through a land of dense forests
and lakes. Inside the Pullman car all is luxury ;
outside is Nature in her most rugged mood. The
LETTER III
33
il
cars arc on cradle springs, and rock evenly as
they lusli alcjng the lino. Lying in a cosy bed,
I drew up the blind of the window which ran
beside my pillow, and as I dozed away looked
out upon the wild Canadian night. The tall
telegraph-poles, just noticeable here and there
amongst the forest trees, were (in those first few
hours en route) the only things beyond the line
to remind me that man and nature had yet met
in the districts we were traversing. Forests
rugged, gray, and stunted, swept through at no
distant date by fires ; streams fighting for a pas-
sage through the rocks, or crawling sluggishly
through the muskeg (peat) ; night mists rising
from river and lake, and a long pennon of our
smoke floating- over all in the moonlisfht — these
were the things I saw as I lay dozing, or which
wove themselves into my dreams, while the air-
brake sighed, and the engine screamed liko a
banshee, flying through the night from Ottawa
to Nipissing. An inviting outlook, perhaps, for
the hunter, angler, lumberer, or miner, but surely
there is no room here for the settler. No
hun^cvn courage, I thought, could tame this wil-
derness : but I was wrong-. Davlight showed me
towns where men seemed busier than they are
at home, where houses were being built out of
the trees just felled to make room for them ;
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34
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
where everyone seemed, if I may coin a jihrase,
to be working a quicker stroke than in the (jld
country. How they earn their bread I cannot
tell ; but I suppose this region between Ottawa
and Lake Nipissing owes more to the saw-mill
than to the plough ; at any rate, no one seemed to
have time to go about informing the world that
* they'd got no work to do, and Eng-i-land, poor
old Eng-i-land, is ageing down the 'ill,' as I heard
the men doing at home before I left. All the
first day we were whirled at about the rate of
twenty miles an hour through trapper-land, where
until lately the only sign of civilization was at
some Hudson Bay Company's post, whose agents
gathered together year by year the fur harvest
of the red men — hunters who, after a long summer
of idleness, used to turn out into the woods in
winter, with the thermometer sometimes forty
degrees below zero, and earn by their hard work,
abstinence, and exposure some 1,300 dollars
apiece to spend in many-coloured blankets for
their squaws, and whisky, when they could get it,
for themselves. We saw a few of the redskins
at the stations — painted beauties of the Ojibbe-
way persuasion, engaged in earnest endeavours to
pass off cows'-horns neatly polished as horns of
the buffalo of the plains. It is quaint to see two
or three of these women wrapped in red and
LETTER III.
35
yellow blankets, their faces coloured as brightly
as their blankets, feathers in their hair, and a
papoose on their back, followed by a squalid,
washed-out-looking chief in an old stove-pipe hat,
cimt, and pantaloons, shuffling along in boots very
much down at heel.
You must not expect nie to take you along the
line and describe every place as it occurred, or
even every district. The people in the cars were
far too interesting to allow of my making notes,
and I can only give you some sort of general
])icture from memory. My impression is, that
for two days we traversed forests stunted by cold
or withered by fires, amongst which the ground-
maples and dog-wood glowed with colour, re-
peated every now and then on huge boulders of
gneiss and granite. Here, in spite of nature, we
came now and again upon a spot whereon the
railway navvy's hut had remained and grown to
a poor cottage, round which long strijis of half-
cleared land and a hundred or two of charred
stumps marked the first step in the founding of
a new town. Further on we came uj^on a town
of newly-built frame-houses, looking somewhat
drearily out of blindless windows into the forest
round them. Hard bronzed men, axes in hand,
blue-frocked Chinamen, and an Indian or two,
were at work still building the young city. A
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.i SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
girl alighted hero from the train, fresh from th(3
comparative civilization of somo town of five
years' older growth. Her dress showed she had
just conic from the great world. A pair of whit(3
silk gloves reached to her elbows, and (Heaven
forgive her I) she wore an * improver.' But the
gentleman in flannel shirt and cowbov hat, with
enormous moustaches and eyes ^^ hich must have
come from Ireland, was not appalled even by the
dress-im2)rover, but just dro2)ped his axe, removed
his pipe, and received the wanderer into his
sinewy brown arms with an energy discomposing,
I ftmcy, to the improver, but satisfactory to its
happy possessor.
This was the second stage. The navvy's hut
had become the centre of a small town ; one
man's pluck and labour had drawn others round
him, and springing, in a few years, from the
same small source may rise a Chicago or a Van-
couver. Who can tell ? Mushrooms do not
Qfrow as fast for their size as these Western
cities. •
Then we plunged into the region of lakes.
First we came upon a little one. Lake Nipissing !
Look at it in the map. Compared to Lake
Superior, it is as a grain of barley to the bowl of
a table-spoon. But Nipissing is 90 miles by 20.
Not such a drop in the ocean, after all.
LETTER III.
Round and about these lakes the line turns,
skirting their shores, which may teem with game,
but certainly are very scantily peopled by man.
For 300 miles from Carticr to Heron Bay,
the forests belong to the deer, the lakes to the
hsh alone. Man has hardly yet explored this
section of country, unless it be some wanderino-
redskin or daring white hunter.
What a land this m for an anc^ler I All aloni*;
the line lie ciny lakes like gems among the timber.
On half of them probably no birch-baik canoe has
ever floated — no fly ever been throw^n. There is
always a mystery and romance about fishing new
water, j'ou are so uncertain as to what the
shadowy bays among the weeds may contain.
But here all tlie charm is doubled. If we could
have done it, my Imsband and I would dearly
have liked to stay at one of these jiools, and
match the supple strength of an ' Ogden ' against
the rush of the monsters w^hich dwell in the
shadow of those pines.
Several times during the journey good ' takes '
of fish were put on board the train by men who
make a business of supplying the dining-cars.
The trout they oftered for sale ran from three to
twelve pounds, and were excellent eating.
Amor ' these Canadian lakes you cannot help
feelimx that it is not far to the Arctic regions of
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38
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
Hudson's Bay. Everything is so solemn, almost
sad. Looking back U2:)on Lake George from the
shores of I-ake Superior, the contrast between
the tawdry gaiety of the one — its big hotels,
painted pagodas, gay boats, and everlasting steam -
whistle — and the grandeur of the other's loneli-
ness is very striking. From the lakes we emerged
through woods growing hourly more sparse and
dwarfed, upon the black, damp-looking lands
round Winnipeg. At first, they tell me, these
lands were thought too wet and heavy to bo
valuable ; now they find that only such lands as
these will hold sufficient moisture through a
sunnner drought. During the boom, an acre
near Winnipeg sold at from 50 to 100 dollars,
and the result of these prices is seen on all sides.
There are pastures, but very little stock ; farmers,
but comparatively little farming. That, at any
rate, was our impression, though Winnipeg people,
after their wonderful growth from a villao-e to a
people of 30,000 strong in five years, are not all
inclined to admit that this is so. Others, though.
will tell you that those who hold land have
bcggp^ftd themselves to buy it in the hope of a
rise, and are now paying rates and taxes rn it
out of their other sources of income rather than
let it go at a loss.
Froni Winnipeg westwards the landscape is
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LETTER III.
39
an unbroken sea of silky yellow grass or arable
land. A few white farms far off the line, or a
clump of hay-ricks, may now and again break
the level of the horizon ; but the land seems to
have no feature but immensitv, no character save
loneliness. What it lacks in outline, Nature has
made up to it in colour. Golden sunlight seems
to dwell forever in the soft prairie grasses curtsey-
ing in endless ripples before the prevailing wind.
The round, small lakes at which the buffalo
used to water are bluer than amethyst in the
sun ; here and there the alkali round some larger
pond glistsns like burnished silver, and as we
look forward along the perfectly straight pathway
of the line, a ffreat red sun comes down in <2flov
ing splendour, touches the white cottage of the
pioneer, and decks its meanness with golden
purple, and sinks in a flood of colour right be-
tween the rails. In the morning we arc by the
Saskatchewan at Medicine Hat. There is wilder
scenery beyond, but none which struck mo as
being ruder. Surely here Nature nmst have
made her first essay, flat mud, yellow and un-
covered with herbage, rolling as far as the eye
can see under veliow sunliti^ht. A monotonous
river and a few Indian teepees alone vary the
outlook for half a day.
The next day we \.. sed through the land of
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40
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
tlic cattle kings ; passed Calgary ; were visited by
the North -West jiolicc — as smart men, my dear,
and as soldierly, as any who carry sword or muslcet
— and then began to climb the Rockies. It is just
as well that some parts of the journey are done
at night, for if there were any people with nerves
on board, the views, however picturesque, would
be too much for them. Trestle bridges over
canons of infinite depth sound very well, but it
makes your hair stand on end to look at them.
Railway trains which appear to curl round the
edge of precipices on one wheel, the other being
over an abvss, are interestincr when vou are not
in them. At first I was decidedly nervous. By-
and-by this wore off, and I enjoyed sitting on the
step behind the last compartment, one foot dang-
ling over the edge of a precipice, at the foot of
which a mighty river boiled along unheard, or
forests of great trees were dwarfed into insignifi-
cant larch plantations. Upwards, ever u])wards,
we went, getting slower and slower until tlie top
was reached, and we were fairly in wonderland,
passing along a frozen plateau through an avenue
of snow-capped peaks. * Surely these are not
the highest peaks we shall see ?' I asked, pointing
to Mount Stephen, a grand cluster of sharp peaks,
but not near enough to heaven for my ideal
monarch of the Rockies.
LETTER III.
41
' You forget, madame, you're 5,800 feet above
sea-level yourself at tne present moment.'
I apologized and acknowledged that that was
an enormous height for a railway line to attain
to, but I rather agreed with my husband's growl :
* That onlv makes it about 13,500 feet altoofether,
and I don't call that much of a mountain.'
Having traversed the Rockies, we crossed the
Selkirks — a far wilder-looking chain than the first,
swooped down into the flat country again, knocked
the inside out of our enifine asfainst a boulder on
the track, had a car or two run off the line, but,
than]:s to the excellent air-brakes, and a clever
and watchful pilot, came to no worse harm than
a few hours' delay ; were then, in recognition of
our valour, tui'ned into a ' special,' which ran at
an increased rate of speed over places which would
have shaken less seasoned nerves, almost ran into
a splendid stag on the line above the Thompson,
and then stopped outside a tunnel while the line
was relaid, and a trestle bridge repaired \diich
connected two short tunnels in the cliff over-
hanging that grand river. But for this stoppage,
due to the vigilance of the line-watcher, we
should have taken a header of several hundred
feet into the river. After this the lands grew
level and more level, the timber thicker and ever
larofcr and larijer, until we were aiiionii'st the
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
giant pines of the Pacific coast at the newest
of new towns, Vancouver. Thence a pleasant
eight hours by steamer ( nrough still waters, set
with hundreds of jjine-grown islands, and en-
livened by a surprising number of peculiarly
familiar whales, brought us to the haven of rest
from which I am datin<]j this letter. Altoofether
the journey can have no parallel, Lena, in the
world. Made when we made it, in the cars you
suffer neither from heat nor from cold. Your
only regret is that the scenery outside is so
superb, that you cannot devote enough attention
to your fellow-passengers, and your fellow-
passengers so amusing that they distract your
attention from the scenery. One of my friends
en route was a lady from Washington Territory,
going back after a visit to Lower Canada,
Years and years ago she had been one of the
passengers in an * emigrant train ' (of waggons
drawn by mules) across the countrj^ of the
Blackfeet, a land in which she guessed * your
back hair generally felt pretty loose.' She had
come to Washington Territory when quite young
(before it was a territory, I believe, if anywhere
in America is ever as young as that), * to grow
up with the country.' And she had grown up
with it, but her ideas were somewhat conserva-
tive (and I thought sensible) for all that. Three
LETTER III.
43
years back she told me they enfranchised the
women of Washington Territory, and now the}'
were trying to disfranchise them again, * and I
hope,' said my friend, ' that they'll ciicceed.
Why, now they make us do all manner of things ;
sit on juries in all sorts of cases, however bad
they are, along with the men. Some of the
women like it ; I don't. If you've got a child
two years old or under, you are exempt from
serving ; but very few claim their exemption.
You see, women get three dollars a day for
serving, and some of them like a law court
better than a theayter, and bring their baby
along rather than stay away. I was called on
the Chinese riot case, but the marshal, who
found me cleaning the kitch(^-n-floor, let me off
coming.'
Some of the peoi:)le on board were charming^"
simple and unaffected, knowing very little of the
old world — men and women who had been so
busy all their lives making a new world, that
they had had no time to look back at the old.
Others were so widely travelled and deeply read
that no land seemed untrodden, no book unread
by them. Domestic life in your own little house
in England, wutli your own little cares and your
own snug pleasures, is very comfortable, Lena ;
but just now I feel as if it were all very small.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
I believe half of us want shaking up and sending
out to these new lands which are our beautiful
birthright. If it was not that we feared our
friends would find the cause of our eniisfration
in home failure, how many of us would have
been off long ago to the land of promise ! You
must come with us another year to this world of
giants ; look for yourself on these last desolate
fastnesses of Nature assailed by the coming of
man, where, though we no longer build our tower
of Babel to the sky, we drive our steam-horses
to the mountain's top ; see it as I see it now
again in memory, snow on the ground, mist in
the night air, through which, from the boulder-
strewn mountain-side, rise tall stiff pines and
dark funereal hemlocks. Silence reigns, and the
bear and wild big-eyed mountain beast are alone
in the forest and the night.
But the moonbeams fall on other tracks than
the bear's in the snow. Straight as a bird's
flight runs the narrow trail, straight from east
to west it runs, and the moonlight glistens on
the iron rails. Anon a wild shriek wakes the
echoes, weird and long drawn and full of agony,
wilder than the wolf's howl, more weird and shrill
than scream of panther or redskin on the war-
path. Through the mist a vast bulk approaches,
like the body of some great serpent. A beast of
LETTER in.
45
iron dracfs it fr
size
0111 in fi'ont, a boast of yet 1
propels it from beliind. Lil-
ai'o'er
-.ike the Cyeloiis,
oacli beast has one vast red eye in his forehead •
lis hot breath reddens the surrounding ^loon. ■'
the throbs of his great heart break the stilhiess
as he labours with his mighty load ; the Sisyphus
of the Canadian Paeifie is enduring his ever-re-
curring toil ; frightening the red deer in his
couch, and leaving behind him no traeo but one
long plume of smoke trailing down the niMit
Wind. »
Ah, I think I had better stop. If I ^^ on
thndung of that journey I shall begin to write
poetry, or commit some other atrocity ao-a^nst
which you will very rightly rebel. "^ ° ^ '
Au revoir.
Thine,
J. P. W.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
LETTER IV.
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Princetown,
SejH., 1887.
Dear Pat,
Forgive me for clisai)poiiiting you. This
huge letter is not from a soHcitor, and, in spite
of the blue envelope, has nothing to do with law.
Xo letter, I think, ever travelled between points
so different as the starting-point and goal of this
one. Here, thank God, is barbarism and fresh
air and sunlight ; with you civilization, and, I
suppose, fog ; though really, what with Mrs. C.'s
objection to window-cleaning, and the mole which
the benchers have builded between us and the
tennis-courts, the question of fog or sunshine is
not one which need interest us nmch.
Hurl those musty law-books across the
chambers, and for ten minutes try to imagine
that you are with your chum in British
Columbia.
' Four cock i)heasants, four grouse, ten quail ;
' !
LETTER IV.
47
total, eighteen head — not bad for Victoria, eh,
my boy f quoth Charhe V., a week ago, as he
unloaded himself before his admiring wife and
myself in the back kitchen, while the smug little
Chinaman said a savage but silent swear at the
mess Charlie was making.
* You had much better stay here with your
wife, and come ujd duck-shooting later on, instead
of going all the way to the Ashinola country,' ho
continued ; and for a moment, when I thought
of the terrible crowd who had gone before and
were coming after me, I almost consented to
remain, for Charlie's ways are seductive, and his
cooking distinctly excellent.
I had come about 6,000 miles to try a country
of which I had heard four years ajTfo, and on
arrival was told that there were two parties of
Americans already * in,' that others had pre-
ceded them and come out, that at least one
party of Englishmen were making their way to
my happy hunting-grounds from a point further
east, and the greater part of the officers of
H.M.'s Xavy intended to follow shortly.
Things certainly did not look promising, but
some people hate to change their plans, and I
am of this sort ; so that dinner over, and the last
cigar smoked, I belted on my smaller impedi-
menta, shouldered my rifle, put my tent in a cab,
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
and at 1 a. 111. was on board tho boat for Van-
couver. Here I divested myself of that badge
of civilization, a collar, wound a comforter round
my neck, and prepared to settle down to the
enjoyments of barbarism. But I was not free
yet. A friend arrived, and begged ere the boat
started to be allowed to introduce two brother
sportsmen. Good fellows they were, too ; but
why brother sportsmen ? Surely there is no one
to whom you feel less fraternally inclined than to
* that other fellow ' who happens to be going to
shoot at the very spot you had marked for your-
self at the very moment at which you mean to
visit it.
Of course, these two ' brothers ' were going to
the Ashinola country, but luckily by another and,
it seemed to me, slower route. I parted with
them at Hope, a station not ill-named as far as
we were concerned, for as our train rushed
towards it we saw a young black bear scuttle
off the * track ' into the forest, a sight which we
accepted as a good omen for our trip. At Hope
a wooden shed and platform stand alone beside
the rails ; around is forest ; below, a broad bend
of the Frazer River ; beyond, an amphitheatre of
mountains, grim and forbidding, sparsely clothed
with the gray stems of pines, blasted by fire or
frost ; while on the other side the river a few
LETTER IV
49
%voocloii houses peer out tinuLlly from thu edge of
the timber.
I was the only passenger who ahghted at
Ho])e. For a moment the great engine drew
up. Friends bundled my tent and belongings
out after me, gave me a farewell grip of tho
hand, the engine whistled and hurried off into
the forest, leaving me alone on the wrong side of
the river. The last glimpse of civilization was
the tail-board of the train, as it swung round a
rocky bluff, with a certain old soldier-lord upon
it, bare-headed, waving a cheery adieu to me, his
chanct) acquaintance. May Canada never see a
woisi: sample of our army than that keen, kindly
sportsman ! When I turned round, the nearest
approach to a human being in sight was a Siwash
])0stman. A little pantomime, in which the
leading j)arts were taken respectively by a 50 cent
piece and my luggage, then ensued. At the end
of it the Siwash shouldered my baggage, and
pocketed my 50 cent jiiece, and anon paddled
me across the broad Frazcr to the town, his fare
sitting humbly at the bottom of tho canoe, and
carefully tying the rifle to the seat in case of
accidents.
Before leaving Victoria, I had telegrai)hed to
Mr. Wardle, the local magistrate at Hope, to
get me, if possible, horses and guides. On arrival
4
t
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I ■■■! i
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1 ;;
5°
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
I found Mr. Wardle, a stalwart Anglo-Saxon, in
his shirt-sleeves, pro])riotor and manager of the
large store which supplies the inhabitants of a
hundred miles of mountain and forest with all
tliey want, from photographs to flour.
The canoe ground aofainst the shinofle ; we
ste2)ped out into the middle of the grand
jDronienade of Hope, dropped our bundles in
front of W.'s store, said ' how do ye do ' to the
crowd of seven collected to meet us, and were at
once in the heart of Hope society -'^^nd fashion.
In another ten minutes my guide arrived, a tall,
gaunt, white man of many summers, named S.,
.jgether with his half-breed son, my future cook.
Long practice in camping - out expedited our
arranofcments considerablv, and l;)v niofhtfall
stores v'ere bouo'ht, horses secured, wao-es con-
ti'acted for, and even some of our bales packed.
" Start to-morrow at ten sharp,' were the last
words at parting tliat night ; and in spite of the
nods and winks of his neighbours, jealous at S.'s
luck in jetting the job, the old man was not
drunk next day, his horses were not nJssing, and
we were only t^^vo hours late in starting. 1 1" you
want tilings done prom})tly on the march, you
must not loaf yourself, l-at bear a hand and urge
on all preparations to the very last in person.
See every thmg * fixed,' and then no last glasses !
i
LETTER IV.
Si
Swing yourself into your saddle and ride on ; the
men may dwell five minutes, but if they see the
' boss ' has gone they will soon follow. And so
I found it, for hardly had I lost sight of Hope
and entered the forest, when I heard the trot of
my baggage - animals, and the jangling of the
leader's bells. In all :;"ny other shooting or
exploring expeditions, I have travelled light
and o;one hunofrv. On this occasion I was
determined to ' do ' myself well. For the benefit
of any wdio want to know liow to arrive at similar
comfort en route to their shootinfr-UTOunds, I
oflfer the details of my equipment. I am bound
to confess I look upon my outiit as luxurious
in the extreme, but as a j^arty of Americans
preceded me, with a squadron of baggage-
horses bearing ' light groceries,' including cham-
pagne and a mahogany night-commode, my own
seemed to the guide of Spartan simplicity by
contrast.
With me I had a man and a boy, three horses
for packing, and three for myself and tlie men to
ride ; two tents (a big one for them, and a little
one for me), two axes, two ftying-])ans, a tea})ot,
together \\ ith stores, of which I annex a list. It
is Mr. W.'s bill, and gives a fair idea of stores
necessary for four people for a month, and the
cost thereof.
4—2
iil
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' i , 111
52
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
$ c.
Sept. 25.
1 sack flour, 81 63 c.
• •
1 G3
»
G cans yeast powder, 2r> c.
• •
1 50
1*
241b. spice roll bacon, 18 c.
■ • •
4 32
M
2 tins 31b. lard, 50 c.
■ • •
1 CO
**
251b. granulated sugar, 10 c.
, ,
2 50
it
2 21b. tins coffee, 75 c.
• • •
1 50
»
2 lb. tea, 50 c.
, ,
1 00
l>
1 can pepper, 25 c. ; 2 sacks
salt, 20 c.
45
»
3 packets matches, 25 c. .
.
25
»
1 bottle Worcester sauce, 10
c.
40
»
101b. onions, 7h c. .
, ,
»
101b. beans, 5 c.
, ,
50
»
61b. dried apples, 18 c. .
, ,
1 08
»
2 packets tobacco, 50 c. .
•
50
i>
1 axe, .?1 50 c.
•
1 50
»
] bottle sweet oil, 25 c. .
, ,
25
))
4 flour sacks, 40 c. ; 2 yards berlass, 50 c
90
»
2 grain sacks, 30 c. .
a
30
»
1 pair gloves, 61 .
•
. 1 00
821 33
It was September 2 5tli when I rode out of
Hope on my buckskin pony, tlie maples and other
shrubs sflowino- Hke red embers with autumnal
colour from among ruinous gray boulders or
the cool shadow of the pines. The cedars
were alternately red and green, their needles
dying slowly ere they fell, while here and there
a mammoth pine reared its two hundred feet of
heisrht towards heaven, endinof more often than
not in a dead-white branchless spire.
Along the track there was absolute silence,
If'!'
LETTER IV.
53
of
lunk, saucily
except for the chatter
jjfardinof us from the end of a hollow Ioq:, or the
call of a crested grouse, flirting its tail in air as
it strutted unconcernedly out of our way. Once
only we met a man, type of the men who have
peopled these wildernesses, a tall, fair-bearded
giant, in dark blue flannel shirt and canvas
trousers, striding along, rifle in hand. As cap-
tain of a lumberers' camp he had saved a little
money, and was now returning from a walk of
nearly two hundred miles, taken alone without
blankets, through mountain and forest, for the
purpose of finding a bit of country fit for a ranche
for himself and two other Scotchmen, his brothers.
Sometimes, of course, he came across Indians or
a pack-train ; as often as not he met neither ;
and then, putting on the coat he had carried all
day, he lit a fire and slejjt wherever he felt in-
clined to rest, sleeping as happily by the roadside
as the Londoner in his hotel. Our halting-place
the first night was at the * fourteen-mile ' house, a
rough log cabin, kept by a white man of solitary
tastes and sanguine temperament. Sanguine he
must have been, for he only charged us two shil-
lings per head ; except packers he hardly had a
dozen guests per annum, and he exj^ected to make
his hotel pay ! Down below the cabin was a
swamp ; low land untimbered, with a few sal-lal
ii
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54
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
I
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II
bushes about it, and through it dawdled the
slowest of streams — a stream, however, whose
waters were clear and pure in spite of the milky
blue colour which spoke of their glacial origin.
This stream, they told me, contained trout, though
they had not been rising lately. The first cast
in one of the pale blue pools showed me that
there were fish there worth havin"- and willin"-
to be had. As the flies went out over the first
pale blue pool, its surface was troubled, and as
the}' lit, two great trout came half-way out of
the water for them, felt thf^ steel in their lip,
and, before I had recovered from my surprise,
had smashed my trace, and carried off two ver}'
old lake-trout flies to the bottom. I lost two
more old Norweo^ian flies which had lonsf lain
rotting in my book before I took the hint that
good fish, however simple and confiding, I'equire
good tackle, and in accordance with that sound
theory, selected a reliable new fly from the scratch
lot w4iich I had put up before starting, and settled
seriously to my work. The wild ,sahno fontiiiah's
of the cascades may smash the gut and make
light of flies bought years ago in some shop at
Bergen or Trondhjem, but an alder of Ogden's
make is another matter. I admit I am an en-
thusiast, and pig-headed about that fly, but I
have reason to be. When the green drake is on,
LETTER IV.
55
on our own chalk-streams, and the fish are ahnost
too dainty to take the natural fly, let the light
wings of a big Fairford alder go by, and 3'ou
have him. In the still evening, when the l)ig
fish feed in the calm broad waters, sink and draw
your alder gently towards you, and just as it
nears your feet, a mighty rush will set your heart
throbbing and your I'eel screaming. So it was
here. In a moment I was into a big fellow, and,
ye gods ! how he fought ! how savagely he headed
for an unpi'omising looking stake, whose broken
end rose from the other side of the pool ! But
the gut held, and at last I piloted him safely
throuo'h the sunken loQfs and boughs which
fringed the edge of the pool, and knocked him
on the head, first of two dozen, whose rosy sides
glistened that evening on the pebbles behind me.
At last one fellow, whoso quiet rises had long
drawn my attention, broke the top of my rod,
tied me round the stake which had imperilled
eveiy fish I had hooked, and broke the only
alder but one in my possession. So I carried
my spoils up to the hut, and shared their bright
yellow flesh with certain young Englishmen who
had just arrived from the country whither I was
wending my way. With them was an old trapper
named Chance, who had learnt the countr}' as a
gold-miner and prospector, and had just piloted
m
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56
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
them out from the mountains, amongst which
they appeared to have had no sport, and to have
been lost. But they were philosophers, * could
not expect anything better the first time,' ad-
mitted that they had shot badly, and altogether
took their bad luck in a way which augured well
for their success should they ever try again. The
one thing that stuck in their throats was that in
the last ten miles they had been walking with
Chance ahead of their train, without their rifles,
wdien, of course, they met a black bear sunning
herself on the trail. When she saw them she
moved off very leisurely to the woods, while they
w^ent back for their shooting-irons, old Chance
going on slowly. On their way to rejoin him
they met Chance, very anxious indeed to see
them again, having run up against a * bald-faced '
grizzly directly after they left him. Being
anxious to go by, he shouted and threw a ' rock '
at the bear, who came down on all fours, and
trotted quietly towards the trajDper, rather in a
spirit of careless inquiry than of anger. As
Chance put it, * When I saw him climb down,
you bet I climbed up and 'put for camp,' where
he arrived scared and out of breath. I don't
know whether the Englishmen with Chance quite
believed his story, but I frankly confess I did
not ; and when he advised me to climb a tree if I
' Ik
LETTER IV.
57
met a ' bald-faced 'un,' I was sorely afraid I
should never have a chance of follo\A 'ns>: his
advice. However, I started next morning some
time before my men on the young buckskin mare
which old S. said was a good one, but not
bridle-wise (i.e., broke), in the hope that per-
chance, if I kept out of earshot of the bells of the
pack-train, I might at least meet skymaquist (the
black bear), even if his cousin kheelounha (the
grizzh") should not honour me with an interview.
The trail through the Hope Mountains leads
through heavily-timbered gorges, at the bottom
of which run mountain-streanis, while above you
rise the peaks towards which climb dense forests
of cedar and pine.
At first I trotted alonsr a s^ood level road
through a low wood of young timber, through
which the morning sun shone cheerily. From
time to time my horse and I even indulged in a
canter from pure good spirits, and to get away
from the bells. Here and there we passed old
camping-grounds, where packers or cattle-men
had made a night of it.
Grouse flustered up among the trees by the
roadside ; the stream below glittered as it ran,
the snow on one high peak gleamed like silver in
the sky, and the sun glowed through the maple-
leaves as if they were red wine.
"I
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58
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
Anon wo entered a gulch, leading ever lower
and lower down the canon. The trees closed
over us, the sun ^v'as shut out, and with it light
and colour. The change was very marked. The
silence seemed oppressive, there was no stir of
animal life, and both my spirits and the horse's
became distinctly chastened. Men are like children,
and horses like both : their courage rises in the
sunliiTfht and ebbs in the dark. The road at last
took a turn under a steep moraine, on whose
gra}' side the frosts and damps of midnight
seemed to hancf from ' everlastinof to everlastinor-,'
while round it fire and ice slide had worked grim
chaos among the old pine-trees. We were dis-
tinctly depressed here, my horse and I, when
suddenly the only ray of sunlight which had ever
invaded this * dark profound ' struck on a brown
mass in the path in front of us, not ten paces
from Buckskin's nose. Silently it rose upright,
making (as far as I could hear) no sou d at all.
Buckskin simply sat down, her forelegs stuck
straight out and her ears pricked, frozen with
fright. Like a stage demon the grizzly had risen
from the path in front of us without warning of
any sort, and, for a moment, I considered the
question of flight, and the improbability of any-
one in my little world at home being any the
wiser if I bolted. However, it was easier to get
LETTER IV.
59
off and shoot, so I disiiiounted, ])ut my arm
through the bridle, and prepared to take a
solemn pot-shot at the old rascal who was
stopping the Queen's highway, standing U]i, right
on end, in the orthodox fashion of the story-
books. This, I confess, astonished me, for having
shot a good many bears ' of sorts,' and having
never seen one do this before, I had until that
moment thought grizzly's uprightness a good
deal overrated. But mv deliberate movements
were too nmch for * old E])hraim,' who promptly
came down from his post of observation, and
before I had time to fire, gave one quick lurch,
and was gone into the bush, as quickly and as
silently as if he had been only a British bunny
cautTfht sittinsf in the sunliii'ht on a woodland ride
at homo ; and all that was left of him was a little
colunm of yellow dust curling up into the ray of
sunlisrht in which he had been dozinsf. Not
being young enough to attempt to follow the
bear into the thicket (having once, long ago,
nearly lost my life b}^ such folly), there A\'as
nothino' to be done Imt to ofet back into the
saddle, whence I could see over the little jungle,
wait for my pack-train, and watch for a chance
of a shot in case the bear should try to break
awa}'. By-and-by, after what seemed an age, I
heard the bells of my laggard train, and saw
6o
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
them file out one by one from the timber on the
way to where I stood. A low whistle sent their
lieads up, and a few hurried words explained the
state of affairs to old S., who was to keep the
train at his end of the thicket, and, if possible,
turn the bear in my direction. The first shout
roused the bear, who strolled out on to the
moraine opposite to me with the greatest non-
chalance, and was, I think, going to sit down to
have a better look at us, when a bullet from my
express caught him in the ribs and roll d him
over. I was on the horns of a reo-ular dilemma
when the bear broke covert. If I dismounted
I could not see to shoot over the bushes, whereas,
if I fired from the saddle, S. warned me that the
young mare was not ' bridle-wise,' not used to
having shots fired, and would buck me down the
canon to eternity. Reflecting that, at any rate,
if bucked into eternity I should at least be safe
from the bear, I dropped the bridle on the mare's
neck, and turning round in the saddle, took a
good steady shot at him. The moment he felt
the lead he dropped, and then came round with
a snarl which sounded like mischief. But the
gallant little mare stood firm as a rock, enabling
me to put another bullet in, which frustrated any
amiable intentions our friend may have had, and
compelled him to lie down. The men gave a
cheer at the result of tlio two shots, and we
watched a little anxiously while the bear stretched
his strong fore-arms in his last throes. As he
did so, a hollow growl or groan sounded in the
thicket behind us, eliciting from my old guide a
horrified exclamation of * My God ! there's the
old one,' whilst for one moment I feared there
would be a general stampede from what was
really only the last eftbrt in ventriloquism of a
dying bear. But the men stood, and next
moment we were lauQ^hing over the odd illusion,
while cautiously forcing our way through the
brake and up the moraine to our quarry. There
was a good deal of stoning done, to make * quite,
quite sure ' that he was dead ; and then we skinned
him, and set up his naked carcass as a warning
to his tribe, .and an advertisement to other
travellers of our success. As we tugged away
at his skin, old S. gave a little lecture on natural
history as known in the Hope Mountains, point-
ing out, amongst other things, that when dis-
turbed by me the bear had been taking a
breakfast of white- willow l)erries, as an aperient
before turning in for the winter, now close at
hand. According to S., the bears are in the
habit of ocoinsr through a regular course of medi-
cine, endino' with large doses of dead rotten
wood, taken to stop and counteract the effect
fij i
I J
6a
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
of the willow-beiTios, just before hybernation
actually begins. I tell tliese stories because I
think local traditions of the Iiabits of game are
always worth listening to, even if you cannot
believe in all of them.
Good-bye ; the packs are fixed, S.'s pipe is
lighted, and the train is moving off along the
trail, while Buckskin is tugging at her tethcT and
looking unutterable things at me, because I do
not invite her to join the march.
Thine, etc.,
C. P. w.
c
Cl
V
LETTER V.
^'3
LETTER V.
Alison's Kanclic.
Dear Pat,
Travelling with a pack-train is very
monotonous work, especially when your time is
limited, and a land full of great game, and there-
fore great possibilities of happiness, is before you.
It seems so ridiculous that the pack-animals
should not be able to do more than three miles
an hour ; so exasperating to see your men sitting
half asleep in their saddles ; to see some obstinate
brute of a pony calmly stopping the train in a
narrow place to nibble leisurely at the sparse
herbage, conscious of your inability to get at him.
But there are worse things than these. It is
afternoon, and you have ridden on very slowly,
determined to be quiet and endure the inevitable,
and enjoy the scenery. The year has as many
ways of dying as men have. Here the year's
death is a red one. Caught by the first chill of
winter in the full foliage of summer, the leaves,
''I
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64
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
instead of .sliri veiling and dropping one by ojk'
in a sobbing November wind, l)iu'st into a crimson
glory, more beautiful in death than th'^y were in
spring-ti.u J. There are no colours on the artist's
pal(;tte in wliich to ])aint the autunni foliage on
the Ho])e Mountains ; no words in the Anglo-
Saxon language in which to descrii)e them. The
crimson of ])ort wine against the light ; the glow
of sunlit windows bj, Albert Diirer ; the red glow
of embers in a frosty night — all these pale beside
the burning Octoljor bushes on the mountain-side,
lit by a late September sun, and vividly contrasted
with the sonxbrc? pircs and gray ruins with which
they are surrounded. Of all these bushes the
bright(^st is the crimson sumach, but ma])le and
dog-wood and a score of others display the purest,
most transparent tiiits of ever}' hue, from goiden
green to royal ]iurpi(.\ Summer dies here with a
smile, under cl(.;ar skies which seem to bring
heaven very near, and then a wild wind sweeps
off the leaves at a coup, the snow falls thick and
heavy, covering all with its beriutiful white
WTcaths, and the vear is dead, bv a beautiful
' sudden death,' dead before io has got old and
feeble, sere and yellow, and the onlookers are
s]>ared the dull yellow fogs, and the agony of
tears through wiiich an English summer lingers to
its grave. Dreaming of these things, and pray-
'
LETTER V.
ing, perhaps unconsciousl}', that you may die the
death of tiie Canadian summer, while the blood
is still hot in your veins, witli no long sick-bed
pre.^ le, you htive unconsciously got far ahead of
your train, tliough your pace has been the
natural Avalk of your pony. The bolls are out
of earshoL, and you rein up and wait on a little
bare jiatch by the river's bank. A quarter cf an
hour ])asses by and 3'ou are tired of noting the
old. cam})ing-ground on which a generation of
packers has made its dampers, drawn the water
for its tea, and contentedly eaten its beans and
bacon; tired of scrutinizing the bear-tracks in the
river-bed, arid frustrating your pony's attempts to
roll, when suddenlv a storm of oaths and a furious
clattering of hoofs bursts on your astonished ear,
and the lean figure of old S., in his shirt-sleeves,
not smoking, dashes through the pines in ^^ursuit
of that etc., etc.'d Buckskin, who appears to be
proceeding entirely on his forefeet like a2)erform-
ing dog. Between us, S. and myself stop the
Ijuckskin. S. has him by the head. I clear
out. How the old man holds on I crn't con-
ceive. Long habit has sometiiing to do with it.
No one but a packer could live with that cayouse
five minutes. I can find no corner safe fi'om his
lieels. The brute appears in danger of parting
at his girths, so madly does he lash out. At
5
n
^
66
A SPORTSMAN'S EDFN.
last old S. is off his legs, and here comes Buck-
skin, his nose on the ground, and his heels like
twin comets flashing furiously all over the place.
How we ever stopped the brute I forget, but when
we did he had utterly worn himself out as well
as S. and myself, while his load was scattered
in quiet corners, down steep banks, and in thick
bushes along the trail for a mile and a half from
the point at which he stood shaking all over, the
sweat running off him, and his two ca])tors too
dead beat to swear.
Whilst we wearily hunted for the wreckage of
what had once been a neat pack, the sun began
to sink behind the ridge, and when old S. had
ffiven the last vicious tug to the diamond hitch
which bound the pack again to the saddle,
seven miles lay between us and our camp, and
barely an hour of daylight remained. And all
this because the smell of the fresh bear-skin had
been a little too much for the pony's nerves.
Nor was the weary ride in the dusk the end of
our trouble. Though we camped in the dark we
liad fliiled to make our point, and the place at
which we set up our tent was a bare patch amid
the pines, a long way abo\'e the level of the
river, amongst the great boulders of which the
hapless beasts had to be turned out to look for
their supper. At all times a bad camp, it was
-^!
'1
LETTER V.
67
now (late in the season) worse than ever. Not
a blade of any green thing, not a root of any
hard scrubby weed offered even a bite sufficient
to tempt a goat or a jackass, and it was with
much misgiving that we set up logs and Ijrush to
bar as far as possible the escape of our pack
animals from the cheerless quarters to which we
were oblio-cd to consio^n them. Then ensued a
bad half-hour in which three men expended
much 2)atience and many lucifers in hopeless
search ^n" a dry tree to chop down, a kettle to
get waiu: m, or a level ])lace to pitch the tent
on. It is poor fun camping after dark on an old
much-used site, where all the dry wood has been
used, and we found it so. No one seemed sorry
when the chatterincf of the robber-birds made
us open our eyes to the pale pinks and blues of
an early morning sky, and the necessity of hunt-
ing * them horses.'
After an hour's absence the old man came
back without them, croaking dismallv . * They
had gone back to Hoi)e, and we would have to
follow them, or on to the bunch-grass of the
Ashinola, and then they were as good as lost to
us,' he guessed ; but then we did not (jxcss : we
knew by this time that our old fiiend was no
Mark Tapley, so we left him to chop wood while
Charlie and I tracked the truants. And a i-are
5—2
ll^^JL-Z
68
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
chase Avc had, along that bare river-bed, through
woodfalls and thick scrub, ahvays thinking we
heard the bell just ahead of us, only to find tliat
it was nothinof more than the tinklino- of a broi)k
amongst the stones which had misled us. The
sun was a good half-way up the heavens before
Charlie's quick eyes descried the wanderers,
standing stock - still amongst gray logs and
boulders, lookiisg sullenly in our direction, worn-
out, poor beasts! in a night-long search for supper.
It was no casv work ofettino- the horses out of
the maze of fallen timber in which they had
involved themselves : but if vou cfive him time
an unloaded cavouse will scramble over anvthinof,
and once on the level track I drove them home
at a run which left the young half-l)reed panting
half a mile behind. That day we wound slowly
up and up by endless zigzags to the highest
point of the ridge, and had tlie infinite pleasure
of seeing the hills begin to fall away, until we
could almost fancy Ave looked down upon a level
sea of prairie and the broad, sparkling waters of
the Similkameen. But that was still a lono- dav's
journey off, a day during which the trail wound
through wide park-like lands, clotlied with excel-
lent grass, and thickly studded wit!) handsome
groups of bull-pine, while huge log fences sug-
ixested here and there that wild thoui^h the
I!:|-.i
LETTER V.
6q
country looked, wandering members of the great
Anprlo-Saxon family had nevertheless, even here,
marked out what they were pleased to call their
propei'ty with bounds and limits. Now and
again we came upon great cori'als of high-piled
logs, and once ui)on a log-hut, of the roughest
and most ])rimiti /e fashion, but labelled, none the
less, Similkameen Hotel. True, no one was in,
and the door was locked ; but three paii's of
antlers, amongst the pressed meat-tins and other
rubbish round the hut, showed by their freshness
that someone had been there very i-ecently. A
more perfect country for deer to winter in I
never saw, with amjjle food in the sun-dried
grasses, and shelter in the deep hollows, and
amongst the clumps of great trees. And its
looks do not belie it, for the man who lives at
the closed hotel, of which I just spoke, met mo
afterwards, and told me that lust winter he sliot
ninety-four deer liimself, though he did not
reckon himself nmeh of a shot (and he was right
there), and did not trouble after them much.
' What did you do witli them ?' I asked. ' Well,
J. ent yome little, and fed my hogs on the rest !'
From the 6rest //f the ridge to the Ashinola tlie
horses were in clover, and soon became something
better tlian mere anatomical studies. On the
yunmiit we found go(jd feed, deep, rich grasses,
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70
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
and a strong heathery growth, through which
dark burns crcj)t slowly. Here, hot and weary,
I threw myself down, gave my mare, Dolly
Buckskin, her head, and watched the jolly little
beast revel in the sweet grasses. Poor dumb
pack-horses ! how we cursed them in the morning!
but who would not wander if sent supperless to bed?
Like the horses, we were beginning to tire of the
rations of the road, beans and bacon and damper,
and to speculate on what good things we should
find at Alison's store on the Similkameen.
As we jogged sleepily along about mid-day a
distant roaring far up the glens caught my ear
from time to time and jiuzzled me. Gradually
the sounds got clearer, and I recognised the
lowing of cattle. Shuttleworth, too, heard it,
and came galloping to the front. * That's E.'s
cattle coming, scpiire ; we shall have to clear off
the track and keep quiet.' Nearer and nearer
came the beasts, while we sat still and silent in
a clump of trees well off the track. Everything
on this trail must give way to th«. cattle. By-
and-l)y a bearded man in his shirt-sleeves came
along on a good-looking nag, closely followed by
two or three beasts, while little groups of three
and fijur forced their way, lowing and playing
tlirouo-lrtlie bush by the Hirji' of the trail The
man kept speaking from time lo time to the
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LETTER V.
71
beasts as if encourau'inu' and reassurinc: them bv
the sound of his voice. By-and-ln- he sighted
our party, and recognising S., asked him to give
some messao-e for him at Alison's. The unfortu-
nate S. seized the opportunity to ask if one of
the drovers could take our bearskin back to
Ho2)e, and was promptly overwhelmed by a flow
of strong language, rich and varied in quality,
for his folly, as if the beasts knew his infernal
voice ! Did he want to scare tlie whole band
back to the Ashinola ? So difficult is it to ofct
these beasts to * drive ' quietly through this
timbered country that everyone has to treat
them with as nmch consideration as if they were
royal personages, instead of good-looking beasts
with a tii'ood deal of Herefoixl and shorthorn
. . . . ^ ,
blood in them, being driven by their owner (a
man worth several thousands a 3"ear) to Hope for
shipment to market. Ten to twelve miles a day
is all the cattle will do ; the distance they come
is about 100 miles, and a drive of this kind has
to be made from the ranchc in (juestion once a
fortniii'ht all throuofh summer. So that ram 'hin"-
is not all beer and skittles. The cattle and the
[)ack-trains in the early fall use the trail so ]nuch
that vou rarelv see o'ame en route, even if your
bell is not o-oino- but at other times deer are
plentiful enough.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
Packing is one of the principal trades in these
remote districts, and many men, whites as well
as redskins, live by it in tlie sunnner months,
carrying provisions for the winter and stock-in-
trade to the different ranches and stores up
country. On our road we met pack-trains of all
sorts, mules and greasers, a redskin chief and his
cayouses, and even a train of Chinese Johnnies
in sky-blue combinations and pig-tails. It is a
lazy life, suited to the redskin and the Mexi-
can, who begin the day with an hour's work
hard enough to be pleasant in the cool of the
morning, lashing on the multitudinous packages.
As each beast is fixed, and his head-rope neatly
coiled and fastened, he gets a gentle kick in the
barrel as a hint to clear out, and moves off for a
quiet browse until the rest are ready. By-and-
by the last is * fixed,' and then for an hour the
pack-train moves lazily along, the men shouting
from time to time and smoking incessantly. At
the end of an hour the horses' barrels have grown
a trifle smaller, and in spite of all the hauling at
the ropes in the morning, some of the packs have
shifted a bit. So a halt is called, and the back-
sliders among the packs readjusted, the train
starts again, and probably gets through its day's
journey of ten miles without further interruption.
At four the train stops, the j^^icks are taken off.
LETTER V.
1 .1
the horses turned loose to look after themselves,
the men begni baking and frying their bacon,
and at dark the camp is asleep. For this work
packers get nothing when going out ' light,' and,
at present rates, three cents a pound and 'grub
themselves ' when loaded. The distances covered
vary from 100 to 150 niiles^ and they will pack
anything, from flour to furniture. Mule-trains
belontjino; to Mexican (greasers do about ten or
twelve miles a day, while Indians and their i)onies
do nearly double. A horse's load is from 200
to 300 lbs., and as a rule two men and a cook
with twenty horses compose the ' outfit.' Late
in the afternoon we came upon another class of
workers, sitting beside the trail where it ran close
to the river's edge, through a deei) sandv soil.
A grouji, these, of quiet, inoffensive-looking little
fellows in blue, witli rather ragged-looking pig-
tails, eating their wretched daily ration of rice
under a lean-to shelter of bark. All about them
were little holes and pits in the sand, as if
they had meditated buriowing away fi'oni the
rough white men who revile and molest them.
On being civilly addressed in pigecm English l>y
my guide, they huddled together like sheep, and
though they smiled ujion us benignh^ refused io
enter into conversation. Perhaps they could not
understand S.'s pigeon English. I confess I
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74
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
could not. * Washini*' for gold, that's their little
game, and they thought you wanted to collect
the tax ; that's why they would not talk,' said S. ;
adding, ' if we had been after the tax, we would
soon have got them to tij) up, though.' * How
so, S. ?' * Why, squire, we should have just
taken the biggest Johnny and tied him up by his
pig-tail to a bough of the handiest tree, and the
gold would have come out before his hair did.'
Hard this, I thought, on the ingenuous Johnny ;
but S. had been a local policeman, and knew John
Chinaman well, and told me that some of the
most cruel murders he had ever heard of had
been conmiitted by Celestials. What had S. not
been — this gray old man, wdth good manners
and universal knowledge, who quoted * Horace '
correctly, quoted, too, from the Greek Testament,
wrote distinctly passable verses for local news-
papers, was well up in military history, and
cooked niy bacon and beans as well as he talked
Thompson River Indian, or Similkameen ? I
used to sit over the camp fire and wonder at the
old man's memory, as he talked of what he had
learnt at * the shop ' in the days before he got
his commission as a * gunnei',' before, too, he lost
all he was worth, and more, on the racecourse,
and came out here to marry a Thompson Eiver
Indian woman, rear a dusky brood, drive a pack-
LETTER V.
75
train, or run throitoh tlio lonuf months of winter
on snow-shoes throUL^ii thi; wildest districts iis
Government postman. I suppose some of my
readers will throw up their hands and pity tliis
man, who might have done what the world calls
well in the old country ; and the only parson I
met who knew him spoke slightingly of the old
man because he lived with and kept to the squaw
Avhose children were his children. Those who
feel sorry for him may spare their pity, and the
parson remember that a marriage may be an
honestly performed contract, though not sanc-
tioned in his httle church ; for old S. is as jolly
as a sandboy, would not go back to civilization if
he could, and as he has just had a little money
left him, will probably end his days in all the
comfort he cares for, in a snug ranche up country.
Sober as a man need be, kindly and honest, old
S. is a o'ontleman all over, and thouufh some-
times a trifle slow and very dcsi)ondent, so that
he and I quarrelled hotly at times, a kinder
fellow never handled an axe or smoked a quarter
of a pound of tobacco daily.
As you near the Similkameen River the miles
vary in a way per];^ 'X.;ng to the last degree.
One mile ridden dreamii at a foot's pace is got
over in thirteen minLiics : the next, over equally
good ground, ridden also at a walk, takes half an
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WEBSTER, NY. 14580
(716) 872-4503
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76
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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4
hour. The fact is that the surveyor has not got
as far as this aiong the trail, and the mile-marks
have been the result of tixtremely casual guess-
work anion sj the natives. But at last a broad
blue river between bold mud-bluffs smiles up at
you as you ride through the bull-pines of the last
ui)land, and in another half-hour the river is
forded, and we are at Alison's, a large single
house, built by the pioneers who dwell in it,
fenced about with rough snake-fences, and sur-
rounded by three or four little log -cabins, in
which Chinamen or Indians dwell. Alison's is a
good sample of a i)ioneer's home, the centre of
a large but thinly peojiled district. Upon the
bluff opposite you car. just see a few yards of
snake-fencing. If you rode up to it, and then
followed it round, you wt)uld find I don't know
how many miles of it enclosing thousands of
acres of grazing -land, the pioneer's principal
wealth. By-and-by that may be as valuable as
land at home ; at present it is only good to
graze the bands of cayouses which belong to the
station. The house itself is mostly devoted to
the purposes of a store, in which the boys or
their mother will serve you or the Indians with
sugar, blankets, or anything else you want.
Outside, at the moment at which our train
comes up, three of the boys (one about eighteen.
LETTER V.
77
and the otliers little fellows ten years younger, T
should think) are busy roofing a log-hut witli
shingles, and doing their work smartly and well.
When they have made the hut weather-proof, it
is to be used as a school-house, and someone
(I did not clearly gather who) was pledged to
send them a schoolmaster now and again to teach
the station children to read and write. That bit
of a boy, who looks hardly old enough for trousers,
will, when our horses are unloaded, catch and
saddle a pony for himself out of t)ie band in the
corral, and then drive our beasts off to the
meadow for the night, and bring them in again
next morninij. What with takini*- care of the
store, fencing fresh lands, breaking horses, build-
ing, etc., there is always plenty to do in the
summer for all of them ; and in the winter there
are deer to be shot, and the young ones at least
while away the long evenings with story-telling,
the mother collecting the wild fairy legends of
the Indians, and dressincf them in familiar lanijuaije
for her children. The Indians themselves are
excellent story-tellers ; one old fellow whom I met
at Alison's telling m(> a l)ear-story with such
vivid pantomime, that though ' kheelounha '
(grizzly) was the only word of his language
which I knew, I had no difficulty in ft)llowing
him. Bear-stories were rather the fashit>n in
nil
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78
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
tho Siniilkaineon district when I was there hist
year, two Indians hav'.ng heen killed in the
neighbourhood by grizzlies within the month.
There was near Alison's one noted bear-hunter,
whom I was very anxious to obtain as a guide,
but unfortunately he was away. This man had
lost two brothers, killed by bears, and pursued a
regular vendetta against the whole family of
grizzly in consequence. It is not every Indian
hunter who hunts bears, and those who do make
a business of it, and they only, have any idea
where to look for bruin, who is about as difficult
to find, except by chance, as any beast of the
chase I know. After all, old S.'s bear-story was
the best I heard ; I don't vouch for its truth.
Let the rcsponsibilit}' rest on the old man's
shoulders. He and (let us say) Seth Davis were
packing together in spring through the Hope
mountains. It was very early morning, and the
horses had strayed. Seth and the old man were
out looking for them. The horses they had lost
were eleven in number, and by-and-by Seth made
them out in the gray dawn, feeding on the slope
of a hill half a mile away. To get to this the
two men had to cross a canon and scramble up
a very steep bank innnediately overlooking the
place where the horses were feeding. Very
much out of breath and out of temper, the two
LETTER V.
HCrambled up the bank, and Seth looked over.
Only for a moment, thoui^h ; then with n serious
white face he turned and whispered to the old
man: *S., we don't want them horses!' * Dcm't
want 'em ! Why, aren't they ours V ' Xo,' said
Seth, * I guess they aren't our horses ; they're
])ars, blarst 'em ! grizzly bars ; let's git !' And
the two old packers ' got ' in a peculiarly ra})id
and stealthy manner as far as j)ossible from the
family party of eleven grizzlies, which Seth had
mistaken for the i)ack animals.
At Alison's the first real difficulty met me ;
all the Indians were either away ' packing,' or at
a potlatch {i.e., tribal ' drunk '), and no guides
seemed likely to be forthcoming, unless it might
be a certain Tintinamous Whisht, a gentleman of
whom old S. had a very poor opinion. How-
ever, I was not to be daunted ; if the worst came
to the worst, I thought I could do without an
Indian, and the sight of a splendid mule-deer's
head, killed last * snow ' by Edie Alison, en-
couraged mc to proceed. The head referred to
spanned 2 feet 4;[ inches, inside measurement,
and numbered twenty-six good points.
On the day on which I reached Alison's we
made a capital drive of '17 miles, and though
hoarse and tired from the part I had taken in
the day's proceedings, I was well satisfied when
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80
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
Wii uusaddled at tlio * Nine !MiIu Creek ' — where
ail Irishman and his half-breed wife dispense
hosj)itaHty to the pack animals, at the somewhat
exorbitant charge of 50 cents apiece for a graze,
or 1 dollar apiece for a feed. However, it was
no good grumbling, so we jiaid the money, or
rather gave a cheque for it upon Wardle's, and
then got the woman to cook us some suj)per. I
think I never came across a more miserable little
home ; the scenery stern, the place remote, our
h<jstess sulky and forbidding ; the only servant the
most abjectly melancholy of Chinamen, who lived
in a ruinous wet old tent at the back of the
house, where were two bald, lonely, unkempt-
looking patches of ground set round with white
boulders, within which last year were buried the
woman's first family — her husband and little child.
The second husband of this lady landowner is
indeed a daring son of old Erin, and I wish him
luck. What astonishes the traveller here is,
that neither white nor Indian seems to do any
cultivation. All the labour is spent on fencing,
and when that is accomplished nothing more
seems to be attempted, so that really all the
settlers rely ujDon arc these rough pastures for
their cattle and horses. Once only I came across
a potato patch ; and when, later on, the Admiral's
party arrived, I heard of an energetic ranche-
LETTER V.
8i
owner whose home was suppHod with vegetables
of his own growing, and apples which California
could not beat.
And now my six-days' travel drew to an end,
and the valley of the Ashinola came in sight.
Two villages, named in recognition of their
industrial achievements the Potato Ranches, were
passed, with their heavy log-huts all empty, all
shut, glaring at the passers-by through little new
glass windows, which looked oddly out of jilace in
these wilds. Once we passed a graveyard, sur-
rounded with new wooden palisades, and domi-
nated by a tall cross of rough-hewn wood, which
looked as earnest and real as the piety of the
Catholic fathers who give their lives and wear
out their educated minds in teaching these remote
tribes of redskins.
Once, too, we passed another tomb of another
kind, a simple white tent, with the door open
and a flag flying, in which some chief was camping,
Avaiting until nature and the elements of air and
water should resolve his body again into the dust
from which he came.
Over long stretches of arid steppe-like land we
passed, on which land-turtles and porcupines and
a few grouse are found, and on which I discovered,
to my sorrow, that a peculiarly thorny si^ecies of
cactus grows abundantly. These pests are about
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82
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
m^
HH l}ir«(o as pij^ooiis' oggs, and grow in cluini)s,
wliicli, beinj; of the same colour as the ground,
are invisible. One of old S.'s jokes for many
a day, I doubt not, will be to describe how * the
Scjuire,' as he used to call me, stepped on his
first cactus, and then, holding the injured moccasin
in the air for him to extract the thorny trouble,
plumped inadvertently down upon anything but
a bed of roses. To have what I once heard the
j)resent Home Secretary describe, in the Nisi
Prius Court at Birmingham, as ' that cushion
which kindly Nature has provided for tired hu-
manity ' converted, at a moment's notice, into a
* pin-cushion,' is a little more than any man born
of woman can endure in silence ; and I fear the
more S. laughed the more I ejaculated, and deeper
and dee})er the iron entered into my soul. When
at last we camped at the forks of the river, the
sky was full of rain ; clouds were round the peaks ;
no Indians were said to be in the village ; it was
only by digging out a site for our bed, inches
deep in the soil, that wc could escape the
ubi(j[uitous cactus ; and altogether the barometer
of man and nature was decidedly * stormy.'
Thine,
C. P. W.
LETTER VI.
LETTER VI.
Dear Pat '^'"""r of tho Winds.
Wlien I finished „,y fet letter, «o wore
JI ».«,„,. n„«orably cli»co„»„l„tc in Cactus Can.p,
the heavy „un-eIouas thre.atoni„. to drown „i
and no news of a guide for thc'n,orro«-. Tul
'"■ly Inchan in the villa,, was sitting i„ 1 ,
mserablo hut watching his little daughter die
because there was no n.edical aid in Lch, and
- sn>a 1 stock of ren.edies had long since ail ^1
before the dread disease of which she lay dyin.
While the stars were still in the sky, old S
saddled h,s horse and rode away; and 'at about
nine he came ndn.g back, with a ,,uaint little
figu.-o on a flea-bitten gray by hi.' side. In
another nnnute the first gleam of returning sun-
■Sht entered the can.,, along with n.v trusty
gunner and his captive, the typieaf India.f
whoso nan>e was ' Tonnuy '-Toni, his friends
and relations call him-and if he is not a chief, he
C— 2
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84
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
is the brother-in-law of one ; l)ut as you conteni-
plato tliu little follow in his blue canvas shirt, penny
straw hat, and gray Yankee trousers frayed into
a fringe round the ankles of his moccasins — as
you look at his In'own dog-like eyes and merry
Mongolian little face, you forget the chieftain,
and instinctively christen him * Tommy.' Tommy
was to me a revelation. Anything less like
Fenimore Cooper's dignified savage; I have never
seen. From his drj', withered and hairless features
he might have been any age ; from the eager
animation of his manner he might have been
sixteen or a Frenchman. The Ashinola tongue
lends itself naturally to acting. When Tommy
began to talk, his voice was somewhere far away
down in the blue-shirt region ; by-and-by it
ascended, and his utterance grew rapid, his words
short and close-clipped until he came to a very
big superlative, and then his eyes grew wide, and
he lingered whole seconds over the word, like an
Australian doing a ' cooey.' Unfortunately for
me, his noble relative, * Ashinola John,' had told
him that the Englishman was in straits, and that
he could charge accordingly. As I liked the
look of the fellow, I yielded in part to his extor-
tions, and in an hour's time we had cached our
superfluous baggage, and wci*e on the way to
the sheep-grounds. Where we cached our goods
LETTER VI.
8S
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was by the main hi«;h\vay of tlio tlistiict, and
' cached ' by no moans ex[)ressos what wo did
with them, for there was no attempt at eoncoal-
nient, the things merely being put up in trees to
1)0 more or less out of the way of vermin. And
yet the untutored redskin and low-class Mexican
* greaser ' will leave them untouched, though he
needs them more than the tramp who would
certainly remove them if loft by an English
roadside. The hijLrhest trial of honesty I ever
saw out West was on my way back from the
Ashinola. A bar (of timber) crossed the main
trail near an em})ty corral. Anyone coming
along the trail must stop and dismount to remove
the bar, and, doing so, come face to face with a
small glass bottle, labelled * best French brandy,'
and apparently full of tiiat excellent cordial. It
had obviously been put there for someone ex-
pected shortly on the trail, and as the ther-
mometer was very low and the sleet very bitter,
I confess I had to look very earnestly in another
direction to avoid the temptation oftered by
that neat little Hask of briijfht amber fluid.
Whilst Tonnny made his final preparations, I
got old S. to sujDply me with a dozen or so of
the most useful words in my hunter's dialect,
which I proceeded to study. In cruising about
the world after big game, you acquire the most
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86
A SromSMAN'S EDEN.
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woiitlorfuUy ])oly<rlot vf»caljulary of huntinj^ terms,
wliich at critical nioments are apt to j»'et luixcd.
The patois of Switzerland, Little Russian, Lesifliiu
Tartar, German, Georj^ian, French, Chinook, I
have had to converse in all in turn ; hut I find
that in emer<^encies I always revert to Russian,
and for a moment feel dazed at the Indians'
stupidity in not understanding' me.
At about 9.30 we took to the hills, electini?
the right-hand side of the valley as wc were in-
formed that Tintinamous Whisht knew the other
side hest, and meant to take the Admiral's party
in there. Though first on the ground, I hardly
thought it fair to take my pick, as the other
party had already made their arrangements ; and
perhaps I may here be allowed to say that I
think it would be an excellent thing if there
were some code of rules for the conduct of men
who shoot big game all over the world, as bind-
ing amongst Enjjlishmen and gentlemen as the
rules which govern the actions of the same class
in India. There I believe I am right in saying
that no man would dream of intruding on the
valley occupied by another party without obtain-
ing permission from the first-comers. Of course,
where there are no such rules, * Devil take the
hindmost !' becomes everyone's motto, and operates
injuriously to all.
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LETTER VI.
87
Wc had luii'dly cluarod tlie first low Ijom-hos of
boautiful pfoldeu grass, wlien wo .sij^litod four big-
horn, low down on the hills across tho river, feed-
ing, indeed, just along the topof the little moraines
which formed the very foot of tho hill-face.
Tommy and I at once left S. and the boy to
signal to us any change in the bighorns' j)()sition,
and then scrambled down and forded the river
again, under cover of a small thicket of trees,
amongst which Tommy left his steeple-crowned
hat and most of his clothes, whilst I left all I
could spare. Tho climb up the moraine was very
good training for what was to come in the next
throe weeks, and seemed to impress my guide
favourably as to my powers of silent progression;
but, of course, when we had skirted innumerable
moraines, we found tho sheep had gone, and on
signalling only discovered that our * flag-waggcrs '
had gone placidly to sleep. Tho spot on which
we left them was both mossy and sunny.
F(jr tho rest of the day we rode or led our
animals from one * bench ' to another, scramblinijf
up stony little ravines and long slopes of slippery
grass, and anon diving into thinly -timbered hol-
lows or basins, in which everything — shelter, the
finest of grass, and water — combined to make a
very paradise for game. As yet there wcr<j not
many tracks in these hollows and on the beautiful
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
yellow grass slopes ; but Toma told ine that
when the snows of November have driven deer
and sheep from the heights, these lower ranges
are alive with game. Towards noon rain began
to fall, mixed at times with little * flurries ' of
snow driven by a bitter north-easter, so that
when Toma suddenly dropped out of his saddle,
and slithered downhill on his hams, although I
followed him with all promptitude, I felt far too
frozen to find my trigger, and was not in the
least surprised at a couple of misses right and
left at sheep at about 300 yards. Toma wiped
the snow off the seat of his trousers with a sigh,
but said nothing, and I confess to a feeling of
depression as I watched all those juicy mutton
chops careering away downhill. Everyone
seemed a little sad about it ; even old S. d d
his son, and his son took it out in d ing the
unhappy horses. Whilst so amused they unfor-
tunately, ran into a little band of mule-deer, and
sent our haunch of venison * in ])osse ' galloping
after our chops. We camped that night by a
tiny grov^e of hemlocks at the head of a little bay
amongst the hills, in which some execrable bird,
described by the Indian as between a hawk and
an owl, was screeching aloud for rain. The snow
lay here and there in little drifts, and two or
three great blue grouse, frightened by us or dis-
I
LETTER VI.
Scj
lodged by the wind, whirled fi-„„. tree to tree a,s
we eame up. It was a miserable night, with the
eternal beans and bacon only to console us for
the chances we had missed, while the wind
roared mnongst the hendoeks, and, when the
darkness set i„, tore long streamers of fire fron.
the logs, carrying flames and heat away together
mto the darkness. A whole tree seemed to burn
out m no tin.e, and the even chop-chop of the
a.xe seemed likely to last all night. The bitter-
ness of that^ night was worthy of an English
May. The w.ud cut through flannel waistcoat and
chamois vest, through four ' four-point blankets'
and other odds and ends as if they had been
mus ui. The snow and sleet and darkness had it
all then- own way, and the wind almost blew our
lire boddy away ; and yet through it all, there
siit Tommy outside the tents, with his socks and
moccasins in his hands, warming his bare toes
betore the fire, not even condescending to put on
the ragged old overcoat which he had carried
behind his saddle all day. From time to time
he gave a little cough, or pretended to button his
buttonless canvas shirt round his neck ; and when
in pity I offered him a tin pannikin of whiskv
and hot tea to warm him he seemed quite hurt
and assured me that ' he didn't eare to eat after
meals. Whether that meant that I ou-dit to
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
have offered him the whisky sooner I didn't
know (or care), so I swallowed it myself, and
turned in on great boughs, which the * boy ' had
found less trouble to provide than the jDropor
* brush,* and which very soon found out every
soft spot on my hide, and made to themselves
others where none previously existed.
I soon discovered next morning why Tintin-
amous Whisht was a * bad Indian.' All night
long Tonnny had been chopping logs and making
up the fire ; when I woke he was cooking, and
was wanted to find the horses, whilst the * boy '
and his father did the * superintending ' part of
the game. This, I suppose, is the natural in-
stinct of the white, to make his darker brother
do the work ; but a little animated conversation
between S. and myself set matters straight and
put Toma in good temper again. If you would
have success in your shooting and no squabbles
in camp, make this a rule of the chase : keep your
lianter for hunting only, and let your other men
fully understand that he is not the * odd man ' to
do everyone's bidding. A first-rate man, if he is
benighted with you, will work for your comfort
like a slave, but considers all work except hunt-
ing beneath his dignity on ordinary occasions.
Yours,
C. P. W.
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LETTER VII.
91
LETTER VII.
Tvr -r^ Pighorn Camp.
My learned Fjuexd,
Day after day to follow the deer in any
weather, no matter what winds buffet you, so
that they blow i)ure and full of health from
heaven and the hill-tops, is the keenest physical
enjoyment I have ever tasted ; but you might
find it far from enjoyable to follow my wand^er-
ings day by day on paper, so I will skim the
cream of my three weeks for you, and present my
experiences in small do?es.
The camp which we made our headquarters
was for above the hemhjck-grove, at the very
head of a little gully, running up to a stern crest
of rock, which looked almost like an extinct
volcano. Our tents were pitched on opposite
sides of the great fire, and surrounded by a
thick clump of small i)ines, from which the gray
squirrels hung head downwards all day long,
vituperating us with the energy and endurance
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
of ail American alarum. Down below the knoll
on which our tents stood ran a tiny brook, from
which we drew our water-supplies ; and on the
far side of it was a great grassy bluff, running up
to the volcano, along the sharp edge of which we
often saw, in the early gray of morning, deer and
«heep outlined against the sky. Down the stream
on either side were patches of pine-trees and a
little dead forest full of fallen timber, which
seemed the most favoured haunt of mule-deer in
the whole neighbourhood. In camp were strewn
on the ofround or hunor on the trees half a dozen
noble rams' heads, decayed and weather-beaten,
but suggestive tro2)hies, nevertheless, of the sport
the redskins had enjoyed last fall. All round and
below us were great rolling yellow sheep-downs,
cut up by gullies and canons, but covered every-
where with beautiful sun-dried hay.
These downs stretched right up to the foot of
the bare crags which formed the crest of the
ridge, ran out in some directions in a succession
of benches until they rolled right down to the
river below, but, on the other side, came to an
abrupt end at the edge of steep and precipitous
black rocks, sparsel}'^ covered with sweet-smelling
juniper-bushes, and here and there in less steep
places with larger trees. The favourite haunt of
the sheep seemed to be on the very edge of these
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LETTER VII.
93
downs above the clifFs, to which they betook
themselves at the least symptom of clanger,
setting the stones rattling down in volleys'' as
they scampered headlong over places which
looked hardly safe for a man without a rope.
On my first day I think I drained the cup of
disappointment to the very dregs, and as my
fortune has mended steadily ever since, I cannot
help feeling that Ill-luck on that day spent her
malice upon me. We had hardly left camp, when
we made out on the downs below us four mule-
deer lying with their heads uphill. At first, to
me, they looked only like great gray rocks, but
when (having turned our horses loose) we had
gone a mile or so, and Toma invited me to peer
over a little knoll, I saw through the tall bents
the great erect ears of three hinds and the
spreading antlers of a buck, not sixty yards
from me. Slowly the hinds rose, one by one
—not winding us, but restless and suspicious.
Then at last the buck rose, too, and I knew
to a hair's brccv.ibh where the bullet should
strike him. But the hammer fell with a sharp
click, and no report followed. The deer, only
half startled, trotted away for fifty yards and
then stood again. Trying to keep my temper, I
fired as steadily as before, and again the con-
founded rifle played me ftilse, and either the deer
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
saw me as I jjuslied the useless weapon from me,
or heard the second cHck and were frightened,
for away they went at best si)eed, the first barrel
of my spare rifle missing fire like its fellow.
Toma spoke English then for the first and
only time I ever heard him, although I believe
my old guide was right in saying that he under-
stood and could speak it a little if he chose.
* Gun no good ; haiyu no good,' he muttered,
and I agreed even with the quaint superlative
* haiyu ' (anglice, * very ').
However, the morning was early still, and we
could now see little groups of hinds sauntering
off towards the timber in several directions, so
that we did not despair of adding fresh meat to
our menu of bacon and beans before dinner-time.
Our next stalk that morning was for better game
than deer — to wit, for two grand old mountain -
rams, -svhich we had made out with my glasses,
lying down in a sunny little corrie, very sheltered
from the wind, no doubt, and comfortable, but
dangerously easy to approach. When at last I
raised myself and looked over the ridge, the first
bighorn I had ever been near was cercainly not
forty yards from me, standing up and looking
away from me over the lecuinbent form of his
fellow. Two splendid beasts they were, with
finely-curled, heavy horns, and coats so dark that
I
LETTER VII.
95
with dew and sunshine on them they looked
almost purple. And again my express, which
had served me so well with only two miss-fires
before that morning in ten years' work, missed
fire, and set the bighorns going best pace
downhill. As they went, I snatched the spare
rifle from Toma, a common Winchester repeater,
and knocked over the hindmost ram at the gallop.
Unfortunately I hit him too far back, so that he
recovered himself, and, as the hillside was bare
and stony, my hunter could not track him except
by the blood, which soon ceased. Let me have
done with the story of that good rifle's delin-
quencies at once. Sometimes it went oft', oftener
it would not, until, at last, I lost confidence in it
to such an extent that /missed even if the rifle did
not miss fire. The last evil turn it did me was
one morning on the broken face of the cliff's.
We had both rifles with us, but when Toma
whispered * Bears,' I forgave my old friend, and
put my trust in her again. Two black bears,
huge big fellows, with glossy black coats, were
scuttling up the bank through the yellow birches,
their fat sides shaking as they ran. Both barrels
missed fire again, and by the time I had got hold
of the Winchester the bears had disappeared.
From that date, though the Winchester had
lost its back-sight, I used it exclusively, and
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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III
learnt to like it (though it only cost 40 dollars)
as well as my high-priced express. The worst of
a repeater is, that there is always such a tempta-
tion to (as the Yankees say) * pump in lead as
long as you can see the durned critter.' This
seoms to me an argument against the adoption of
repeaters by our troops. They will certainly cost
us a great deal in ammunition, and lead to loose
shooting. But a Winchester well handled is an
accurate little weapon ; and I met a gentleman
tliis year out West, who really could knock the
heads off at least four grouse out of six, at from
twenty to fifty yards with his repeater, and not
ruffle a feather below the neck. That first day
in the hills was a Saturday, and it had certainly
been a * dies ira?.' On the Sunday following I
gave men and horses a rest, as I always like to
do, and looked forward keenly to the morrow's
hunt on the ridge above. Unfortunately, towards
noon rifle-shots began to re-echo about the hills,
and down below on the next ' bench ' we could
see some horses picketed, and the blue smoke
curling from some other fellow's camj)-fire. Then
there was sorrow in Bighorn Camp, and S., light-
ing his twenty-seventh pipe that day, got on his
old cayouse, and went down to si)y out the land
and see what manner of men these might be.
LETTER VIII.
Dear Pat, ^'^^°'" ^*"^l'-
Six thousand miles by road and rail and
ocean steamers, added to six days through moun-
am forests, m whieh even mining engineers and
liuhans are scarce, should suffice even in these
miserabledaysof over-population andover-civiliza-
tion to ensure the traveller solitude which the
nng of no other man's rifle should break. And
yet on my second day in camp there were white
men s horses down below on the next * bench ' of
grass, and white men's rifles were making the
chtts rattle above my eyry. As my old hunter
came back without any very definite report I
rode down on the Monday evening to interview
the enemy in person, my heart swelling with a
just wrath. As I rode down the brae, I was
aware of a person beyond the brook, who, with
his back turned, appeared to be deep in some
cuhnary operation. I did not know then, but I
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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have discovered since, that he was making
* parritch.' I beheve he must have come from
far Dundee for the sole purpose of making
porridge, as only a Scotchman could under any
circumstances. Certainly, if he will forgive me
for saying so, I don't think he was nmch
enamoured of big game shooting. His friend
was coming down the opposite bank at the moment,
leading a tired horse — a horse, I should say, very
justly tired with carrying the fourteen stone of
young bone and muscle which walked beside it
and tried to disguise its nationality in a cowboy's
hat and shirt. Reader, have you seen two bull
terriers with their backs up, their tails high in
air, walk round and round each other with
the angry sniff which being translated means,
* Now then, who's going to begin ' ?
If one is very much bigger than the other,
they probably fight. If they are a really good
match, they i)robably trot off amicably together
and find a little dog to worry. We trotted off
together. My new friends had not come in from
the same side of the country as myself, and when
they camped were absolutely ignorant of my pre-
sence, but with a courtesy beyond all praise
offered at once to clear out, if I claimed a prior
right to the ground, and considered there was
not room for three rifles at the same time.
Ifs:
LETTER VIII.
99
Naturally, we tossed as to whether they should
dine with me or I with them, and agreed to draw
for choice of beats day by day.
That night old S. and ' the boy ' were in
great form. The Scotchmen had only got Indians
to l()t)k after them ; the old gunner would show
them how tilings were done in a white man's
camp.
Charlie (the boy) had had a successful day's
sport amongst the rabbits and grouse, our
neighbours, who shared the little clump of trees
in which we lived. Like the son of Jesse, he
used only pebbles from the brook ; but the stupid
jack rabbits which he tracked in the snow sat
still until he hit them ; and the * fool hens,' as
they call the big grouse here, are more stupid
than the rabbits. I well remember one fool
hen, who stolidly sat out a bombardment of at
least half an hour, on one of the top branches of
a pine, until Mr. W., my Indian, and myself had
used up all the stones we could find in a radius
of 200 yards. We hit her twice before the
Indian brought her down, but though the bough
on which she sat was struck scores of times, she
would not ^y. On another occasion, I remember
pursuing one of these birds amongst the pine-
woods with a stick When I threw it she flew,
and of course I missed ; but at last she allowed
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
mo to knock her clown with a good straiglit cut.
These grouse are the most preternaturally stupid
animals I ever saw, but cooked they are excellent.
A. dinner at Bighorn Camp, Ashinola, is not a
very ceremonious affair. My guests rode up at
seven, and my men spread the seat of honour (a
red blanket) on the windward side of the fire,
under the lea of the tent. The Indians sat
opposite. I think they rather enjoy the pungent
smoke of a wood-fire. Outside, the dark pines
sheltered us from the wind, with whose voice a
wolfs howl was blended from time to time, as a
whiff of the savoury roast reached his nostrils.
Within the charmed circle of the firelight, all
was bright and cheery. Two old whisky-cases,
which held our stores, served for tables. The
billies and rifle-barrels gave back the gleams of
the blazing logs, while the bright red blankets in-
side my tent made a bright and cosy * interior.*
And so we sang our songs, smoked our pipes,
and pledged one another in libations of whisky
and tea, while the men indulged in the luxuries
of ' packers' jam ' (i.e., brown sugar and bacon-fat),
ribs roasted in the embers, and cigarettes of
chopped * pigtail ' and newspaper.
That night we parted in good fellowship, and
promised, as our guests prepared to face the perils
of a homeward journey by as rough a road as
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LETTER VIII.
lOI
' diners-out ' ever trod, to join camps on the
morrow on the lower ground.
This arrangement worked admirably, and whilst
W. and myself shot to our hearts' content, H.
thoroughly mastered the art of ])()rridge-making.
But things were going too well t(j last. On
Sunday we all lay on our oars and planned a
great expedition for the morrow, or smoked and
threw each other's boots at the great black-capped
]"obber-birds, who not only stole tlie mutton
hanging on the trees round the camp, but actually
came and stole from our very i)lates. About
mid-day we sat uj' <is if galvanized, and made the
same remark in chorus. It was not quite a
welcome, I fear, though the cause of it was the
advent of another Englishman, the forerunner of
a part of the Admiral's party, under the leader-
ship of a Canadian gentleman named C. To be
just, the new-comer was ready to go at once and
give place to the first settlers ; but the gentle-
man who belonged to the country, Mr. C,
had other views. He asked us to come in and
have a pipe * next door ' aftor dinner ; next door
being w^here he had camped about fifty yards
from us. We went. He was a jolly good fellow,
and the naval whisky was excellent ; but as for
making room for anybody on earth, our new friend
declared it might be all right in th old country,
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
but it would not do here. * Where were we
going to shoot next day V Thinking at least he
would, if we told him, avoid our beat, I suggested
the top ground. * Ah ! that's just where we
are going,' and C.'s face simply ripjoled with
laughter. If anyone ever enjoyed ' pulling
another man's leg,' C. enjoyed that luxury on the
first night w^c met. My Scotch friends smoked
in silence. There appeared to be n(j precedents
for a case of this kind, and no one could quarrel
with a man so full of innocent mirth, and abso-
lutely unconscious of the enormity of his offence.
* Look here !' suggested C. ; * I've promised
these gentlemen that they shall get sheep, and
they shall. What do you say to our making a
drive all too^ether ? You have not done much sfood
so far, and if the sheep are there, as you say
they are, we are bound to get some, if we send
our Indians round to drive.' I did not like the
idea, but it was the only thing to do ; so I con-
sented, fully determined that after the drive the
great gathering of sportsmen at Bighorn Camp
should be less by one. Of that drive I'll tell
you in niv next letter, if I ever survive to write
another ; and I candidly confess that the idea of
all these riflemen together, round the toj^most
crao', with a friofhtened ram dodG^ini>" from one to
the other, is to my mind suggestive of more risk
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LETTER VIII.
103
to the hunters than to the ram. The caniij
altogether is sad to-night. My young Scotch
friend W. met a small band of the big black
wolves which have been molesting our° horses
lately, and unfortunately found them, as some
men find the rabbits at home, quite a foot too
short for shooting. So he is sad over misused
opportunities, while I sadly think of the morrow.
The laugh is on the other side our camp fire to-
night
Yours gloomily,
C. P. W.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
LETTER IX.
Bighorn Camp.
Dear Pat,
We had not been very successful until
the arrival of Mr. C.'s party ; in that C. was
perfectly well informed. The Scotchmen had,
I think, got one small sheep and a hind for
meat, whilst I had secured two stags, two small
rams, and a very fine old ewe, with horns almost
as big as a young ram's.
But we had been learning our ground, and
were very bitter at being robbed of our reward.
There was not a rasfofed cliff whose face W. and
myself had not climbod, scrambling over moraines,
up dizzy little sheep-paths, on inclines which tried
the wind and wore out moccasins and indiarubber
soles at the rate of three pairs a week, and all
only to discover that the chief asylum of the
sheep was in the crags at the top, from which,
when disturbed, they descended and scattered
the lower canons and through the
through
timber. For the last four dayTu^^^l^^d^i^^y
been workino: the sheep back to the heights, and
now others were going to reap the reward of our
toil. However, it could not be helped, so at
about 7 a.m. we mustered in force. The com-
mand of the expedition was offered to me but
was declined on the score that I did not know
anythmg of sheep-driving. So C. sent out his
men, and he and I rode off together.
' Now, my dear fellow, I doti't care for a shot •
1 ve shot scores of sheep ; if we see any, you take'
the first crack at them,' said my companion ; and
my heart went out to him for his self-denial I
had left Polly, my buckskin mare, in camp, as
she was a bit stale from over-work, and had
taken out mstead a big, rather well-bred lookino-
screw, bought by old S. at the Alison ranch
tor 20 dollars. The screw moved under me with
a fine free stride, which is wofully wantino- in
the native cayouse, and I really thought if there
was any galloping to be done that day, my horse
^ya, the horse to do it. Cuptain S. mxl the rest
of the guns took the right-hand side of the crags •
C. and myself went down wind to the left At
the very outset Captain S., wh<. was a little in
advance of his party, came face to flice with a
splendid mule-deer buck, which, from the reports
of those who saw him, I take to have been bicro-er
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than my big buck or any killed during the
expedition. The foolish beast stood broadside
on at fifty jiaces, and with a rare self-denial,
worthy of a good sportsman, Captain S. let him
go without firing at him, rather than risk dis-
turbinof the nobler sfame we were in search of.
Now, looking back, I can only regret that the
buck's head was not added to my friend's trophies,
for immediately afterwards C. and I sio^hted a
band of small ewes on the bare slopes to the left
of the * crater.' To my surprise C. at once
began to ride hard. To my remark that there
were no good heads amongst them, I got no
answer ; and as C.'s object was evident, I joined
in the chase, determined that if the law of the
day was to be * Shoot at everything, and devil
take the hindmost,' I would do my best not to
occupy that invidious position. Alas ! as the
horses faced the incline, I felt my screw's powers
fade away, until the swinging stride slackened to
a walk, and a hideous roaring informed me that
my poor beast was broken-winded. So C. got
in first ; the foolish ewers, getting thoroughly
confused and standing in a bunch, huddled to-
gether as stujiidly as if they had been domestic
Shropshire downs, whilst * the native ' dismounted
and * pumped lead into them ' at about 100 yards'
range.
When I came up he had secured three,
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LETTER IX.
107
and was having them fjralloched. I should have
felt happier if the Indian had killed them before
he and his master began gralloching. As no
amount of philosoj)hy could make a man on a
broken-winded horse genial under such circum-
stances as these, I fear poor C. found my con-
gratulations somewhat wanting in warmth, and,
to my delight, betook himself to the top ground,
he and his Indian riding away in full view along
the ridge. However, the rifles now were ringing
out in all directions, and as I had kept Toma
with me, I felt there was still a chance of getting
a shot at some beast which my friends might
miss. The top ground at the crater is a succes-
sion of little circular hollows, filled up in places
with large round ponds ; here and there are
stunted forests, or rather spinnies, of pines, con-
torted and dwarfed by cold and the barrenness of
the soil in which they grow. Here once Toma
and I had watched a wolverine, apparently
hunting in the snow ; and though the sly beast,
the trapper's worst enemy, is rarely seen in broad
daylight, we let him go. Hei-e, too, we stalked
and spared the biggest mule-deer buck I ever
saw, principally because, in S2)ite of his size, he
carried no antlers.
But now the rattle of rifles was echoinix amonofst
these mountain sanctuaries, and we down below
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amongst the cliffs watched the gullies eagerly for
anything which might attempt to descend and
seek shelter in the forest of pines beyond. Now
and again we saw some one ride along the sky-
line at the toji, and once I tried two long shots
at a couple of rams working their way down wind
along the cliff-face. This turned them, and sent
them over the top, where I believe they passed
Captain S. at a fairly long range, and at a good
pace. But S. had taken up a position where he
was out of sight, and kejjt cool and quiet, biding
his time, so that when the leading ram passed
him he turned him over with perhaps the best
shot fired that day. At last my turn came.
There was a rattle of stones in one of the main
gullies leading from the crater, and five old rams
came galloping down for the forest. They were
making so much noise themselves that it mattered
little that my Indian and I bumped and slipped
about, now on our feet, now on our backs, in our
frantic endeavours to get to a point from which
they must pass within range of us. At last they
saw us, threw up their noble heads, planted their
fore-feet with an impatient stamp, and stood at
gaze. It was only for a moment, and my hand
ttled on the stones as I rested my rifle for the
!''0t; but every bullet has its course fore-ordained,
so in spite of my shaking aim, the leading ram fell
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LETTER IX.
109
over with a crash as I fired, and another fell
m his tracks as they dashed away in headlong
flight. It was a weary while before Toma and I
overhauled even my first ram, and he took three
more shots to finish him and bring him to bay ;
but I was as thoroughly beaten by the chase over
the cliffs as if I had run a three-mile race ; my
knees began to fail me, and the perspiration (lean
though I was) blinded me. As for the other
ram, though the blood-track was plain enough at
first, I was too tired to follow, but gave Toma
the rifle, and lying down on a point from which I
felt too weak to descend in safety, left him to
find and finish the beast for me. However, I
think Toma was very nearly blown ; at any rate,
my second ram was never found, and I had to be
content with the first, whose measurements were
14 inches round the butt and 284 inches in
length round the outside curve of the horns.
Both horns were a little broken at the points.
Though only a seven-year-old ram, and though a
good head, it was neither unusually laro-e^nor
symmetrical. The total bag that dav was three
sheep and three rams, the latter killed, one b^-
Captain S., one by my Scotch friend Mr. w\
and one by myself
That night there was much rejoicing in camp ;
trifling disagreements were forgotten; it was
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conceded that C.'s plan had at any rate the
merit of success, and, however angry one might
feel with him when he crossed you on the hill-
side, it was impossible t(j resist his cheery good-
fellowship when the day was over. Still, my
next letter will not be from Bighorn Camp.
Yours truly,
C. P. W.
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LETTER X.
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LETTER X.
Dear Pat, The Dead Forest.
Practically this letter was written in the
dead-wood forest at the top of the downs, wliere
all the httle rills which water the camps and vun
down to swell the volume of the Similkameen
have their origin in a bleak, swampy moss. Eire
has, at some time, swept through the forest, and
left the dead trees standing grim and gray, flakes
of dark moss draping them in very funereal
tasliion, so that one involuntarily feels chilled
and wishes that A^ature would be considerate and
bury her dead, replacing the gaunt trunks with
younger trees and greener. In this forest I lav
note-book in hand, stretched along a smooth
fallen trunk about which the sunlight played
writmg my record of the week, while Toma tried
in vam to track a dying buck which we had seen
tall twice before he entered the timber. As I
lay there unmoving, two great ravens came from
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
some peak above, and lii^hting on dead trees hard
by, discussed in harsli, angry notes what manner
of tiling I might be. * Dead ! is he dead V they
kept questioning ; but though tliey came saihng
down very near, they could not quite make U})
their minds. Brutes ! I should like to have
resolved their doubts with a bullet. Still lvin<if
there, I heard the leaves move, and looking down
a vista amongst the i)ines I saw two great-eared
hinds looking at me. I should think they stood
for full ten minutes — it seemed hours to me, my
muscles ached so with the effort to remain abso-
lutely quiet. Presently they were satisfied, and
walked daintily out of sight, followed inmiediately
by a handsome buck, tossing his branching antlers
as if he had led the van and dared the risk,
instead of sending his meek mates in front to see
it all was safe for him. I had killed as fine, if
not a finer stag of his race. The sunlisfht was
very sweet, and I enjoyed the silence, so, though
my hand crept towards my rifle, I let him go
unhurt. This forest seems full of mule-deer.
In the morninof all the hicfhest of the downs are
alive with them, in big bands ; but that is only
whilst the light is still gray and the day young.
As soon as it is broad daylight they all vanish,
creeping away into dark moss-carpeted woods,
still and damp, in which your foot sinks ankle-
■:. X.
LETTER X. ,,^
deep, witliout a souiul. Xext to that prin^f
door, tl.e 'wapiti,' the mule-deer is the bim.est
of his family in America—as hiir, I shoukl'sav,
almost as an ordinary Scotch red-deer. He is'a
han.lsome beast, with a face boldly blazed with
patches of* black and white upon russet-brown or
.i,^my. His cars are the most noticeable thinos
HlM>ut him. I have just measured the ears on
the head of a buck shot by me, and I find that
from the root to the tip they measure ten inches.
This is almost as long- as the animal's face, from
a point between the horns to the tip of his
muzzle.
^ The big,ircst buck which T havx^ had the good
fortune to secure has a span <.f nearlv twcrfeet
from antler to antler, ten large well-developed
points, and a heavy beam five and a half inches
m circumference. This is, of course, not an ex-
ceptionally good head ; but I think it is above
the average of the mule-deer on the Similkameen
We had known this stag for a week before we
got hini, his favourite haunt being just below our
camp, amongst some fallen timber, in Avhicli it
was almost an impossibility to approach him un-
heard. Three or four times, when creeping over
the logs, we saw a pair of great ears listenhig on
another bank, then half a dozen hinds would trot
quickly through the timber, followed by this
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
lordly beast, ho heavy with j,^oocl feedini^ that wo
wondered to see him clear the «,a'eat logs in his
way. Once, when stalkinj^ a Imnd of bighorn
rams, he rose quietly from his lair in front of us,
and we could see his fat sides shake as he trotted
away. But he did not disturb the rams, so we
let him go. At last his time came. Meat was
wanted in camp, and we were going to shoot a
distant hill-top. When the even chop, chop of
the old man's axe awoke me, the country was
wrapped in a gray, smoky mist which hung about
all day, and the trees were silvered with frost.
S. was working hard, but comi)laining bitterly,
according to his wont, as he explained to the boy
that the stars had left the sky, and tlie boss
would soon want his breakfast. Then thei'e was
a short mental stru2f2rle with the desire to remain
curled up in one's blankets, whilst the growing
fire warmed and lit the inside of the tent — a
struggle soon over, and followed by an heroic
wash almost deserving of the dignity uf a ' aib.'
The bottle of sweet-oil for the rifles whivh stood
by my bedside had frozen hard in the night, and
a pack of wolves, whose bowlings we had heard,
had stampeded our horses. By the tracks they
must have driven the poor beasts almost through
the camp-fire, whither they had come for succour ;
but the night was too dark for the Indian to see
LETTER X.
"5
t'itlier wolves or horses when tlie noise woke him,
and tlie fire had ahnost died out. Since the
wolves, there had been another visitor in camp, a
lynx, whose tracks came almost up to the tents.
We arranged a trap for him, and then went out
to look for our horses. Having found tliem
none the worse {\)V their scare, Toma and I
satldled our ' hunters ' and rode off over i\u\
downs, on which the snow lav in considerable
patches. There was nothing I feared so much in
my Similkameen experiences as these early morn-
ing rides with the frost on the grass, and many
a mile I tramped rather than ride over the
break-neck sloj)es, covered with long sli[)pery her-
basfc, on which even the Indian's grav could never
keej) its footing. We used to ])rogrcss in a suc-
cession of slides and slitherings, and it requii-ed
experience to enable j^ou to trust to your ca-
youse's recovering his footing when you felt that
he had three legs in the air and the other was
slipping. On foot and in moccasins, I could not
keep my feet without a stick, and yet, after a
week's practice, Dolly and I would join Toma
and the crrav in a break-neck canter mcrelv to
warm our blood.
On this particular morning, on the next blufi'
to our own, we sighted the big buck and six
hinds leisurelv feedinsf back to cover. The cover
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
was half a mile away, and the deer, having seen
us, moved off towards it at a smart trot. Toma
made siu'iis to me to follow him, and next moment
we were over the ridge out of sight of our quarry,
and galloping ' ventre a terre ' over a horribly
slippery slope, in the endeavour to cut the buck
off before he could reach the wood. As we came
over the ridge we saw we were just too late, his
stern disappearing amongst the timber as we
came in sight. The snow was falling, and as we
hardly anticipated work so near camp, I still wore
a macintosh ; my feet were, as usual, in moccasins.
Without a word, Toma rode full gallop into the
timber, threw himself from his horse and dashed
downhill over logs whose sharp and ragged limbs
caught and tore my flying macintosh, and over
stakes and flints which almost made me howl as
I trod upon them. But in spite of all we held
on at best pace for half a mile, and then we
caught sight of the buck, rather blown with his
recent exertions, lazily lurching over the fallen
timber, while the hinds were far on ahead. It
was a fluky shot I fired, for I was at least as
blown as the buck, though in better condition ;
but it brought him up ail standing for a moment,
and gave me a chance of rolling him head over
heels with the second barrel before he had re-
covered from his surprise. I never saw a fatter
W
LETTER X.
117
beast in my life, and my little redskin was en-
thusiastic over the piles of white fat which he
collected from the entrails and hack of mv first
mule-deer. To the Indians this fot for winter use
IS the most valuable part of the iranie. When we
brought his head into camj), (,ld S. recognised
hmi as the buck which he had met, face to face
* at fifty yards, sir, close to camp, just whenever
1 didn t happen to have anything but the axe
handy.' Since shooting the big buck, I have
killed others, and might hare killed many, a day
never passing without, at least, <me shot at a
mule-deer buck presenting itself unsought ; but
I contented myself with the three best heads I
yaw, shooting two of them 'on the jump' in
thick timber, of which they are far too fond to
make them ever unpleasantly popular with the
orthodox deer-stalker.
If others visit these shooting-grounds, or any
other deer-frequented ranges near Indian villa<.cs
It would be kind to deal death sparinglv amon<^
these creatures which supply the native M'ith food
and foot-gear, and afford him, now that he may
neither scalp nor steal horses, the only amusement
which makes his too civilized life worth liviix.
Even now, in this glorious climate, Pat, I cannot
help feeling that if I were free to choose I'd
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rather ^^'cal• a scaIi,-lock than a wig, rather steal
horses than prosecute others for steahng them
rather he a barbarian than a barrister.
Yours truly,
C. F. W.
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LETTER XI.
"9
LETTER XI.
' The Sheep-trimmed Downs/
r\i.Y SYMrATIIETIC FllIEXD,
You will easily understand that after the
drive stalking- was a thin.iv hardly worth consider-
ing. The rams mi<jhf be anywhere, but were
less likely to be in the open country than anv-
where else. The Indians always have stories of
inaccessible crags to which the wily bighorn
retires in times of persecution, but I have never
yet been abl- to find these fastnesses, though I
have alw;r^ i.",- le a point of getting to the top
of auy onni'y i^ ^hich I happened to be
camped. T... - talk, too, of the old beasts with
the mythica. K'\. Is, measuring eighteen or twenty
inches round the butt, and curling hvicc against
the brow, dwelling- in some remote peaks, find
only coming down in the rutting season to woo
and make war, or h\ the depth of winter, when
all the ii-^uhts are buried in snow, and even a
aiouutaiu -a op cannot live flir above the level
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of the pniirie. It may be that the big rams
retire to the more remote ranges, to which even
the Indians do not know the way, or to wliich,
if they do, they will not guide a stranger ; but
for the most part, where disturbed, I think the
rams hide in the thnber or in the precipitous
canons below the feeding-g ruids. Here it is a
hopeless task to seek them, . a mere fluke if
you succeed in finding them. IVi^ Scotch friends
had gone the day after the drive, and 1 lay at
my pony's feet with my boy Toma looking across
the sea of peaks, with which we were almost on
a level. I never met the man yet who was so
good a fellow that I would not rather have his
room than his company in a shooting-camp. At
any rate, if two are company, more than two are
too many. I confess this is an unlovely trait in
my character, but it is there ; and as I looked over
the waves of puri)le peaks, crowned with masses
of ragged black cloud, and lit here and there by
a ray of autumn sunlight, I sighed for solitude.
As I looked, the sun touched a great rounded
shoulder of the mountain flir away at the back
of the first range beyond the river, a shoulder bare
of pine woods, far above the timber, and in the
sunlight looking smooth ind golden with rich dry
grasses.
* Toma, do you see that peak, beyond where
LETTER XI.
121
the Admiral is shooting on the other side, beyond
where Mr. C. ' (another sohtaire) ' has his camp
right back amongst the mountains ?'
' Nawitka, yes,' rephed the boy, stopping in
his occupation of adorning his old straw hat with
the feathers of grouse and a stray eagle's feather
he had found.
' Well ; did you ever shoot there ?'
* No ; never.'
* Could you find your way there V
' No ; I don't think so.'
Toma evidently did not want to go.
Well, Toma,' I concluded, in I tone of de-
cision, ' come along back to camp to get ready ;
we will go down to the river to-night and camp
there ; to-morrow w^e will try to get to that
shoulder.'
That night we camped by the river, wherein,
to my utter surjmse, bitterly cold though it was,
my little Indian bathed bodily. Of course I
followed so good an example ; and caught a nice
basket of trout afterwards, with a hazel pole for
a rod. I could see a big spotted fellow lying in
the clear still water behind a great boulder, lind
tried to tempt him with a wonderful scarlet
worm of india-rubber, which I bought long ago,
and have carried unused for many a year. The
ridiculous thing nearly gave that trout a fit, and
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
a subsequent ofier of raw venisou failed to console
him. So, in spite of the unfitness of my hazel
wand for such work, I had to try and throw a
fly. Flop it came on the water, and the trout
almost bolted agfain. But the second time he
stayed to look at this new lure, and, like many
a more civilized fish, he found its charms irre-
sistible. So we added a dish of trout that niglit
to the luxurious dinner of grouse and venison
and hot cake, which already awaited us ; and next
morning', < bright and early,' as the Yankees say,
we struck camp, and began our climb towards
our new shootino'-gvound. We had not gone half
a mile before I found that, though it had not
been used that year, there was a trail to my peak,
and this was not the first time that Toma had
travelled it. Indeed, after a time, he confessed
that he had hunted there before, ten years ago,
but that the road was very bad for horses, and
there were not many sheep there. It certainly
was a villainous road, and so steep that it had,
almost all of it, to be done on foot. Even * the
boy,' who used to anger me beyond endurance by
the stubborn laziness with which he stuck to his
poor devil of a pony in any circumstances, rather
than use his own legs, had, on this occasion, to
get oft' and walk. It almost consoled me for my
own weariness to see, for the first time, my cook
LETTER XI
trauii^ing like his master. The difficulty of the
tmil sufficiently accounted for the rarity of the
natives' visits to this particular jDeak, as my ex-
perience of the Ashinola Indian is, that where he
cannot hunt on horseback he does not care to
hunt at all. The noble savage can do as much
hard work as anyone, but will avoid it always if
he can. By noon we had scrambled up the last
.step in the ladder which led to my land of
promise, and my moccasins were hanging about
my feet in rags, so that I had to rely on dd S.'s
good nature, who gave me his last pair, and
f^ubmitted for the rest of our trip to the misery
of wearing a good-looking jjair of knee-boots, of
which he was inordinately proud at starting.
As we dragged our horses after us up the last
moraine, from Avhich we looked on the downs
beyond, Tonia sank with a low whistle to the
ground. Lying there behind him, we rested, and
watched six splendid rams feed slowly to the toj)
of the ridge and disapi)ear. Then we hurried on
Jirough a piece of ' brule ' to where, above a
patch of boggy gray moss, in which a little
water stood in pools, a patch of burnt timber
affi^rded just sufficient shelter to hide our tents
from the game on the great bare snow-patchod
sheep-wrdk above. The camp was the bleakest
I ever looked upon, but we left old S. to do his
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
t<(
best for us, hobbled and turned the horses loose,
and then climbed the slope of red-gold grass on
foot, going down wind until we crossed the saddle,
and then turning up along the upper edge of the
timber, where the grass began and the trees
ceased. Here was the very home and haunt of
the mountain sheep. Thick pine-forests stretched
away below us, growing thinner as they neared
the downs. Along the boundary-line between
the two were rocky moss-covered ledges, over-
grown with a strong heather-like plant. On these
ledges, and amongst this heathery growth, we
found scores of warm, wind-proof lairs or forms
in which the sheep had been wont to take their
siestas. Here, too, we found a rusty hunting-
knife which some former visitor had dropped.
Not five minutes before, Toma had been re-
gretting that he had left his knife behind. Now
his face beamed as he put the rusted blade
through his belt. * I thought,' said the super-
stitious little fellow, * that crackling in the fire
this morning meant a roast ; now ' (tapping the
knife) * I know.' Here a crashing of boughs in-
terru23ted us, and crouching down, we i)eered
through the scattered pines into the green dark-
ness beyond, where, after a moment, we caught
the quick flicker of gray bodies passing through
the*': ti'P.ber. 'Only mowitz' (deer), muttered
LETTER XI.
125
Toiiia, rising and going on. The noise in the
timber had drawn my companion's keen eyes
downhill, so that it was lucky that I was not
trusting to him entirely, or I should not nave
caught a glimpse of two great white sterns on a
little plateau al)ove us before it was too late.
To clutch the little fellow in front of me by the
waist-belt and drag blue shirt and tall grass-hat
unceremoniously in a heap to the grotnid was
the work of instinct.
To the indignant protest of his face, tuo
fingers held up, and the whisi)ered words, ' Sheep,
hyas sheep, selokwha hyas !' (Very, very bio-
ones) was sufficient answer, and next niomeiit
you could see the very soles of his moccasins
trembling with excitement as he lay peering
through the heather at the six rams we had
seen earlier in the morning, feeding now in happy
ignorance of their danirer.
Toma is a splendid little Indian, not one of your
lazy red-skinned louts wlio care only for the
dollars and the * broil' in the embers when tlie
day's work is done, but a keen little sportsman,
eager for blood as a terrier, and full of sympathy'
for another's keenness. But this time I meant
to do the whole thing myself. I luid found the
rams, and I meant to stalk them and kill them
in my own way, or lose them altogether. So I
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
persuaded Toma to lie down while I crept and
crawled slowly, yard by yard, over the terribly
bare ground between me and them. Once I lay
down to rest, and, looking back, I could see the
little chap, his keen face strained my way, like a
hound held in leash when he winds the deer.
Sucli stalks as these, such beating of heart and
bating of breath, take a week out of a man's
life in live minutes perhaps ; but what gambler's
excitement could equal them ? At last I reached
a fringe of heather, and allowed myself the first
glance at mv game since I had caught that
momentary glimpse of them before I jiulled
down my guide. There they were, six of them,
all good rams, some feeding, some with their
heads up, and, furthest from me of all, the master
of the band, his feet planted on a little butte
150 yards away, looking fixedly in my direction,
his beautiful dark face and snow-white muzzle,
his curling horns and broad chest, standing out
bravely against the sky. The others were all
nearer, all easier shots, but I never saw so grace-
ful a head before as * the master's ;' and as I
pushed the rifle slowly through the grass, I
swore to have him or none. Bravo ! as the
smoke curled up, he pitched forward on his head,
and springing to my feet as his mates rushed by,
I rolled over another good ram, who, however,
LETTER XL
127
r,
picked himself up, and with the rest dived down
below the crest of the Ijluff. The shots could
not have taken more than a few moments, but
as the smoke of the second shot still cluni»' to
the Winchester's muzzle, Toma snatched it from
my hand and dashed off in pursuit. It was good
ufoinir over the down, but I could no more catch
Toma than he could catch my wounded ram.
This was unlucky, for as I stood to bi-eathe on
the top of the cliff I saw the five pass in single
file across the flice of it, about 150 feet below
me. Had I had mv rilie I could have secured
my wounded beast and another. As it was, I
watched them out of sight, and then went to look
for my Indian. Bits of him strewed the hillside
— here a coat, there a straw hat. By-and-by I
came upon him, with his head tied ujd in a
handkerchief, gazing down into a deep horseshoe-
shaped canon, of which the crags on which we
were formed a side. All round the cliffs rose
sheer and high, and right at the bottom was a
tiny prairie, through which a consideral)le stream
ran, rising in a small, brightly blue lake, gleaming
like a turquoise from among the burnt timber.
As we gazed we heard at intervals a dull hollow
shock echo up the gorge. * Rams fighting,' whis-
pered Toma, and directed my gaze to the bottom
of the canon, where, by the brook, stood ten rams
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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in a circle, their heads all turned inwards, while
from time to time two of them rushed together,
and caused the sound we heard, horn shocking
heavily against horn. We wjitched them for
some time, and then followed my \Vounded ram,
which we found on the face of the cliffs, spent
and dying. My bullet, meant as a coup de grace,
brought liim to life again, but after a blind
cluirge downhill he lay a[)parcntly dead al)out
200 vards below me. On oetting down to him
he rose again and went off best pace downhill,
with me after him, until he suddenly dropped
clean out of sight, and by throwing myself Hat
upon my back I just saved myself from following
him over a precipice ([uite high enough to have
finished my career.
Having scalped him, Toma and I went back
to our first ' kill,' which we found where I fired
at him, covered already with a gray frost, and
looking as big as a pony on the hillside. My
bullet had caught him full in the middle of the
chest, and he had dropped dead at once, with a
head of something like white clover still held in
the side of his mouth, as a groom holds a straw.
I measured him as he lay, and found him from
the root of the tail to the nape of the neck 3 feet
6 inches, while his girth was 3 feet 9 inches, and
his approximate height at the shoulder 3 feet
LETTER XL
129
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2 inches. The bighorns of the Cascades appear
to me to differ in one point somewhat from the
bighorn of Montana, these latter having their
horns curled closer, and lying much flatter against
their heads than is the fashion with their Cascade
cousins.
That night was a night of fete in my lonely
camp, and * the gunner ' made what he called a
* north-west fire,' on which whole trees lay and
flared out in the mountain - wind ; but when
morning broke the fire Avas hidden in snow ;
'hat Toma called * smoke ' wrapped everything
its heavy folds, so that nothing was visible to
us fifty yards from our tents ; the little pine-
trees were bowed down with the weiifht of the
snowflakes ; two of our pack-animals could not
be found, and when we lit our camp-fire again,
the rest of the poor beasts came and stood round
it, with their heads down and their tails to the
wind. All day the air was thick with winter's
swarming white bees, and all day w^e sat cowering
idly in our wet snow-piled tents. Poor Toma
looked so pitiable in his one blue canvas shiit
that I had to give him one of my own flannel
garments, whose somewhat gaudy colouring had
won his simple heart.
One more backward glance at the best sheep-
country I ever saw, and I will smother my sighs
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it
and set my head for Temple, E.G., the shadowy
side of my life.
It is the nioniing after the snow, and as bright
as yesterday it was dim. The two lost pack-
horses have been found, and already my redskin
and I are lialf-way up the bluff above the j)eat
boir. Lookinii' down at our little o^ray tents
among the bare burnt pine -poles, we give an
involuntary shudder, and wonder how we ever
lived out yesterday's storm. Looking up, our
eyes are dazzled with the sun's laugh upon the
snow, with the glitter and the flashing of the
millions of diamonds on the great white cone
above us, up which we creep ever so slowly.
When we reach the top we see how local the
snov/storm has been. Round us all is white, but
away to the west, line upon line the blue ridges
run, without a flake of snow upon them. From
the nearest a great feather of mist floats out into
the clear sky, like the smoke from some mighty
fire. All else is clear and sharply outlined. On
the sunny side the ridge we feel there is no time
so good for man as a winter morning, but cross
the to}! and leave the sunlight, and you will see
Winter without his smile. The diamonds are all
dead, their lights gone out ; no colour glows in
the gray air ; Nature is without life-blood, cold,
bitter, unbeautiful. Even in the sun that day
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LETTER XL
131
we had to turn down the ear-flaps of onT^^^^..
cap,., and To„,a showed that he felt the bitter
wn,d by tying a fag-end of rope tighter and
tighter round the waist of his old coat. The
.now was cut up in all directions by the wander-
ng sheep and deer, but son.ehow we n.issed then.
on that last day, though onee I stood within
200 yards of a band of rams, .standing in .serried
rank, neads all level and still as stones, starin.. at
me;bu Idid„otseethenUntin„,'andw*::
To,nasfrant,e gesticulations called n,y attention
tc. them, they vanished into the tin.ber, on the
Jo o winch they were standing, before I could
hiu I lalled a I„g buck for his antlers and his
i^aund,, „, a glade of the forest, fairy-like in its
snow-draped beauty ; and then we struck the
tents, and carrying our trophies with us, sou<»ht
the low country again. My head is now turned
or hon,e, but, as you n.ay well guess, I shall
dwell as nmch as may be on the journey If 1
get any more .sport you shall hear of it.
Yours truly,
C. P. W.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
LETTER XII.
The Potato Ranche.
My dear Pat,
There are two beasts in America which
are not of to-day, whose forms have nothing
homely about them, who dwell in such wild soli-
tudes and are so weirdly monstrous in their
outlines that they seem to be the births of fairy-
land, or, at least, the last relics of an earlier
creation, when herds of gigantic mammoths pas-
tured on the desolate tundras of Siberia, and the
elephant and the cave-dweller lived at Maiden-
head. I mean, of course, the moose, which wan-
ders along Canada's chain of lakes from the
Arctic to the St. Lawrence, and that quaint white
beast, between a poodle and a buffalo, which
haunts some few remote mountain-tops in the
nort)i-"'^est, and to which naturalists (recently in-
tr'i/duced to it) have given the high-sounding title
of * haploceros montana.'
English sportsmen call it the Rocky Mountain
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LETTER XII.
^z:i
goat
natives in the Cascades call it ' the white
sheep ;' naturalists, out of pure perversity, I sup-
pose, call it an antelope, the antelope beinc the
hghtest and most graceful, while the ' haplo^eros '
IS the heaviest of beasts : and after all, it looks
much more like a little white buffalo, only
clumsier, with its back rising in a heavy hump
and Its shaggy white beard and coat, the latter
hangmg in wide frills to its ankles. The horns
are bent back slightly, and are about twice as
heavy as a chamois', but not hooked like that
httle beast's. The horns on my best goat's head
(wh.ch I thmk a very good one) are between
five and a half and six inches in circumference at
the base, and the longest of them is nearlv nine
and a half inches in length. Behind each horn f
a black leathery orifice like a false ear, and in
this I found a deposit like nmsk, and certainlv
as strong in scent. Each orifice contained about
as much of this deposit as would equal a small
bean m size. Is this useless, or might it not be
a substitute for the precious little pod extracted
from the nmsk-deer of India ?
An excellent photograph of the beast, from a
negative, I believe, in the possession of Mr
Bailhe Grohman (who has been alnuxst a God-
father to this goat, if not its actual discoverer)
has long lain in my portfolio, and now, havin<r
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134
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
I
seen a sfood deal of the oriofinal, I can euinmeiid
it as being a wonderfully faithful portrait.
On my way back from the sheep-grounds, ^
camped one night on an old Indian camping-
ground in a narrow valley over which tall hills
and mountain-peaks impended. The Indians had
left for the moment, but their traces were round
us on all sides, in the bare j^oles which once sup-
l)orted their tents, and on which now, in trustful
fashion, were hung little bags of deer's hide, con-
taining Heaven knows what. Paint, i)erhaps, to
adorn themselves, or the dried jjalls of beasts to
use as drugs. A few frying-pans, too (with holes
in them), lay around, and innumerable feet of
deer, showing plainly on what the tribe had lived.
A stream which ran thi'ough the camp had been
dammed, hardly as neatly as if beavers had been
the engineers, and there were traces of a native
laundry and bathing-house. Small beds of dry
brush showed where each chief had lain, and by
the bank of the river at some distance was a low
mud hovel, in shape like a bee-hive, with a hole
facing the water just big enough for a man to
crawl through. This, my guide told me, was an
Indian ' sweat-house ' (the word sounds ill, but it
is good English), a native form of the institution
known in different countries as Turkish or Rus-
sian baths. Like the Russians, the Indians are
LETTER XII.
135
in the habit of rushing from their fiying-jian into
the cold water or snow outside, hence the in-
variable position of these huts on the river-banks.
The Indians on the Ashinola, at any rate, are a
cleanly people, especially on their hunting expe-
ditions, before starting upon which they indulge
ni most wholesale ablutions, and during which
they are rude enough to insist upon the ladies of
their party sleeping in little wigwams or shelters
by themselves. But I am off the line. White
goats, not redskins, should be the subjects of this
letter, and it was because a colony of white goats
was said to dwell in these peaks that we camped
at this particular spot ; an old Indian camping-
ground on ordinary occasions being a thing rather
to avoid than to seek. The goat is very local in
its distribution, and keeps a good deal ajmrt from
all other beasts, living in the most barren moun-
tain-tops, where, thougli it finds something to
browse upon, no grass tempts sheep or Jeer to
share its solitude.
Its skin only sells for 61-50 at the Hulson
Bay agencies in the North-West, and its'
flesh is so unappetizing that even an Ashinola
Indian won't eat it. So when three or four
years ago (and Toma was sure it was not longer
than that) two white goats appeared from no one
knew where, on the sheer cliff opposite, no great
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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efforts were made to kill them. In that neigh-
bourhood the animal had never been seen before.
The oldest inhabitant had never heard of a goat
on these hunting-grounds and though in the
second year a few were killed by the young
braves out of curiosity, and as a lesson in natural
history, after that no one meddled with them,
the braves not caring about goat's-flesh, and,
unlike the braves of the civilized world, being
quite content with the * scent ' with which Nature
had endowed them. So the goats increased and
multiplied, and when I pitched my tent at the
potato ranch on the evening of October 18th
or 19th (I forget which), I was assured that the
hill behind me was full of bearded billies and
their dames. It was starliofht when we rose
next morning, and as we sat by the camp-fire
breakfasting and watching the light of a new day
spread over the precipitous face of rock opposite
to us, Toina and myself exclaimed simultaneously
in various languages : ' By Jove, there is one !'
and when the Q-lasses were brouofht to bear, we
found that not one but three of the beasts we
sought were slowly browsing across what looked
to us a sheer wall of rock. Old S. was for im-
mediate jiursuit. Toma and I dissented, long
experience having taught us both that when you
can see a beast from vou
lamp-
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LETTER XI I.
137
that that beast has sem^r camp, a^i^d^rfTb^
pecuharly wide awake all day. So we finished
oui- breakfast and rodo our long-.suflerinsr p„„ie,
along the first bluffs which led up to the hei,.hts
on wh.ch we expected to find our game. But
even th.se first bluffs were so steep that "tho
pon.es lowered their wise heads to inspect every
stone on which they trod, and even then slipped
so badly on the steep sidling hill, that for fear
est we should be precipitated horse and man into
the foaming mountain-torrent, whoso course the
yellow aspens marked below, we very soon
picketed our steeds and walked. ' Lunch, tyee ?'
questioned Toma ; but the ' tyee' (i.e., chief) did
not like the look of the steep sugar-loaf above
him, and wisely decided to put the lunch in his
pocket to be eaten (if at all) at the top. Thio-h-
deep we waded through the swirling waters'of
the burn, and then began to vork our way in a
steep zigzag uphill. Toma was in splendid form,
and his pace undeniable. I knew I had only this
one day left to kill my goat in, so that I dare
not remonstrate ; but I prayed earnestly that
lonia might slip or drop something, if only to
gam a moment's breathing-space. Thrice only
the httle man paused in tliat heart-breakinc
chmb, and then it was on some vantage-point
irom which he expected an extended view of the
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
sides of our hill or its iiei^^hbours. lie iiiicfht
look for goats ; I did not want to see any.
With a siofh I sank at his feet the moment he
paused, larding the lean earth with a torrent of
heavy drops from my brow. Perhaps each pause
lasted three minutes, and then at it we went
again, as if we were climbing some corkscrew whose
end was beyond the clouds. At the third pause
Tenia's face lit up, and four fingers held aloft
gave me the first hint of the presence of a like
number of goats still some distance above them.
By-and-by Toma took me by the arm, and
])ointed to the veiy highest ledge of the rocks
which crowned our hill, whereon, with his family
between him and the ap})roacliing danger, lay * a
big man-sheep ' fiist asleep. Then all fatigue was
forgotten, and fear — fear lest we should be unable
to come Avithin shot — took its place. To avoid the
she-goats, we were obliged to descend a little and
then come up the opposite side, and so over the
crest to our quariy. Even with the hill between
us Ave had to walk warilv, and this on those
perpendicular slopes added greatly to our diffi-
culties. All the timber round us (of which there
was a good deal) had been burnt in comparatively
recent times, and the sharp-pointed pine-boughs
barred our path or caught in our clothes and
stayed our progress. If we laid a hand on them
LETTER XIL
— ^39
to move thcu f,„„, „u, ,,„3. t,,^y ,,^:^:;ZhMo
that they snapped with a report wl,ieh .sounded
to us loud enougli to rouse Eip van Winkle from
his hundred years of slun.ber. Then there were
he fool-hens. When we wanted one for the pot,
there was always a diffieulty in finding it; but
when found ,t would sit innnovable, whilst every
•stone n, tlie country was hurled at it. >fow
there seemed to be a fool-hon in every tree, and
though we crept past then, like .shadow.s, the
great bn-ds would whirl out of the pines as noisily
as a nsmg covey at home. It seemed as if we
never could reach the top undiscovered, when a
W h,st !' from To„,a turned n,e into stone.
Not thirty yards in front of me was a grayish
mass, hard to distinguish clearly, f„r running iLht
across ,t was the stem of a fallen pine fiom
belnnd which this strange figure had risen. I
could see the horns and the great hump, could
just make out the quarters, and under the \o<r I
could see the beasts legs, but I could see no vftal
spot to fire at. For a couple of minutes we stood
equally immovable, the goat and I, and then
slowly raising niy rifle, I waited. My move-
ment stirred him, and for a moment I got an
indifferent glimpse of liis shoulder, and, as I sun-
posed, planted the bullet in the right place. At
any rate, he fell to the shot, though he picked
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
himself up again and scrambled off through the
timber, never showing me again enough to fire at.
Hurrying breathlessly after him, we almost ran
into him in the next 200 yards, and this time, as
I had a clear view of his shaggy bulk, I dropped
him, dead beyond all doubt. To our surprise,
we found this was not my wounded goat, but
another ; so, leaving him, we climbed on up to the
crest, looking over which we found the first great
* man-sheep,' as Toma called him, whose siesta we
watched from below, stretching himself and listen-
ing as if uncertain whence the sound of my shots
had come. He was a magnificently white and
bearded patriarch, and I was sufficiently annoyed
when he rose after my first shot and went off
along the cliff's face as if nothing had happened.
And now followed a strange chase. The goat
was on a narrow ledge and going leisurely. I
could not get to him unseen, and would not give
him up. My only chance was to follow him on
to the ledge, where, if he looked back, he must
see me. For some time he did not look back,
but sauntered along not a bit lame, but quite
unconcerned. I could have shot him at any
moment, but not so as to kill him neatly, his
ragged quarters being all I could see of him. I
was beginning to dislike the line of country which
seemed to him sufficiently easy for a wounded
"
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LETTER XII.
141
off
nod.
oat
I
i^oat, and in my struggles to keep my feet some
pebbles rolled more noisily than usual down the
ravine. This attracted his attention, and he
turned his head over his shoulder and stared at
mo stolidly for quite half a minute, wondering
apparently what I was and what on earth I
wanted, but not afraid. After looking long
enough to begin to get eerie notions into my head,
I managed to get a steady shot at this uncanny
white beast, who was certainly not forty yards
from me all the time ; and a bullet not for from
the root of his ear sent him toppling into a
land where all doubts cease.
I could have bagsfed more ofoats had I wanted
to, as there were at least a dozen of them, male
and female, about the craggy point on which we
were, and every ledge had been their lair at
some time or another ; but I was sick of the stupid
brutes, and satisfied with two great graybeards
I had already bagged. My first goat, hit, I fancy,
too far back, betook himself to a place to die,
where I could not follow, though Toma promised
himself his skin, after he should have left my
service on the morrow. I don't know whether
he ever got the skin, but I fancy not, as my
little friend got a scare that day which will keep
him from those mountains for some time. He
had left his knife in camp, so that he and my
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
half-breed cook liad to return ai^aiii that nijjht
to skin the two he-goats I liad ])agged. As they
skinned the last and largest, they had to turn
him over on his other side, when, dead though he
was — he bloated ! Tonia was nearly beside him-
self with fiifjlit, and the half-breed had to finish
the skinning, Tonia declaring that it was an omen,
and portended all manner of grisly terrors in the
near future. Poor little Tonia ! I hope the storm
of misfortune passed you by as scatheless as it
passed me, and that by this time you believe that
it was only the wind escaping from the dead
beast, and not a spirit voice, which you heard.
That night Toma lay by the fire, for the first
time dead beat. My last pair of tennis-shoes
were soleless, my last moccasins in shreds, and
when I suggested * Just one day more in the
hills,' Toma shook his head, saying, * No ! Indian
tired ; Indian can't go any more ; must go home
and rest.' Au revoir, Pat.
Thine,
C. P. W.
LETTER XIII.
LETTER XIII.
Deak Pat, "°P°' ^■'^'•
The Rocky Mountain stoats of tJio
l-otac, .aneh afforded n.o n,y kst day',s sport
"' the. , .nnlkameeu country, for though I tried
oxceod,.,,- hard to secure a guide to the ],aunts
. those gn^zlies who were reputed to dwell on
the .sun.„„t,' I foiled i„ n,y endeavour, partly
because n,o«t of the best men were away •pack-
in? or ' trapping,' and partly because all the
nafvcjmntej. of the district were suffering fron.
the effects of a scare caused by the death of a
Hope Ind,an killed outright by one of these
brutes and the death of another Indian near
Pentieton, who had been disen.bowelled and left
by a bear which he had found feeding upon the
carcass of a deer shot in the early n,orni„o, The
poor feUow lingered for three or four da°ys, but
succmnbed eventually to his wounds, and the
gnzzly, though badly wounded, managed to escape
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
tiie party of revenge which pursued him. At
the AHson ranch no hunters could be found, so
that I had to be content with my single inter-
view with old Ephraim, and determined, if pos-
sible, to get to Hope in time to catch the boat
for Westminster. That sounds rather homely,
does it not ? and livings the embankment and
muddy Father Thames vividly before the mind's
eye ; but the road from Piincetown to Hope is
not quite so easy to travel as that from the
Temple to Westminstor, and I was assured that
if I compassed the distance in two daj3, it would
be as much as I could jDOssibly do, even without
pack-horses. We camped one night at ' the sum-
lAiit,' i.e., at the top of the ridge which shuts off
the Similkameen country from Hope and the
Eraser. Here every year Winter sets up his first
blockade, and already the first snow had follen,
and the little burn was hard frozen, when at
4 a.m. I went to it for my morning tub. At
breakfast we had a guest, a white man whom we
passed the night before driving a couple of
draught <.xen slowly over the mountains. He
was a strano-e instance of the waifs and stravs
you meet out V/est. Apparently a fairly \ve\]-
educated man of thirty-five or so, he had gone in
to the Similkameen country in the harvest-time
with a well-bred American horse, which he bad
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LETTER XIII.
145
bought at some point far east of Hope. The
horse (a stalhon) had been his stock-in-trade, and
with him he had tramped hundreds of niles by
mountain trails, forcing his way, self-rehant and
alone, into all sorts of remote corners in which
white settlers had taken up patches of prairie
land. Finally, he had disposed of his horse at a
good price, made some nir^ney in the harvest-
fields, invested part of it in the handsome pair of
oxen he was driving when we met him, and was
now on his way to some point at which he ex-
pected to dispose of them at a profit. What he
made by his year's work could not have amounted
to very much, but it was r.n independent wan-
dering life, and that seemod to satisfy him.
In my two visits to the American continent,
I have met Englishmen (educated men, too) doing
everything to earn a living, from * toting a hand-
saw ' {i.e., travelling as carpenters) to * tending a
bar ;' everything, that is, except begging, a pro
fession foreign to the bracing climate of the
Xorth-West.
It was very, very early in the morning when I
loft my camp on my last day in the mountains.
It had taken us nearly three days to reach that
point from H(.>pe on the way out, a]id I was bent
on reaching Hope that night. There was very
little risk of mistaking the trail ; but as I bade
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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good-bye to old S., he shook his hoary head, and
expressed a conviction that I should certainly get
no farther than the fourteen-mile house. That
was the last glimpse I had of the old man, in his
shirt-sleeves, slowly arranging a diamond hitch on
one of the pack-animals, and, smoking the eternal
meerschaum, dignified leisurely, and (as usual)
airily clad, although the snow was on the ground,
and the snows of time upon his head. Though
no one will ever succeed in making him hurry, I
very much doubt if anyone will ever find a betto?%
more considerate, or kindlier old man to * boss
an outfit to those huntinoc-cfrounds.' Of course I
rode at my pony's best pace along the lonely
road, over which a threatening winter sky was
hanging, while all the beauty of ciimson foliage
and sunlight had vanished and made room for
Nature's most wintry frown. Those Hope
Mountains are just such as should fjrow a fine
crop of supernatural horrors, and the Indian
leiifends sliow tliat their looks do not belie them.
In another letter I will gather together what
creepy stories I know, and introduce you to the
beings who j)eople the shadowland of this chaotic
reo'ion.
On the Similkameen side of the summit we
had met large breeds of cattle, untended by men,
led only by their instinct, wandering home to tlie
■d
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LETTER XIII.
147
fine
ian
icm.
'hat
the
lotic
n'e
lien,
Ithe
prairies from their summer pastures on the up-
lands, where now frost and snow were gradually
asserting themselves. On the Hope side there
were no cattle, nothing but forest and gray rock,
without browsing for a jackass, and oftentimes
the ever-climbing track wound over mere heaps
of sharp-edged stones, rendered more grizzly by
a crop of burnt pine-stumps. At noon I passed
through a lower and warmer belt, where a
heavy storm of warm rain made the trout rise
splendidly in a broad still bend of milky blue
water which came temptingly near my path.
Unfortunately I had the relics of my rod tied
to my saddle, my reel and a couple of flies were
in my pocket. A strong-minded man would
have resisted the temptation and ridden on. To
resist temptation means sometimes to miss a
chance, and in this instance I felt sure that my
charmer wlio rose so softly under the Avillows
could not weigh less than three pounds. So I
dismounted, tied my broken rod together, and
soon had two or three s>()od fish out on the bank.
But with a broken top I could not reach the big
one. There was, howtiver, on tlie other side of
a tributary of the main stream a point from
which I could cover my fish. To reach it I
must wade throuofh the smaller stream. This,
however, meant getting wet to the waist, so, rod
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
in hand, I mounted my trusty Rosinante and
tried to ride her through. Never had I a worse
journey. First, the rod was hard to manage,
and the poor beast did not hke the deep water,
and then I found tliat iny steed was sinking in a
quicksand. It was no time to hesitate. Away
Avent the rod, and after a severe struo-<rle throuo-h
treacherous sand and deep water, I just managed
to regain terra firma wet to tlie neck, and after a
very bad five minutes got my horse out, after
seeing him flounder, as I thought, hopelessly,
Avith the water wx'll over the saddle. Poor old
beast, wet and muddy and hungry, she looked a
very rueful spectacle ; and I did not feel nuich
more cheerful myself, but that trout was still
rising, rising, too, now that the last few drops of
the shower were pattering oft' the boughs with a
demonstrative ' flo^) ' which no fisherman could
resist. So being wet, I just waded in, and as
the fly lit, an angry swii'l in the still water
marked a good fish's rush, and away went the
line down stream as if it never meant to return.
Of course my top joint broke again in every
place at which it had been mended, while the
butt came away from the second joint. Never
did a man fight a fish at a greater disadvantage.
My reel was practically sepaiated from my rod,
and my rod was in bits. But the line was sound
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LETTER XIII.
149
eiy
the
Isvor
'od,
lind
and the fish not very unreasonable, so that after
five or six minutes he came saihng ujd to my
I'eet a great bar of crimson. I hardly knew what
I had got hold of, for though a salmo fontincdis
is very brilliant, I had never seen anything like
this before, a fish red all over as the leaf of a
sugar mai)le in September. I have learnt since,
however, that all the big trout of the Skagit (of
which the stream I was fishing is a ti'ibutary)
are of this brilliant hue. In spite of his colour,
he-was a true trout, and hung at my saddle-bow>
I should think, a good four pounds, the best fish
I ever caught in America. The rod lies some-
where amongst the bushes by the burn-side,
buried as it were on the field of victory. There
was not enough of it whole to make it w<nth
further carriage. The I'ain came down after this
and kindly veiled the miseries and regrets of my
horse and myself, even affording consolation in
the thought that the prudent man would liave
been as wet as the rash one. Drijjjiing and
hungry we reached the fourteen-mile house, where
horse and man were well fed, the man a2)pre-
ciating the wisdom of the American host who
gives a glass of whisky (as a jjrelude to dinner)
to every guest who pays for a meal at his
table.
It wanted but an hour and a half at most to
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
darkness, when my horse and I took the road
ajjain : but to an Eno-hsh mind fourteen miles
seems such a little way, that in spite of warning
I started cheerily enough. Of course it was
dark before I got much more than half-way, in
spite of the efforts I made to make the most of
the pale shadows of twilight. After them came
dense darkness and rain which seemed to sweep
along the track in sheets. I could not see my
horse's head, much less the narrow trail. Later
on, even the horse went wrong. I had for an
hour past left the direction entirely to her, hoping
she would forgive my sins in the past and not
precipitate me headlong from any of the little
toy bridges we had to pass into the roaring
torrents below. But it was a shock to my nerves
when I heard her crashinof anion Qfst the brush,
felt that SHE was wandering from side to side,
and then that she had stopped, dead ! If she
could not find the way, I certainly could not ; so
I just sat still until she chose to try again, while
a fine little brook rose somewhere near the nape
of my neck, bubbled merrily down my sjDine, and
rushed out in twin torrents over my boots.
After a pause, jioor old Rosinante gave a groan
and tried again, appearing to me actually to feel
the ground with her nose as she went, her en-
deavours being rewarded nearly an hour later by
LETTER XIII.
15 1
a glimpse of the ligh WIL^p^^wT^^b^^
shelter of the town late last night, and I shall
manage to catch the steamer this mornino-
Yours ever,
C. P. W.
: 1
(I
JS2
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
LETTER XIV.
My DEAR Patrick,
It seems somewhat iiTcvorent to de-
scribe the men who people a country last in order
except for the local spirits and devils whom they
fear if they do not still worshiji them. That,
however, is what I propose to do, and I apologize
for it by confessing that to me the wild beasts
are more interesting than the wild men, and cer-
tainly more numerous. The Indians in the nar-
row valley to which my wanderings were confined
are not of the same race, I believe, as the
Thompson River Indians ; but are the represen-
tatives of a tribe of redskins from the Pacific
Coast, who, having forced their way in to the
hunting-fields beyond the Hope ridge, during the
summer months, got snowed in, and, retreat
having been cut off, managed to hold their own
against their neighbours. Such particulars as
I have managed to glean concerning them and
their superstitions I owe to Mrs. Alison of Pen-
ill
LETTER XIV.
^53
ticton, whose nursery, if it has not all the advan-
tages of home, possesses such means of whiling
away the winter evenings as compensate for any
children's pleasures Avliich the young Alisons
may lose. For at Princetown, ' when the cold
north winds blow, and the long howling of the
wolves is heard amidst the snow,' when the ribs
of the lordly buck which the boys shot in the
morning are roasting on the embers, the door
opens quietly, and soft-footed old Quilltasket
comes in, his brown eyes bright and keen, and
his short square figure clothed in deer-skins and
fur, his old wrinkled brown face looking quainter
than ever in the flickering firelight. He is the
historian of his tribe, an historian who tells his
legends, not in dead written words, but in lively
speech illustrated by ajipropriate action. From him
and others of his tribe Mrs. Alison has collected all
that seems to be known of the Similkameen clan.
Unlike the Indians of Oreofon and Washino-ton
territory, the Indians of British Columl)ia gene-
rally appear to have always been peaceful and
law-abiding. This is due, say the white settlers,
to the fact that even-handed justice has always
been administered in British Cohnubia between
white men and red ; and in corrol)oration of this,
I remember to have heard y'rumblintt-s amonofst
the white men, to the effect that a ' darned Injun
ii
\h
»54
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
could do jist what ho plcasod, and no ono over
said nothin' to him.' That was the view possibly
of a s(|uattcr, who only looked upon Indians as
natural encumbrances to the land. In spite of
the Iloman Catholic j^riests, who live amongst
them and have won their respect, the Indians
make but indifferent Christians still. Some of
them bury their dead in the graveyards under
the cross, others bury them where they can from
time to time dig them uj) to join with the living
in a wild and ghostly diinking bout. ^"cry
emotional, the half-civilized redskins join heartily
in all the services of the church, especially in any
Service of Song, and they even have amongst
them men who undertake the daily duties of the
priest, ring the prayer-bell and have prayers, in
the absence of that minister. But the Indian
leaves his Christianity behind him in church ;
marries as many wives as he chooses, though he
is gradually becoming sufficiently civilized to
think one enough at a time, ' trades ' them when-
ever an oi)portunity offers for others more attrac-
tive, or for more useful possessions, such as
horses or saddles, gambles to a very great extent,
lies as nmcli as he thinks profitable to him, and
gets drunk whenever he gets a chance. Unfor-
tunately, in spite of the stringent laws of Canada,
I was told over and over again that the Indians
■( i ■ I
•ac-
as
ent,
and
for-
sxda,
ians
LETTER XIV.
155
* can get all tlie whisky they want, and do got
it.' Even in a ssinglr village of Indians you will
see individuals in every stage of civilization, the
old people preferring to adhere to the customs of
their childhood, though nothing pleases them
better than to see the younger members t)f their
tribe aping the whites in house and habits and
manner of living. In one encampment, by a
broad stream among the cotton-woods, you will
see half the people living in the old-fashioned
' tuj)er ' (a circular frame of poles, hung over
with rush-mats of native make), while the men
of this generation have fine white tents of canvas,
bought from the stores of Hope, or Yale, or
Westminster. In front of the tupers you will
find the old people lying on deer-mats in the sun,
with extremely little on, smoking pi])es of their
own make, of a dark green stone ; old men and
women, not only smoking themselves, but in-
dulging their little boys and girls in a wliiff
whenever they appear deserving of special favoui".
Under a pine-tree just outside the camp is a
grou}) of gamblers, three bo^'s and an older man,
in nothing but a pair of deer-skin pants. This
group has been sitting by the fire since the
nio-ht before, gambling* for the bovs' wao-es, A\'hich
before long will be carried away in the pijckets of
the deer-skin pants to buy Avhisky.
!■;
i. I
I"! ..
i 1
(, }i
156
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN,
hm
A more pleasinj^ sight is the smart white tent
on the top of the river-i)ank, inside wliich are
beds of bear-skins, covered with i,''ood blankets,
and even ekian white sheets, while Avoman's lovo
of colour has asserted itself in smart quilts,
prettily ])ieced together from remnants of various
bright-hued calicoes. A foot from the door a
canvas tablecloth is spread, though the only table
is mother earth, and upon this stands the i)ride
of the woman's heart, a gaily-coloured little china
tea-service. On the fire hard by sputters the
morning meal of beans and bacon, the tea simmers
in the bright tin jiot, and a greedy-eyed little
papoose tied u}) to a stick is propped against the
tent watching the progress of breakfast. By-
and-by the chickens attack the frying-pan, or
the dog knocks the papoose off his perch, and
up comes mannua from the river, where she has
been making her toilette, her black hair in lone:
braids gleaming with drops from the river, and
her whole person looking bright and clean. Young
as she is, the gentleman in black broad-cloth,
with a silver Avatch in his pocket, of wliich he is
inordinately proud, is her seventh husband, the
other six having parted with her for various con-
siderations, or havincf exchancred her for more
serviceable helpmates.
A lady's estimate of the Indian women of this
LETTER XIV.
»57
tril^o IS, that thounrJi not pretty, their faces are
rJeasing, their figures perfect, if it were not that
they arc a Httle square-shouldered, .ud their
hauds and feet exquisitely small and sJiapely
Beni,i,r shy or unobservant, tliis traveller is bound
to admit that he never saw an Indian lady whom
he could distinguish from her male relatives
Certainly all he saw wore blankets of brilliant
colours in much the same fashion, and sat .istride
then- horses with masculine firmness and freedom.
But then, Pat, you know I would rather face a
crocodile than meet a ladies' school, or any other
female.
Yours truly,
C. P. W.
I !
TS8
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
LETTER XV.
Dear. Fa'I",
I promised you .some Indiiui faiiy-tales.
The following is tlio l)L'st tliat I can do for you.
Half the loo-euds which do dutv as Jiistory aiiiono-
the red-iuon of tliu Siiailkainoeii have for their
hero the Tuuiisoo ; a cliicf of tbc tribe which
dwells near Princetown,. and the inuiiediate jjre-
decessor and fitlier of the reigning" potentate,
In-cow-markct. It was through In-cow -market
that the stories reached my friend Mrs. Alison,
who handed them on to me ; and U])on In-cow-
market's head bo tlie shame if they are false, and
the o-jorv if tliev have in them some of the wikl
poetry of thnj stern cou)itry from wlience they
came. I read tlu^n hrst bv the Hames of mv
huge eam])-f].L'c u})on ' the .Aunmit,' and wove
them into their present shape as I rode in soli-
tude and darkness under tlie tall gray pines, oil
that niiiht of storm descrilied in mv last letter.
It may be that I have thus rolled many legends
^f!If^'I^-____ 159
into (,„e, and condensed the lives and adventures
of several chiefs into a type of the race. If so
forgive me, red heroes ; the sta.i^^e on Avhich 1 liave
to make you dance is but a small one.
Like all the men of his race, Tumisco wa^ a
mighty hunter. Upon him his aged parents
might count with certainty for food and gam., to
make thch- old hearts glad. Xever in' ail the
years did Tumisco let his parents lie down
hungry. Tlie deer and the sheep died before his
arrows ; and even the Nvhite goat died, that its
horns might tip the bow of hard mountain-
spruce carried by the chief when, stripped to his
smooth red skin, he crej>t nearer and nearer to
Callomeha, the great grizzly bear, until he ould
hear his bi-eathing and watch the flank of the
monster heaving evenly in sleep. Then Tu
misco's arrow Hashed through ^he air, and
Callomeha died to make beds of soft fur f„r the
stranger-guests of Tumisco. It was upon the
mountain Chippaco, the cloud-bearer, that Tu-
misco had one evening slain a slie-l>ear. It was
too late to return to tlic camp, so the chief slept
m the yet warm hide of his victim, his oood
horse tethered beside him, and the bear's-mcat
pded high between horse and man to protect it
from the fierce woh-es of tlie mountain.
Dark and grim were the mountain shadows,
it's
111
' I.:
f\
ii
i6o
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
and the ])ale luooiiliglit was weird and sad, while
tlic wolves' howling and tlie winds were the
chief's hdlaby. But, born to such scones and
used to sucli music, Tumisco slept. At midnight
he woke, roused by the loud sncn-tiiig of his hoi'se
Xehoii'irets. With one Avild bound that o-allant
beast snapped his reata, and clearing his master's
recumbent form, fled with the speed of the night
wind. Tumisco listened. Beside him was a
sound as of the tearinn* and rendino- of flesh, and
between him and the moonliLi'ht stood, ufio-antic
and terrible, Soni-appoo, tlie Spirit of Evil, feed-
inn' on the fresh bear's-meat. Tumisco's cheek
blanched for the first time since childhood, and,
shrinkino- closer into his bloodv bear's-hide,
he trembled lest the wild beating of his heart
should draw the fiend's attention to him. Then
Tumisco felt a mist rise round him, and his
heart died, and all became a blank. When the
morning sun rose life returned, and tlie chief
sought his people, and together the whole blan
scoured the mountain to find and slay Soni-
appoo. There they found him stretched in
slumber, his great arms spread among the ])ine-
trees, his huge black face turned with closed
eyes towards the sun, his breathing laboured and
loud. In silence the warriors surrounded the
demon, and bound him with ropes and reatas ;
LETTER XV.
flight upon flight, thick as hail in winter, flew
the arrows, when the great Soni-ap|)oo yawned
and awoke. As he stretched his hairy hinbs,
ropes snapped hke dry grass ; the arrows fell
idly back from his iron hide ; and as he rose,
those darino' ones who cluiio- to his loiiu' silky
black locks were lifted u^) half as liigh as the
pines, and, as the demon shook his head, fell
feeblv back to earth. With a lau<di of scorn
Soni-appoo turned, not deigning to crush tlie
pigmies at liis feet, and hid himself in a
thunder-cloud, in which the terror-stricken In-
dians 1 v:'.i!"i his laugh die away among the crags
of Chippaco.
It is well to hunt the deer in the open, or In
the sunnv Sflades when the morning- is fresh and
young ; but the shadows of the tall ])eaks, and
the caverns at their feet, hold terrible shapes
towards evening, Tlie cliildren of the tribe
remember tlie story of Kee-kee-was, fatlier of
Tumisco, and shiver as they dabble in tlie little
trout-stream, where, years ago, he set liis flsli-
traps. In the winter the l)rook is a raging
torrent ; but when sunnner has reduced it to a
noisy silver thread, it is fall of l)riglit trout.
Here, day after day, Kee-kee-was cauglit encjugli
trout for his whole tribe, until sudlenly the run
seemed to cease, the traps were empty, Kee-
1 I
ill
162
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
kcc-was suspected foul i)lay, and lay out all one
moonlight night to watch. Towards morning he
heard a loud shriekino- whistle, like the sound of
the north wind. Nearer and nearer it came, and
now he heard a tramp of feet which shook the
solid earth on which he lay, while a suffocating
smell of garlic filled the air. Too terror-stricken
to move, he lay until a great hand seized him
and lifted him up and uji until he opened his
eyes on a level with a great face, Avhose jaws
dropped open and emitted a laugh loud as a
thunder-clap. But the big man was kindly, and
his eyes gentle. Stooping, he took up Kce-kee-
was' blanket, rolled him up in it, and then,
putting the unfortunate fisherman in the bosom
of his shirt, filled a basket with trout fi'om the
traps, and strode away towards a cave among
the peaks, whistling like a winter storm as he
went. In the cave was another big man, just in
from huntin<2:, two fat does hani>-ino' from his belt
as grouse hang from the belt of an Indian.
For days Kee-kee-was lived, tied by the leg, in
the giants' cave, kindly treated and fed by them,
but deafiuied by the thunder of their conversa-
tion, and choked with the odour of their cave.
Huge as the}' were, they cried if a fish-b(jne
pricked them, and towards one anotlier these
bearded white-skinned moisters were gentle and
I I
LETTER XV.
i6.
|ieiii,
tave.
1)0110
lioso
and
loving as women. At last Kce-kee-was escaped,
and now, when the traps are empty, no man sits
up for the poachers.
It would take too long- to tell you the story of
' Sour-grub,' the snake-like chief who stole the
good horse Nehoggets, and by treachery im-
prisoned the fire-god in his jiipe, and of how
Tumisco release.! the fire-spirit, and by his aid
recovered Xehoo-o-ets, and in a storm of vivid liijht-
ninof turned Sour-^rub and all his men into those
ruinous I'ocks which lie about in the valley ; it
would take too long, too, to tell of the gambler
brother of Tumisco, who sat up all night with
the devil and pla^'ed for all he owned and lost it
all and his life — so we ])ass on from daylight to
darkness, from the chief's life to his death. A
dreary wail rises from the vall<?ys ; it swells
louder and louder, and the voices of Nature
mourn in cliorus. The pine-trees creak in the
wind, the ri\ri' moans between its hollow banks,
the niii'ht - owls flittinu' by hoot to the wolf
howlino" on the mountain-side. What is it
Slmena, the night-owl, calls from the gloomy
W(Kjd to his mate, who sits watcliing on tlie
tallest pole of Tumisco's tent ? ' Poom 2)a !
})ooin, p(jom '*' ^0 says ; and his mate makes
answer: ' Po<>m pa! poom, poom !' (I come fjr
y.ju, i come for you !)
II — 2
m
Ill
i .r\
164
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
Round Tuiiiisco's lodge the Indians are singing
a low, sad chaunt. Their chief, strong as the
bear, wise as the wolverine, is going out, whither
his father went, into the darkness and the silence.
By-and-oy his sister, that wise woman Connue-
tatio, conies out from the lodge, and bids the war-
riors bring the Pinto mare, her brotlier's favourite
war-horse ; bids them tie her colt and set the
mare free, saddled and bridled with the chief's
war-saddle, and it shall be, if tlie marc travel up
the valley towards the sunrise, their chief shall
live ; but if towards the sunset, then shall
Tumisco surely die. Kiwas, tlie chief's friend,
leads the mare forth. For a moment she fiices
the sunrise, and tlien slowlv turns down the
valley and follo^^•s the daikness.
The night wears on, and one comes riding
through the night, riding a steed whose breath
is like white smoke in the gloom. It is Sense,
the mighty doctor, from Loo-loo-hoo-loo, the
hollow land ; Sense, who chased the spirit of
tlie waters, thinking he chased a deer, until in a
valley like Eden, sweet with the scent of syringas,
and fresh with springing water and cool, dee])
mosses, he came upon the great Gennno-gennno-
hcsus, the friend of man, whose bat-like wings
])erpetually tanned and beat the air, from whose
brow the broad antlers roHU nhovc a face like the
LETTER XV.
^^5
foco of man but for the covering of cleer's-hide,
and the greut kindly eyes in which neither an<.-er
nor cruelty dwell. *
With Gemnio-gemnio-hesus (the Spirit of the
Waters) Scuse dwelt, while two moons waxed and
waned, until he had learnt all the arts of healin-,
and the kindly spirit set him free to go back and
help his brother man.
Now Scuse comes hurrying throuo-Ii the nic.-]it
to fight and wrestle with the evil spirit wliich
was destro3'ing Tumisco. At the bidding of the
medicine-man the warriors i)ile high the pine-
logs, whose bright flames banisli the gloom and
light up the darkness. Then from outside the
cu-cle of the firelight comes a thing like nothin(>-
known on earth. It has the beak of an eagle"
the claws of a bear ; round its body is the hllJ
of a buffalo ; round its neck is a necklet of dried
toads, while its girdle is the skin of a snake. It
is Scuse in his armour— Scuse, who will peck out
the eyes of the evil one with the eagle's beak,
tear hnn with the claws of a bear, and mako him
AMithe with the poison of toad and rattlesnake.
Smging and dancing in the firelight, Scuse tempts
the evil ,si,irit to ihc fray. At last he prevails.
Uie devd leaves Tumisco; the chief sits upiight,
and watches whilst the medicine-man and "the
spirit wrestle together for his life. Little by
!
i66
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
little the doctor's efforts fail, his breath grows
faster and more faint, tlie hand of the devil is at
his tliroat, he shrieks and falls in a swoon,
mastered. As he falls, Tuniisco's strength fades,
he lies back in bed, and his eyes grow dim.
Anon the mcdicine-nian rises from his swoon,
and confesses that he is vanquished. Tumisco
must die at sunset next day ; there is no more
hope. Connuetatio assents ; * there is no more
hoi^e ; Tumisco dies at sunset.'
So the young w\arriors arc bidden to mount
and ride hard east, and west, and south, and
north, to bring in the guests to the funeral feast.
The warriors go out, and noAv the long day dawns,
and grows warm, and begins to grow old. It
is near sunset. Scusc has said Tumisco dies at
sunset. Connuetatio, his sister, has said it. The
sun is low down, and still the chief lives. It is
not meet to watch his last strusTfo-les. Throw a
buffalo robe over his head. Yet another and
another ! What, docs he still breathe and
struggle ? Pile on, then, more rugs ! So ! Ah,
the sun is dowai. Lift the robes ! The chief
Tumisco is dead ! As the shades of eveninof
fall, the women cut off their long tresses and
blacken their faces, that their faces may reflect
the gloom of their hearts. From far and near,
o'uests come in to the funeral feast. Huo-e bon-
LETTER XV.
167
fires are lighted, and the dead juan in all his
finery is laid out anion,i,..st the guests, who feast
and make nieny while his portion is given to the
flames to devour, along with the gifts which his
neighbours bring to the dead. In the darkness, the
chief's horses are led round and round Ins corpse.
His sisters make presents from among them to
his nearest friends ; the rest are driven out into
the murky midnight pursued by the assem],led
warriors, lassoes in hand. What each captures
is his to have and to hold. At dawn the guests
dig a deep grave, and lay therein gifts and robes
and last of all their chief, his bow and arrou's at
his feet, his knife in his hand. Then they co^'er
him from sight, and pile high the stones above
him, that the wolf and the coyotes may not dis-
turb the sice]) of the mighty hunter. ^Here for
three years Tumisco rests in peace— the dead
have no place among the living— the snows fall
and melt into his grave, and he is forgotten. At
the end of three years there is a whis2)ering in
the village: women hide their heads, strong chiefs
shudder for fear. Orola, the young bra'e, saw
It last n.ght— saw the tall gaunt thing rise fr,.m
the grave of the buried chief; heard its sighs
and lamentations ; sa^- it go whirling and whhl-
ing down the valley, fire and smoke c'oming from
its jaws, its grave-clothes fluttering on theliio-ht-
'ii! i
'J '''
il f
u
i68
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
'■i
wind. His heart tluttered like Ji snared bird and
stood still. When it began to Iteat again, tho
thing was none. Xow it is at tho sister's lodge
that there is a tap[)ing, which is not the tai)i)ing
of the woodpecker — a rustling that is not the
wood-rat, looking for his food. At length they
can stand these visitations no longer. Sense, tho
medicino-nian, is sent for. With charms and
songs he entices the uneasy si)irit to a mat, draws
him thither, and binds him u})on it with a mighty
spell. Then ho cross-examines the s})irit of tho
chief, and finds that Tumisco is discontented bo-
cause he is forgotten ; his sisters have ceased to
mourn for him, other men I'ide his horses, his
dogs follow other men to the chase ; moreover, no
funeral feast has lately been held in his honour,
and his gravo-clothos are musty and mouldy with
decay.
This Scuso looks upon as a well-founded
cause of complaint. The s[)irit is released, and
Scuso and tho sisters convene a meeting of tho
tribes to hold a merry-making with the dead, who
is disinterred, each Indian lifting a bone, whilst
their mouths and nostrils are stuffed with
swcet-smellin<>' o-rass. The bones are laid in a
new sheet. Tho old grave-clothes are burned.
Gifts are })resented to the chief; like scaloolas
(or carrion birds), the warriors dance and flit
[idod
and
the
|\vlio
liilst
uitli
jiii a
lied,
lolas
flit
LETTER XV.
169
round tliu _i;"nivo in the nij^lit season, and until
morning- dawns earouso inadly with the eur[)se.
Then at last they lay the })oor l)()nes to rest in
their deep dark house of sileiieu, where neither
howl of gray wolf nor sneaking coyote can dis-
turb the chieftain's sleep. Far away, four days'
journey from his village, they believe tliat Tumisco
burns his solitary fire on the lonely camping-
grounds ol* the Hereafter.
So goes the legend of Tumisco and his i'ellows,
when In-cow-market is the story-tuller, and the
legend gives a very faitliful picture of the death,
at any rate, of an Indian cliit.'f in the Cascades.
It is not in every case that the relatives choke
out the last struggling sighs with blankets and
buffalo robes, but it is undoubtedly true that, if
the Indians want to move tlieir camp, and an in-
valid whose life is despaired of is inconveniently
long ill dying, his friends smother him.
The funeral feasts oi which the legend tells arc
costly ceremonies, as you may judge from the
following facts in connection with a recent ' waku '
at Princetown. The deceased was only a child,
but the guests were nearly 100, and the feast
lasted two nights. Each night at sunset a beast
was slain, and at srnriso not an ounce of flesh
was left. One huuvivd pounds of flour, half a
sack of rice, dried apples, peaches, etc., were also
■
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33 WEST MAIN STREET
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(716) 873-4S03
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170
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
bought and consumed in the two nights, together
with twenty yards of white calico, and several
whole * pieces ' of coloured material, half of which
was burnt as an offering to the dead, and the
other half distributed among the mourners.
The waste of goods at these wakes and fetes is
very great, and the fear of ghosts among the
Indians is carried to the most ridiculous extent ;
but it has one excellent result : the debts of the
dead are never left unpaid.
Yours truly,
C. P. W.
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LETTER XVI .
171
HI
LETTER XVI.
Stone Buildings,
Temple.
Dear C,
If I write this my humble confession
in the meekest of spirits, let that suffice. I con-
fess that the Adirondacks are a fraud ; don't write
in reply that ' you told me so.' When you tore
yourself away from the fading frivolities of Sara-
toga, we all began to get uneasy and make ready
for flight. ' Shamus ' was the first to go. I
took him down to the station, and with him
endeavoured to persuade some one of a score of
railway officials to put a couple of portmanteaus
on the train. We had omitted some formality
in registering the baggage, so these worthies
stood at ease with folded arms and smiled at the
agonies of the passenger they were paid to assist.
My last glimpse of Shamus showed him standing
on the foot-board of his car, clutching the end of
a gigantic portmanteau with convulsive energy.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
'U
Whether eventually he manaj^ed to pull his pos-
sessions inside, or was forced to let go, I never
heard. The porters were still smiling and stand-
ing at ease when I left the station. On the fol-
lowing day I booked myself for Blue Mountain,
by the Adirondack railroad and stage-coach,
equipped for conquest, whether on the lake or in
the woods. What time I had to spare I wliiled
away by perusing the most fascinating of guide-
books, bound in imitation birch bark, and illus-
trated with glinqjses of a sylvan paradise such
as I have never dared to dream of even in my
most sanguine moods. In its pages I saw the
hajDpy hunter at one moment triumphant over
the antlcred monarch of the woods, at the next
bowed down beneath a burden of fish which (if
the angler was a man of average height) must
have measured about three feet six inches apiece,
and, again, oh, hapi)y fate ! issuing from between
the tall stems of the hemlocks, he finds the fairest
of Transatlantic Circes, swinging in her ham-
mock, and waiting for him as Tennyson's lady
waited in old time for the fjiiry prince. Instinc-
tively my fingers played with my moustache, and
I wondered, would she, when I found her, have
so many dollars that I might dwell for ever in
sight of the Blue Mountain, and never see Stone
Buildings any more. Well, I never found her,
LETTER XVI.
173
and if finding licr meant a life in tlio Adirondacks,
I am Qflad I didn't. From Saratoy-a to the Blue
Mountain is a twelve hours' journey, most of it
along the banks of the Hudson River. The
scenery, of course, is delightful, though marred,
to my mind, in no small degree by the hosts of
blanched and weather-beaten pine-logs which lie
stranded on the shores, shoals, and rocks of the
river, nmch as you saw them at Glen Falls,
though, of course, in smaller numbers. When a
flood comes they will start afresh upon the
journey they connnenced last spring, until, at
Glen Falls, they are caught in the floating l)oom,
and told off" accordinc: to the trade-mark on their
butts, into the partitions assigned to tlieir respec-
tive owners. At the railway terminus a stage-
coach with six horses met us, followed by a
number of buck-board traps for tliosc whose
destinations were close at hand. Almost before
I had realized what the next stage of the journey
was to be, I heard the cry of ' All aboard,' and
the coach dashed away at full speed. Luckily I
was just in time ; but it does not do to linger
nmch in chanf>fincf carriaufcs if vou don't moan to
be left behind in America. On the coach I had
the luck to meet two young Americans going in,
like myself, to shoot deer. They were really
good fellows, and, like all their race, hosjntable
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
and kindly disposed to the strangers. By their
invitation I joined their party, and that the more
readily as I was informed that in the sport of
hounding, the stronger the party the better its
chances of success. Their guide, Dick Birch,
reputed the best in the locality, joined us on the
second day, and reported the country full of
sportsmen and very much shot out. His re])ort
caused a change in our progranmie. Instead of
going to Blue Mountain, we stopped at Cedar
River, picking up two more guides on the
way.
I confess I was not sorry to sit down by the
porch of the Cedar River inn with mine host,
and watch the coach bump out of sight, while we
pufted the cool tobacco-smoke and listened to his
ya/ns of a monster brown bear that had recently
smashed the traps of the lumberers and roused
the woods with his growling. Personally I am
of opinion that it would not be worth anyone's
while to go to the Adirondacks for bear, although
at Walkley's dam our guides said that they came
across fresh tracks. The covert ir. too dense to
get at the bears without dogs, and the guides
know too well the value of their hounds to let
them follow such dangerous quarry as Master
Bruin generally proves himself ' Hounding ' is
the universal form of sport in the Adirondacks,
LETTER XVI.
W5
and it was to this that I was eiitorod at dawn
next niornin<^. If you observe carefully, you will
find that your true American hates exercise,
hence the popularity of hounding and duck-shoot-
ing. You would not find him enthusiastic about
deer-stalking or partridge-shooting on our Mont-
gomeryshire hills in November.
There are three things necessary for hounding :
guides M'ho know the deer-runs, and the places at
which they generally take to the water ; hounds
who will stick to their quarry all day long if
necessary, and deer. We had both the first
requisites, excellent guides and good hounds ; but
I don't think deei* were abundant. As soon as
the sun was U]), we followed our guides into the
timber. Where the big trees still stood the
going was good enough, but where the lumberers
had felled the biir timber, the brush was so thick
as to make progress both difficult and painful.
Two guides came with the guns to post them,
and one (the tracker) took the hounds away in
another direction. One of us was posted by a
river, another on a run by the river, and a third
in a boat on a lake. Our instructions were to
stand or sit, and even smoke if we chose ; but on
no account to change our positions whilst the
deer was afoot. I vow that I carried out the
guide's instructions to the letter, for a bird mis-
m^
176
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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took me for a log jind perched for some seconds
on my shoulder.
But no deer came my way ; indeed, I may as
well confess at once that, though I tried Cedar
River twice and went on to Walkley's dam, I
never saw a live deer in the Adirondacks. Two
were killed by our party ; one by the Doctor,
and one by Dick Birch, the guide, the first being
fin exceptionally fine beast, weighing 220 lb.
when gralloched.
The hounds are the only interesting element
in this form of sport, and it is well worth while
to watch them woi'k. The one tracker takes all
the hounds, and visits the feeding-grounds of the
deer until he finds a fresh track leading to the
spot in which the stag has couched for the day.
If the dogs own to the track, the man slips a
single hound and goes on. More than one dog
is never slipjied upon the same track, and no dog
is slipped on a fawn's track, partly because the
game is not worth the candle, but more because
a fawn, by circling round and round over the
same ground, so stains it as to utterly baffle the
hound. When once the deer is roused, the chase
lasts on an average about a couple of hours, and
to be successful your hound nmst not only be
staunch and utterly self-reliant, but swift to boot ;
for if the stag is not well bustled he will go clean
In
LETTER XVI.
m
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es all
f the
the
day.
ips a
dog
dog
the
3-use
the
the
hase
, and
y be
oot ;
clean
awav from the home waters, on which the «runs
are posted, to some distant lake, upon which
probably some otlier j)arty are at work, and be
killed by them. We lost twt) stags in this way.
Only one of our hounds showed any breeding,
and he was only a half-bred one, and certainly
not the best of the pack. But in spite of their
want of breeding their performances are wonder-
ful. After an hour's dodufiui; close to home, the
deer would often i>ive the ! ound a straight run
of some fourteen miles before takiniif to the water,
after which the hound would try akjng the bank
for a little while to make sure that the stauf had
not come out again, and then take uj) his own
tracks, and run heel until he came to the place
at which the tracker had started him ; here he
would take up his master's track and follow it
until he found him to once nioi-e be ready for
work. I remember in Ayrshire a celebrated
hound named Woodman, belonging to Mr. Mal-
colm, of Pt)ltallocli, which stuck to a roe-deer
over a rinuinir run of fourteen miles, brinying the
roe back to be shot at the point at which it was
roused, and this was rightly thought an unusually
fine performance; but it would be only an ordinary
day's work for one of these under-bred Yankee
deer-houmls. It seems to me that the exc(;llence
of these hounds, and the self-reliance and close
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
hunting developed in tlicni, is a strong mgunient
in favour of letting hounds nlone as much as
])ossible. Having failed to kill my deer, and
having made sure that the Circe in a hanunock
was only a phantom created V)y the ardent
imagination of the young man who wrote the
guide-book, I betook nn'self seriously to fishing,
more especially as the camp was getting so
ravenous that our host's cow was within an ace
of being sacrificed.
There is a professional angler, named Lee
Harris, who spends a good part of his year
within hail of Fort William Henrv Hotel, on
Lake Georsre. Of all those who angle for black
bass with grasshoppers, for pickerel or lake-trout
with * shiners,' or in any other manner for any
other fish, Lee Harris is fiicilc princeps. To
him T went for instruction, and as his plumes
had been a good deal ruffled lately by the advent
of a rival Izaak Walton from Australia, I found
him extremely communicative. Unfortunately it
was the old story. * When I first came here,'
Lee Harris said, * there were more fish in the
lakes than Dick Birch will tell you there were
deer in the forests when he first came along.
But it's not worth your while putting them
things together now,' pointing to my pile of rods.
* There are a few jiickerel (jack you call 'em in
were
Llong.
Ithem
rods.
Ill in
LETTER XVI.
the old country), and some splendid twenty-pound
lake-trout still ; but tlioHc Ho very deep in the
lakes, and you don't «(et many of them. Why,
when I first came along, if we wanted a few
trout, we did not bother with Hies, nor yet with
shiners, but just rowed our boat out on to the
lake and daubed her sides with molasses. ** What
was that for ?" you say. Wal, you see, no
sooner was the molasses on than the flies came
in thousands, and the trout in hundieds after
the flies, and in such a tarnation hurry that they
jumped clar over the flies into the boat. The
trouble was not to catch a boatload of trout in
them davs, but to fjet ashore before the fish sank
you. Ye-es, there were fish in the lakes then,
you bet !'
And so there may have been, but there are
very few now, in spite of the assertions of the
guide-books to the contrary. The lakes still
gleam like opals among the fiery reds of the
maple, the gold of the birch, and the bronze of
the oak ; still mirror on their surface tlie tall
spiral forms of pine and hemlock ; their beauty
may still make your eye brighten and your heart
throb ; but no monsters (or but very few) still
dwell in them to bend your rod and wake the
merry music of your reel. The Adirondacks
(forests and lakes alike) arc a wonderful instance
/
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
of what the pus.sion for 8i)ort, uncontrolled by
proj)er laws as to close-time and similar matters,
can achieve in the way of destruction in a country
but recently teemin*; with game. It is true that
there is now an association formed for the j)ro-
tection of the fish and the enforcement of the
game-laws, but it must be many years yet before
these waters bejjin to I'ecover themselves.
Excei)t for their beauty and their sweet health-
giving breezes, I wish I had taken your advice
and never seen the Adirondacks.
Yours, etc.
J. M. L.
08 /i
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LETTER XVII.
iSi
LETTER XVII.
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Victoria, B.C.
JJeau Li\a,
If y<m have Iiud my IuisIkukI's letters
forwarded to you by Mr. E., you must knew
what he has been doing for tlie last three weeks.
I flatter myself that you would a great d(3al
rather know what I have been about. * I want
you to stay at Victoria,' my husband said on
leaving me, ' and see if you think it would be
a pleasant place for you to live in.' I have been
obeying him to the letter, and I find that
Victoria, with no household worries, would be
charming ; and Victc-ria, even if you had to keep
house, would be decidedly bearable if you were
lucky enough to get a good Chinaman. Life
here for a woman depends, my dear, a good deal
upon the Chinese, and your reputation as a
mistress in Chinatown is one of your most
valuable possessions. If you are lucky, and treat
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your Celestial well, he seems to iiie to be a
treasure beyond price. As a matter of fact, you
have to pay him thirty to forty dollars a month
as cook, housemaid, and buttons. He is all three,
and will do any odd jobs, such as gardening or
wood-cutting, as well. He may pass his even-
ings in the consumption of o})iuni, in playing
shocking o'ames of chance, or in eatinsif nameless
horrors, but when he comes to your house in the
morning he looks fresh and clean as a new print-
dress. He is not confidential like some English
cooks, not talkative even, and if he were, you
could not understand him ; but he is generally
good-tempered, and infinitely better in the
kitchen than nine out of ten of the so-called
' good plain cooks ' you get at home. But * John *
has his little faults like the rest of us, and the
most painful of them all is a habit he has of
leaving you without warning, not waiting even
for arrears of pay in some cases. My own im-
pression is, that he is sharp enough to have
noticed how necessary he is as a domestic to the
white people of B.C., and to have noticed, too,
that though the number of his people in Victoria
has decreased, a fresh class of white servants has
not yet arisen to take the place of the Chinamen.
It is a terrible thing to feel that if you lose
your temper with him, though his face may
LETTER XVII .
183
remain utterly unmoved during the storm,
Avhen morning comes you may find your house-
hold ' brownie ' gone, never to return ; and what
is more, if this happens often, you will find very
considerable difficulty in replacing him. Of course,
Lina, life is very different here to life at home.
Here you may meet one of your tradesmen in
society, half an hour after he has served you
from behind the counter. He makes his money
by trade, and is not ashamed to own it, in this
point only diftering from some we meet at home.
There is no promenade here, no Row to drive in,
no great shops to flaunt the latest flishions in
your face, but the Victorians stand on their
dignity for all that. My husband thought a
pair of very smart knickerbockers, which were
good enough for our own country town, would
be good enough for the ' high ' in Victoria. I
believe more than one member of the club
suggested to him that these garments were not
the thing to wear in the fashionable parts of the
town. As to amusements, we are better off than
you would be in any country town at home. I
do not count dinnoi'-parties. Those are mascu-
line joys. Women know too nmch about the
preparations for them. But, in addition to
dinners, I have had three invitations to dances,
four picnics, a theatre, and any number of tennis-
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184
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
l)arties during my three weeks' sojourn in Victoria.
So that I have not been such a verv desolate
and forlorn person in my husband's absence.
All throucfh the summer a stream of Enijclish
visitors keeps passing through the town, bringing
memories of, and messages from, home to the
settlers.
I wish I could sketch, that I might be saved
a description of Victoria ; but I cannot, so you
must have it in pen and ink. The houses are
most of them of wood, gabled, and painted white,
detached, of course, and for the most part sur-
rounded by })retty gardens, some of which are
very gay with flowers. At the top of the town
is the cathedral, and from that ; oint the houses
run down to the blue waters of the Straits of
San Juan do Fuca. Behind our house lies a
beautiful park-like ex])anse, unenclosed, but re-
served as a public recreation-ground. From the
edgs of it you can look across the watei-s to the
snow peaks of the Olympian range ; and if you
turn away from them and the water you see that
the forest hedijes in the town. To give vou an
idea of the way in which extremes meet here,
and how near the forest is to the centre of
Government, let me tell vou what occurred last
week to one of the officers of the flag-ship
stationed here. He was on shore somewhere
LETTER XVII .
l8:
the
near Esquiinalt, the great harbour of Vancouver
Island, not four miles from the Lieutenant-
Governor's official residence, and less from the
General Post Office, when his si)aniel was
knocked head over heels by a panther or moun-
tain lion. Captain S. had no gun, neither had
he any intention of letting his dog be mauled by
the great yellow cat before him, so, like a gallant
sailor, he * went for ' that panther with his walk-
mg-stick. The panther, not caiing to come to
close quarters with her Majesty's navy, ' sheered
off" (I think that sounds right for a naval engage-
ment, doesn't it, Lina ?), and left the dog and his
master to return to their ship in i)eace. The odd
part of the story is, that not only did Captain S.
get a gun, come back, and find and kill his as-
sailant, but that the same Captain S. saw another
panther the same week rolling in the dust of the
road near the harbour.
So you see that \;hough we have most of the
luxuries of civilization, we have not quite ban-
ished the aborigines of the country from <mr
midst.
AVith a view to settling here, T have been
looking at some of the houses for sale on the
island. Here, as elsewliere, you have to pay for
position. James Bay is the place for official
residences, I suppose ; Xob's Hill is the Kensin«T.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
ton of Vancouver Island, and there, I am told,
the present Premier, Mr. Dunsmuir, is about to
build himself a palace. The house I looked at
to-day was a specimen of the best to be found in
the island. It was built on a stone foundation,
the rest of the buildinir bein"- of wood. It
seemed sohdly and strongly put together, stood
close to a main road in about an acre of ground,
and was very prettily gabled and finished exter-
nally. There were stables, built on a raised
platform, in which, I confess, I could hardly fancy
that an English hunter could make himself com-
fortable. There were sheds and barns, and a
washhouse, whilst in the house itself there was
certainly am2)lo acconnnodation for a moderate-
sized family {e.g., father and mother and four
children, with servants), and a spare room. The
floors were parquetted, the walls furnished ' ith
a handsome carved dado ; in the reception-rooms
there were handsome carved mantel-shelves with
framed mirrors above them, and every room was
finished in the very best taste and style. The
price asked for this house was about £1,500. I
don't pretend that all the houses in Victoria are
built in similar style. This had been built to
order ; but you may form some idea of the cost
of purchasing a house out here, and the value you
would get for your money, from what I have told
u ii'
LETTER XVII.
187
you. But, my dear, youare not luaiTiecl yet, so what
do you want witli houses ? Let me take you out
for a picnic instead, and show you the prettiest
side of Bi'itish Columbian hfe. It is to be a
boating picnic up one of the * arms ' (water-ways)
which run uj) from the Straits into the interior
of the island. Some of our male friends are
coming to row us up to camp and shoot whilst
we sketch and prepare a meal of some sort.
Almost as soon as we leave the wharf, the men
get out their ' spoons ' and let them spin behind
the boats as we row slowly up the ami, whose
still waters gleam unbroken save for the ris(^ of
trout or salmon, or the trail of some duck wliich
scuttles away over the surface as we approach.
Here and there bits of red rock crop up on either
bank, and on either bank the forest of pine and
cedar rises gently from the water's edge.
An enormous number of salmon is caught in
these waters every year ; but on the day of
which I am thinking we caught nothing (save
* crabs ') unt'^ ^uncli-time. The men had left us
on landino', and we could hear their cfuns from
time to time in the distance. Tired of doing
nothino- and incited to effort bv the constant
rises of two or three salmon in the little bay in
wliich we were, my friend and I took to the boat
again and fished hard for a cpiarter of an hour.
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If ii fish won't bite in that time, what can j'ou
expect, my dear ? Of com-sc we began talking.
The fislierwoman let her spoon trail overboard,
and to prevent the line following it, whipped one
end of the line round her own ankle. I don't
kno^^^ where our thoughts had wandered to ; but
I know it was very far from fish and fishing,
when my companion was suddenly jerked into
the bottom of the boat, and at the same moment
a great salmon sprang out of the water some
yards behind us. For a moment I could not
understand what was the matter, until I saw the
salmon jump again, and my fair friend's foot
being jerked about in a manner which at once
suggested that the question between her and the
salmon was simply, ' Must I come in, or will you
come out V Luckily two of the hooks on the
spoon gave way, and I don't think my friend was
sorry to regain her freedom, though in doing so
she lost her fish and broke her tackle. By-and-
by the men came back, not too well laden with
game, but very full of excuses. The covert, they
say, is too thick and birds scarce. They had a
few pheasants and grouse, and soma quail. My
husband was particularly indignant with the quail,
handsome little fellows, with a big dark crest
upon their heads. It seems that the moment
you move them they are off in a cloud to the
LETTER XVII.
1S9
-and-
with
they
densest covert tliey can find. He managed to
mark one covey into a fairly open spot aniono\st
the timber, and followed them. As he tells the
story, he got a brace from somewhere when he
next put them uj), and then one after another he
caught gUmpses of birds just disap})earing amongst
the tree-tops in the distance. He could hear
them on the winir all the time : but tliouoh he
kept his eye carefully on the fern, he never saw
one rise from it. At last he saw one whirl out
of a little pine-tree, and on looking closer saw
another jjerched there watcliing him. One after
another he put the birds out of the trees, in whose
branches tlicv had lodsxed, and came home vowini>*
that the most uncivilized things in America were
the grouse, who sat in tree-toj)s until you stoned
them to death, and the quail, who behaved more
like tomtits than game-birds. Whatever their
shortcomings may have been, the calls of the
scattered bevy made very sweet music as we
rowed leisurely home towards nightfall to where
the harbour liiifhts were already Cfleamino- on the
quiet wave. There is no use in denying that
the atmosphere of Victoria is peaceful and restful
in the extreme. It is not only the dreamy
lanufuor of the nio-]it to which I am lookinu* back
which has impressed me ; not only the stillness
of San Juan's waters, or the shadows of the
rfT
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190
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
j^igantic Douglas pines ; tliere is something else
besides all this which makes Victoria essentially
a place for rest. Some day it may be as bustling
as Chicago or Liverpool, when its coal-mines
shall have been developed, and their dependent
manufactories established ; but it will be an out-
raire to Xature if it is so, for if ever there was
a haven of rest designed by the Creator upon
earth for weary brains and tired bodies to refresh
themselves in before they go hence and are no
more seen, it is beautiful Victoria. If only my
husband would give up the world and all its
pomps and vanities, I would be only too glad to
live out the rest of my life in this land of sun-
shine and sea-breezes, doing all I could to tempt
my friends at home to come and share my haj^py
lot, and amongst those friends, you first, dear
Lina.
Yours, etc.,
Jennie P. W.
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LETTER uWIII.
191
LETTER XVIII.
London,
,, ^ J)ec.,lSS7.
My Dear Pat,
It is Longfellow, I think, who asks :
♦How canst thou walk in tliesc streets, who hast trod the green
turf of the prairies ?
How canst thou breathe in this air, who hast breathed the
sweet air of the mountains V
Looking with the dyspeptic eye of the body
upon the dense yellow fog and filthy slush of the
streets of London, and looking fondly back with
the eye of memory to the crystal clear skies
which hang over Canada, this is a natural ques-
tion to ask, a difficult one to answer.
Perhaps it is best to avoid the question. Here
we do not walk, we crawl ; we don't breathe, we
choke.
Ah, well, let me close my i)hysical eyes and
open the eyes of memory.
It is November, and a great train comes
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
tearing ulonn' tlic Cfuuuliau Pacific Railway line.
It has travelled some thuiisands of miles through
forest and lake-land, has been delayed by a
trifling accident, by Avhich two freight-trains
have knocked one another into match-wood, and
now is tearing along at unwonted sj)ecd through
the night to make up lost time.
Most of the passengers in the Pullman have
sought their sleeping-berths, but two, a lady and
her husband, are standing about, parcels in hand,
apparently waiting for something to hap])en. She
looks sadly sleepy, and half inclined to cry. By-
and-bv the conductor comes throuijh on his tour
of inspection. * Say, are you really going to
get off the cars at N. ?' he asks. * What ! vou
are ! Waal, I guess you'll strike it pretty rough.
Yes, sir, you'll strike it pretty rocky. Train
stops ninety seconds, and maj^be you had better
take a lucifer with you to light yourself a fire on
the prairie ;' with which encouraging remarks he
passes on. Soon a bell begins to toll sadly,
and the train slows down a little to pass through
a town of very green-looking wooden houses.
There is a sigh from the air-brake, and for a
breathing-space the cars pause at a jDlatform.
The two travellers jump out, and their home for
the last few days rushes away and is lost in the
darkness of nii2:ht. There is a small crowd on
LETTER XVIII.
^9^
>uses.
Ifor a
Iforin.
ie for
11 the
on
tho platform, and, thank Heaven ! an omnibus of
sorts. Tlic pair (myself and wife) enter the 'hus
and arc driven awav, feeling thankful that the
guard's lucifer has not been needed. It is too
dark to notice much, but that there is a veiv
nipping and an eager air about to-night, befoi-e
we draw up with a jerk at our inn. The driver
dismounts, hands out the lady, and calls for his
wife to come and look after her, in the broadest
Irish.
Whilst the lady is inspecting our quarters for
the night, Mr. McXamara persuades me to ' tliry
a dhrink,' and applies himself to the discovery of
my motives in visiting * No-matter-where.'
* Is it the gould they've been finding lately
you'll be wanting to see, sorr V
* No, !McNamara,' I reply ; * I can't afford to
look at gold-mines ; I've come to try to get a
moose. Are there any hereabouts ?'
* Any moose, is it ? I do assure you, sorr,
that I just Avonder we weren't jostled by them
as we came to the hotel,' replies the truthful
Gael.
Such reports are all very well at night, but in
the morning facts have to be faced and dealt
with. A law has been passed prohibiting the
slaughter of moose altogether in one half the
neighbourhood, and the local Indian hunters.
W
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194
/I SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
Imviii*^ {^-ivi'ii uj) all hope of tho advent of whito
hunters \'o¥ this season, have jjfone oil* to then*
winter shootinu-ii'iounds some hundreds of miles
back in the forests.
For almost the first time that I remember in
Canada there is no sun shininj^. The town is
only six years old, and its site very imperfectly
cleared. The hotel itself rises from a rouf^li
boulder-strewn buildini^-lot, not yet made level ;
the wooden trottoirs rise a cou])le of feet
above the thoroughfares, in which only so nmch
ground is cleared as is actually needed for traffic ;
boulders and tree-stumps still cumber the ground,
and through all sweeps a broad gray river, sheeted
in mist, and frinu'ed near the town with a lonij
line t)f red canoes beached for the year.
Low hills, covered with hard wood, abut on
the river ; and wooded hills and thuber-limits
stretch far away on all sides.
The day looks dim and gray, the river lifeless
and desolate, the hills forbidding ; the sun has a
thick haze round it, and there is promise of snow
in the air. In the few shop-w-indows nothing is
to be seen except furs and sealskin moccasins.
A cart in the yard is being taken off its wheels
and being mounted on ' runners.'
The last leaves of autumn have fallen ; the
sugar-maple has lost its gold and crimson, and
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LETTER XVIII.
195
liino; IS
the
In, and
stands out now, stark and grim, in its nakedness
against the sky.
A wind tears through tlie new wood houses,
and the whole six-year-old town feels without
the sun as cheerless as a camp without a fire, or
life without hope. * No-matter-where ' is waiting
for the winter. To-day, and under such circum-
stances, one recjuircs consolation. It is a difficult
article to ohtaiu, hut there is a store here at
which you can get most things — a Canadian
Whiteley's, the store of the Hudson Bay Com-
pany. There we are met by a courtly gray-
haired old gentleman, ready to assist us in
everything, one « .' a class which has wielded for
good immense power amongst the North American
Indians, and which even up to to-day holds the
aftection of the red man by treating him with
invariable loyalty and good faith. To this gentle-
man every Indian in his neighbourhood is known,
and most of them obey him like children. His
best hunters, he tells us, are away ; but there is
one man who may do, a quondam lumberer, now
busy with carpenter's work in the town. A boy
goes for Jocko, while we inspect the store, in
which are laid out all the real necessaries and
most of the comforts of life — moccasins worked
with flowers for the house, rough sealskin moc-
casins for the snow, scarlet blank *s iov cloaks or
13 — 2
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ill
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196
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
bed-covering, sides of bacon, guns, knives, and a
few prettily-worked Indian trinkets. In a loft
above the store are piles of mink and marten
skins, beaver and fox skins, hides of moose and
cariboo, though as yet the winter's hunt has
hardly begun.
Nothinir could be hicfher than the character
Mr. irives his Indian friends. It seems
that each hunter has his own particular range,
and it is a point of honour among them not to
poach each other's preserves. Hunger, of course,
has no law, so that a redskin who is hungry
allows himself to kill a beaver upon a neighbour's
* shoot ;' but having done so and eaten the beaver,
lie is bound to keep the skin, and at the yearly
delivery of pelts to the Hudson Bay Company,
he hands over the skin, neatly wrapped in birch-
bark, to the factor, and requests that he will put
it to So-and-so's credit. Every year Mr.
has to make note of several such transactions.
Credit is given to the Indians by the company
sometimes for more than a year, and such things
as bad debts do not occur in the company's books.
In a few minutes Jocko arrives, a short, square-
built half-breed of forty or thereabouts, dressed
in European clothes, and an abominable * bowler '
hat. His feet only wear the natural Indian
dress ; moccasins are about the last of the com-
LETTER XVIII.
s, and a
n a loft
marten
ose and
ant has
laracter
t seems
r raniTfe,
1 not to
' course,
hungry
("hbour's
beaver,
J yearly
impany,
1 birch-
ivill put
L".
actions.
3mpany
thinscs
5 books,
square-
dressed
3owler '
Indian
Le coni-
197
forts of backwoods life which the half-breed
yields to civilization. Jocko smiles all over his
face at us, and shakes hands.
'Do you think. Jocko, you could find this
gentleman a moose ?'
' I think so, maybe,' replies Jocko ; ' but who
is to do my work ?'
'Oh, I'll manage that for you,' replies our
friend the flictor ; ' I'll get Charlie Bonamie to
do it for you.'
* All right,' replies Jocko.
' When can you start ?'
* To-morrow morning, I guess ; but I must
take Frank with me ; he's a good boy, and can
cook fine !'
And so it is arranged that we start on the
morrow in the early morning, with Jocko as
hunter, Frank as cook, and cart and outfit sup-
plied by our friends of the Hudson Bay Company.
Now as to stores ! For once Mrs. W. does
not do the shopping. No doubt she can order
the dinner and lay in stores for a week, at home
in Kensington ; but this is another matter, and
so I confer with the factor, and make my own
list, many years' experience having taught me
exactly what I want for such work.
' Whatever you do, don't forget the baking-
powder, W^orcester sauce, or onions.'
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
Ml
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* All right, sir ; but won't you take a few little
luxuries for the lady ?' replies the clerk.
* No ; I want her to really rough it.'
Madame laughs, and the man thinks we are
mad.
* Put in salt pork instead of bacon for us,' says
Jocko ; * bacon is no use in camp.'
* Why not. Jocko ?' I ask.
* It isn't fat enough ; you want fat for cold
weather and hard work.'
Of course I make no demur. The pork is the
cheapest, and I am quite ready to consult my
men's tastes.
Next morning, at ten, an extremely smart
cart on wheels stands before the store, loader-
with rugs and buffalo robes, and drawn by two
strong horses.
The lady ha,3 come up to the scratch gallantly,
arrayed in scarlet tam-o'-shanter, short skirts,
stout boots, and overshoes to keep out the snow.
Instead of the gigantic trunks which generally
accompany her, one little hand-bag holds all her
clothes and toilette necessaries for a week. All
mine are knotted up In a handkerchief. A case
like a large hat-box contains a 2)ail, and in that
pail, ingeniously fitted, are pots and kettles,
frying-pans, knives, billies, and all the kitchen
utensils necessary for comfort round a camp-fire.
1 *
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LETTER XVIII.
199
There is one box of provisions, and another (a
very modest httle fellow) full of bitter beer, and
one (just one) bottle of whisky in case of — well,
let us say cholera.
In spite of my desire to let my wife see a
genuine specimen of camj)ing out, it seems to me
that our expedition is going to be as comfortable
as an English picnic. A cheer for the lady, a
waving of hats, and off we go, a French Canadian
driving, and our two Indians tucked in behind.
All round ' No-matter-where ' are lumber limits,
i.e., tracts of forest taken up and owned or leased
by different individuals M^ho, every fall, send
gangs of axe-men into their limits to hew down
the harvest of oak and pine. For sixteen years
Jocko had been a lumberman, vowing every year
that the hardships of the life were too great, and
that he could earn more money in the towns for
lighter work ; but every fall when the ffano-
gathered together and prepared to move off to
the great log shanties for the winter, the old
fiiscination drew him after them, and once more
in bright tuque of blue or red, axe on shoulder,
and pipe between his teeth, he marched off with
the merry singing crew of stalwart fellows for the
forest. Even now that he had given it up,
Jocko hankered after the old life. How many
of us professional men in London, if we could be
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2 00
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
altogether free to choose, would not for a season
sti'aiijfhten our backs and swinir Ji- woodman's axe
in ])referencc to driving a scraping quill along the
foolscap !
The men when lumberinof live in j^ansfs in
grtat woodvin shanties in the de^jths of the forests
and in the midst of their work. Each shanty
has its cook and its store-chest, from which each
man jiurchases his week's provisions, his weekly
bill being deducted from his weekly wage. Hound
the interior of the shanty (which is built of rough
logs) are bunks arranged tier above tier, and in
the centre burns a huije fire. The men besfin
work early, and go back early to the shanty.
They are able to work fairly near each other,
and in the bright and bracing atmos2)liere blithe
sonofs minofle with the v'm<x of the axe. At niffht
the shanty is their club. Together they dine
and smoke, play cards, spin yarns, and sing. On
Sundays there is no work to do, so some loaf,
others hunt or fish, or add to their earnings by
setting traps for otter, mink, or beaver, and
visitins>: those set last week. This sort of thinsc
lasts until the spring, and then the worst half of the
lumberer's work begins. Logs have to be hauled,
rafts made and floated down stream to the mills
at Ottawa and elsewhere, and in the miserable
thaw the lumberer is wet to his waist half a
LETTER XVIII.
201
dozen times a day. Still, liard exercise keeps the
men ' fit ' and vrell, and sixteen years of the work
had not bent Jocko's shouklers or dimmed his
brown dog-hke eyes. A dolkir a day is about
the wage paid now to lumbermen in the hmits
in Ontario and Quebec. But I am wandering
away from the track along which our horses are
taking us at about five miles an hour to sucli a
shanty as I have described, situated in a limit
which has been deserted for some three or four
years.
The pace at which we travel is a bad one, but
the country is a very Arabia Petrea outside the
town, and it really requires steering to get safely
through the boulders. Besides, the roads are
made worse by snow which fell nine days ago,
not deep enough for sleighing, but quite dc^ep
enough to make driving on wheels peculiarly slow
work.
Here and there by the river's bank a small
farm has been hewn out of the forest. These
flirms are fine instances of what Mr. Pell, in an
able article in this year's Journal of tlie Chamber
of Agriculture, calls tlie making of the land.
Perhaps the happy .settler only gave in the first
instance a pound an acre for his land ; but by the
time he has felled the trees upon it, cleared the
stumps and rocks out of it, built the fences u[)on
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202
^^.SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
it, protected it from floods, drained it, built upon
it houses and barns, the amount of money and
muscle, the years of his life and his children's,
will represent an accunmlated Cfipital sunk in the
soil worth more than the seven to sixteen shillincfs
per acre at which land in the jjrovinces of Ontario
and Quebec is now let. But the pioneer's
reward ' is in the race he runs, not in the prize,'
and as we drive past we envy the sturdy fellow
his strong health, open-air work, manly labour,
and that pleasure which comes of creating, and
seeinfif the home of vour own creation Sfrow be-
neath your hands. They are quaint homes, some
of those inside the heavy snake fences of rough
logs, built of heavy pine stems, well fitted and
filled in with mud or mortar, roofed with wooden
slates, and painted sometimes in the most brilliant
of colours, as if the inhabitants had rebelled
against the eternal white of winter, and the green
gloom of tlie summer woods. One little shanty
was called the Maison Doree, and was gabled all
over, had dormer-windows put in wherever there
"was room for one, and was painted a bright
yellow. Before we had been on our w^ay two
hours, the Indians and our driver w\anted to
lunch. No one else did ; but I suppose they
were sick of the bitter Avind, which cut our ears
almost oft*, in spite of the flaps of our deer-stalkers,
LETTER XVIII.
203
so we all bundled out, lit fires, and cooked bacon
by the road-side. After wasting an hour and a
half in this way, we again started, our lame horse
(he had a stiff leg, result of a fracture in youth)
almost running away with us. At about four
we left the road, which for the last half-mile had
been very bad, and turned into the forest. A
drive of 100 yards sufficed for everyone, except
the driver and my wife, over the forJst road, and
as the driver candidly remarked, it did not seem
likely that any of their bones would be left in the
proper places by nightfall. First on one wheel,
then on another, the unfortunate trap careered
through snow and ruts, over logs and rocks,
sometimes leaping a little brook, at others stoj)-
ping for a fallen tree to be cut out of the way.
Except for the noise we made and the chatter-
ing of some squirrels alarmed at our arrival,
intense silence reigned in the woodc. The track
we were following was one which had been suffi-
ciently cleared for the lumberers in times past to
haul the logs along to the river ; but it had
never been meant for a trap witli springs. At
last one side of the traj) tilted up, there wns a
sharp metallic snap, and a spring liad gone. To
my surprise, though the driver grumbled a good
deal, he mended the spring with a small log and
some straps and proceeded. I quite expected to
ftf^
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V M I '
204
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
M
!:!'
hear him tiilk of tui'ning back and giving iq) the
road as impracticable. This was explained after-
wards. The trap belonged not to the driver, as
I suj)posed, but to our friend the Hudron Bay
aofent.
The woods were so dense and still, and game-
tracks so frequent, though most of them old,
that I ran on ahead of the cart until the sound
of its misfortunes reached me no more, and then
strode on, silently watching and listening, in the
hope that my eyes might be gladdened by the sight
of some of those mysterious forest beasts whose
tracks were all round me. At last there was a
I'cgular soft footfall on the snow, and, at a turn
of the road, I stood face to face with a French
Canadian trapper coming out from an inspection
of his traps. It was his coat we had passed
earlier in the day, tossed casually in the snow by
the roadside. It had been there, my Indian
said, two or three days, and he seemed in nowise
surprised, except when I asked him if it was safe
there. * Safe ! of course ! why should it not be ?'
I wondered a little whether my friend Jocko
would find it wise to leave a good coat for a
couple of days by an English wayside, but said
nothing.
In another hour darkness was upon us, and
the men wanted to camp.
I
LETTER XVI 11.
20:
and
' Is this tlie point from which you meant to
start huntinir, Jocko V I asked.
' No ; but I guess we can't go any further
to-night.'
* How far is the lorr-hut ?'
* Three miles, I guess.'
* Very well, then, go on until wo get there,' I
replied.
The men grumbled, but one man nmst always
be master, and it is good to teach your men at
first that if they waste time by the way, they must
make it up after hours. And now the road led
over a regular boom, up to which we had to
bring the horses with a rush. We had built a
gradually rising platform in front of it, and some-
how or other the trap got over ; but meanwhile
our leader Jocko had disappeared in the dim
thickets. It was hard to follow him, but we did
it^ somehow— the wife very silent and a little
frightened, the driver desperately savage, and
horses ' played out.'
At last a point of light gleamed ahead of us,
and we could hear the ring of an axe, and in
another minute we pulled up between two rougli
log-huts, one the stable, the other the shanty.
There was not much to choose between theni ;
but the shanty, built of rough logs, had a heartli'
and shelves for sleeping-bunks, and was soon
' (
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206
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
full of the led glow of a good wood fire and the
savoury smell of cooking.
The slianty had not been used for three years,
so that we were not afraid of finding our sleeping
quarters too lively ; but for all that we turned
out the crisp dry brush which the lumberers had
used for bedding, and sent it leaping and roaring
in great, glad tongues of flame out through the
big square hole in the roof to the frosty sky wo
could see above. Things went well and merrily
that night, and even * the lady ' seemed fairly
comfortable, and even useful, until, when all else
was still save the Indians' snoring by the hearth,
a long, wailing howl sounded very near the door
of the hut. Then — but I will be generous. A
wolf's howl is an eerie sound to those who have
never heard it before, and until you know the
beast, it does seem reasonable to wish to have
the door barred between him and your bedside.
What a chansfo comes over the scene between
that last look into the forest at niofht before
turning in and the first glimpse on waking !
Then, as you stood in the doorway, your hut
glowed a point of vivid crimson in the night.
Every frosted fern or birch bough within a doz>^n
yards of its glow was hung with glittering rubies,
while further in the forest the cold moonlight
glittered on frosty emeralds, or sparkled back
J I
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LETTER XVIII.
207
:wecii
)eforo
light.
ibies,
ilight
back
from the pure white snow. Then the sky was
of dee}), deep blue steel, set with points of cold
fire. Xow the sky has paled, and hangs red and
pale blue over a forest of silver filigree, pine
and birch and stream all bound in fetters of
silver.
Early rising does not appear to be essential in
moose-hunting, for it is 7.30 before Jocko has
finished packing \\\) his little blue handkerchief
full of necessaries — matches, a knife, some bread,
a piece of the fattest pork he can find, etc., all
neatly stowed away in a bundle not too big to go
inside a large stove-pipe hat. On our feet are
long sealskin moccasins, reputed waterproof, and
reaching to the knee. Over these are the re-
doubtable red canvas overalls, warranted to wear
a year, and excellent for the woods. Our hands
are covered first with woollen gloves, and then
with fingerless gloves of deerskin, for it appears
that in the work before us ordinary gloves are
soon worn out. I should advise any who imitate
me in this sport to have their gloves soled. The
silence of the forest seems to have settled on
Jocko early. As soon as he has completed his
preparations, he begins to sjieak in whisi)ers.
When he leaves the hut he becomes dumb. For
a few hundred yards we swing along down the
path, then w^e turn into a kind of timber-yard of
1 . '
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208
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
i)
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fiilleu <,''i{iiits, and come to a gully with a frozen
stream below. Here wo crawl along a pole, and
I thank my stars that Jocko re([uires all his
attention to keep his own equilibrium, and can't
sec what a funk I am in. However, wc are over,
and don't stop to blow. Jocko, I find, never
does stop. As we rise the hill the morning
breaks upon us, a miracle of beauty. It seems
as though a million fairy spears, gem-tipped and
silver-hafted, were levelled at us, and along their
levelled points comes the sun in a blaze of
splendour ; or it is a sea of molten silver set in
the dark-green 2)ines, with here and there a
gaunt trunk, blackened by fire or blasted by
frost, rising stark and stern from it like the mast
of a wreck.
Whatever it is, Jocko is wading through it
waist-dee]), and I follow him, the scales of frost
rustling down crisp and dry from the big marsh-
tea-bushes and the birch-boujjhs. For a cfood
hour we fought our way through iivi frosted
brush, and climbed over tlie snow-covei'ed logs,
or, Blondin-like, walked along thein. In moc-
casins it is easy enough, but I should be sorry to
try it in boots. Here and there we got glimpses
of the marshes, low-lying tracts without trees,
covered entirely with the Indian marsh-tea,
lookinof a soft dove-colour in the distance. Close
LETTER XVIII.
209
;h it
frost
larsh-
s^ood
>sted
logs,
Imoc-
ly to
ipscs
[rees,
-tea,
Hose
to it is an oval-lcafcd slirub, the upper surface
a glossy dark green, and tlie under surface i)re-
senting a yellow, furred appearance. It makes a
very good drink, and is sup[)oscd to have valu-
able medicinal qualities.
At last Jocko stooped and pointed to a track,
such a track as only a moose could make, of
such a size as could only be tv')lerated in Canada,
about six tracks being sufficient for an acre.
* Three days old,' muttered Jocko, and though
the track led straight away into likely-looking
country, where tracking was easy and going-
good, he turned off sharj) to the right, and once
more led me a weary dance over logs and pit-
falls until I was too tired to lift a leg. Half a
dozen times during the day we came to places
where the moose had lain on the tops of the
hard-wood hills, or upon droppings as large as
plums, composed entirely of sawdust. What a
digestion a moose must have, whose most deli-
cate food appears to be withies ! Here and
there we saw deer-tracks, but no tracks of bear ;
and, indeed, but for moose, there seemed very
little game in this day's beat, and the latest
moose track we had seen was (so Jocko said)
three days old. So we sat down on a log, which
we partially thawed during lunch, and ate our
bacon in silence. Suddenly Jocko's eyes glisten,
14
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
his jaws roniaiii rigidly apart, the last mouthful
unswallowod, and soiiiowhoro far back in the
bushes I hear a movement. Very faint at first,
but suddenly Jocko grips my arm and points.
I can see nothing. Yes, now — I can't. For
one moment I caught a glimpse of a brown form
on the jump. I think I had a glimpse of a
long white fur, and though I did snap at my
fii'st white-tail buck, I don't consider it worth
while to ixo and look if there is blood on his
trail. I am conscious of having fired somewhere
in his direction, and that is about all.
There are no birds, no life anywhere. What-
ever is in the forest (and you can't help feeling that
it is full of live beasts) is endowed with ghost-
like silence of tread, and the power of remain-
ing invisible. But now, as evening falls, Jocko
seems to have given up the moose, and is keenly
studying the excej)tionally lai'ge heart like slot
of a white-tail buck. We are in a hollow, and
round us are low hills covered with hard-wood
and fallen timber. The edges are clearly defined
against the frosty sky, and what is that on the
very crest of one of them ? Surely it is a great
buck, thouoh his back is straisfht and rio'id as the
pine butts lying round him. As he has seen us
it is hopeless to try to get nearer ; Jocko shakes
his head as I raise my rifle, but I take no notice.
LETTER XVIII.
211
Uj) to his shoulder I come, and then mise the
«ight till I am clear of him altogether. It is
flukey shooting, but what am I to do with a
rifle only sighted for 250 yards, and a buck
lookmg at me from dc^uble the distance ? As the
sharp report rings out, the rigid form at graze on
the hilltop bounds high in air, just touches with
Ins knees a huge pine-log in front of him, and
apparently i)lunges head-first into space. 'Our
meat ; that's good,' says Jocko ; 'come on after the
other,' and starts at a run in an oj)posite direction
to that in which my buck is lying. At first I
follow, but w^hen he pauses, find tin\e to whisper :
' What are we after, Jocko ? was there another
big buck V ' No, tliis not a buck, this she-deer,'
replies Jocko. ' Oh, hang you !' I pant out in-
dignantly; 'come along, and make sure of my buck.'
Jocko Tiankers after more meat, but obeys.
Arrived at the crest of the hill there is a place
where a buck stood and stamped ; there is a huge
log to clear, which he nmst have jumped, seven
honest feet, and on the other side there is the
inark of his (ail, head first in the snow, and that
i.s all. No, stay ; about a quarter of a mile off on
a barren hill, my wounded beast is limi)ing along
about half as fust as I could run at my best
For a moment I feel that I must imbrue my
hands in the blood of the noble savage, but I
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
refrain, the more readily as at that moment he
is some considerable distance out of reach, going
like a winner of the Grand National over all sorts
of impediments which speedily stop that noble
animal. By dint of using my hands more than
mv feet, I follow him for about half an hour.
Then I see the staof standinsr, lookinsf back at me
about 150 yards off. I am sobbing like a broken-
winded cab-horse after breastinsf Hio-hcfate Hill.
I miss him like a man, both barrels. Jocko says
nothing ; he docs more ; he runs again and I try to
follow him. The dusk is turnins: into dark. I
cannot possibly go another hundred yards. But
the stasf is c^ettinof done too. That first shot hit
Oct o
him in the shoulder, and just as I am about to
drop from sheer exhaustion he lurches heavily,
stumbles, recovers himself, and then comes down
with a crash — Acad, but game to the last gasp.
Jocko and I lay and panted beside him in the
snow, and then, having skinned him and admired
his branching antlers — really fine antlers for a
white tail, and the strange long white fud from
Avhich he takes his name — I ask how far it is back
to camp. * Maybe seven miles,' says Jocko, and
mayhc. he was not exaggerating. I know the
moon was up, and I had got tired even of looking
forward to the luxuries of hot mutton and whisky
toddy before he announced that it was only three
LETTER XVIII.
213
going
more miles to camj}. ' We'll be in in an hour, I
guess, if we keep this pace up, but there is some
bad travelling ahead,' said my guide, puffing away
at his pipe. ' Bad travelling ahead !' I wondered
what he considered the fallen timber, half hidden
in snow and rendered doubly trappy by the half-
light through which we had been travelling ever
bince dusk.
.^M at once a rejDort woke the night echoes,
'\nd then another. < What the devil is that.
Jocko !' I ask. Jocko looks surprised for a
moment, and then answers, * Guess your girl got
frightened ; shooting to let you know where the
camp is ; better answer.' I have six cartridges
left with me and only twenty more in camp, so
somewhat grudgingly I comply. At once my
rei)ly is answered, and as I don't respond more
shooting e^.^Hies. ' Confound them, Jocko, they'll
use up a] ]]- ammunition.' - iNever mind, just
one mc 9 ■hrV says the Indian. And so it went
on, until aL>L r, half my ammunition had been ex-
pended, ah ! -. ; could hear an eldritch scream
made by the Indian Frank, from the bluff above
us. A quarter of an hour aftei-wards we -tum-
bled over the doorstep into the glow of the fire-
light, and when re saw the magnificent repast
si)reaJ i-r us, and listened to the raptures poured
out over ■.. xo stag's head we hung on the beams.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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we forgoA'e the canip-followci's, whose noisy
sohcitude for our welfare must have frightened
all the moose in the province.
The day's work for those in camp had not
been a dull one, nor, as far as we could judge by
the beds of fresh pine-brush and the dish of
trout, an unprofital I ^. one. That night, our
buffalo-rug covered as ' and happy a couple
as any out of Paradise ; nor was it until the long-
howling of an old gray wolf, not far from our
door, awoke the lady, that she felt either fear or
discomfort in this somewhat savage nest. How-
ever, like most wild beasts, wolves fear men even
when asleej) more than men fear them, and being
a sensible Avonian, Mrs. P. W. accepted my assur-
ances on this subject, and for the rest of her
stay in our log shanty, rather looked forward to
the wolfs serenade as part of the programme of
the beautiful forest nights.
You should see, Pat, if you cannot induce your
wife to try a Canadian lunibcrcr's hut for a change.
No-matter- where is better worth visiting than
Brighton, not more dangerous, and less expen-
sive.
Yours truly,
C. P. W.
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LETTER XIX.
215
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LETTER XIX.
London.
Dear Pat,
You ask me for the story of those great
ungainly antlers which yow saw cumbering my
little London house. They were moose-heads,
my boy ; antlers which I obtained at No-matter-
where last autumn, when my wife was camping
Avith me.
You must come with me in fxncy to the rou^n
log-hut, amongst the pines, and imagine that it is
early morning on the last day but one of my
stay in the forest. We have been in nearly a
week, and until now, for nine days in fact, the
thin carpet of snow in the forest has remained
Unchanged. It was written all over with records
of the wanderinofs of the tall red deer, but durino-
all those days the snow has been crisp and hard,
the air dry, and the skies bright.
Every footfall, however light the moccasined
foot which made it, crackled noisily among cris2)ly
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
frozen moss and leaves, or broke with a sharp
crunch through some thin crust of ice. Yester-
day there was no snow at all in many places, so
that tracking for any considerable distance was out
of the question. Up till this morning no luck has
befallen us in our moose-huntinof, thouo-h we have
Avorked steadily from dawn to dusk for four days.
The morning of this, the fifth day, is breaking,
and the corner of my buffalo robe has got up.
There is no doubt about that, for the morning
air, keen as a wolf's tooth, has got in and set me
shivering.
A soft footfiill stealing about the shanty mixes
somehow with my waking dreams ; by-and-by a
tiiin flame flickers up from the hearth, and a bevy
of red S2)arks rushes up through the great chimney
into the gray sky.
A change has come since yesterday. The sky
has lost its crystalline quality, and when a minute
later Jocko opens the door and goes out with the
cho2)per, a glimpse through the open doorway
confirms my waking impression that something
has happened in the night. There is no longer
that crispness of light and sound which was the
bane and the beauty of yesterday.
The friendly red flame flickers up again, and,
encouraged by it, I slip out and stand for a
minute, bare-footed and shivering, by the hearth.
Hi
LETTER XIX.
2X1
Joeko enters, with a huge log upon his
shoulder, and there is a smile in his bic. brown
eyes.
' We've got the snow now,' he says, < and plenty
oi him. The change is explained. Outside every-
thing is soft and white. There is a soft, heavy
look „, the gray of the morning sky ; the ground
IS .oft with six inches of piled snowflakes ; heavy
and soft they hang upon the balsams ; carpet the
ground, and cling in patches even to the grim
trunks, still standing gaunt and black amoncrst
the briile. *
The old records are blotted out, and a clean
page of forest history lies open before u'^ If
ever a day promised well for the moose-hunter, it
IS to-day, and our spirits rise at the thoucrht
Fearlessly we tackle the tin bucket, in^spite of
Its thin coating of ice, and splash about vio-or-
ously on the wood-pile in the corner, which serves
for our dressing-room.
^ The coffee-pot simmers merrily, the bacon
hisses an unnecessary invitation to breakftist, and
even the damp moccasins, hanging from the
clothes-line by the fire, are put on almost with-
out a .shudder. Madame alone remains iiroof
against the voice of hope, curled up and content
now that she has all the buffalo robe to herself
At seven Jocko and myself steal out from the
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/I SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
fire-lit shadows into the stilhiess of tlie new
day.
On the trail the snow is nearly a foot deej),
and I am glad to follow in my guide's footsteps
through the drifts. Here and there we step on
an unseen log or boulder, and sit down with little
ceremony and less comfort, the snow driving up
coat and shirt-sleeves, and freezing where it
touches the warm Hesh.
So far there is not even the track of a squirrel
on the path, and it is not until we reach the
* crik ' that we come across the first wolfs trail.
The ice mav bear his cfaunt carcass, but we
have to cut down a couple of small trees with
which to make some sort of a bridge before we
attempt to cross over.
For six miles we held along the main lum-
berers' trail, passing some other deserted shanties
en route, round w^hich a jungle of raspberry-canes
has grown up. Inside upon the walls are great
hazel hoo])s for stretching the skins of beavers, a
trap or two, and an axe-liead. These belong to
Jocko, and have been here since last winter.
* Not a bad bear,' is the first remark Jocko has
made since leaving our camp-fire, and, looking in
the direction in which he is pointing, I see the
bark torn from a great tree, some nine feet or
more from the ground. Here, probably, Bruin
LETTER XIX.
3T9
(a black one) has been clio•<rin^r his claws in, and
stretching himself after a square meal of rasp-
berries. Half a dozen times before eight o'clock
we came upon ' white-tail ' tracks, leadhig always
into the thickest of the balsam-woods? They
look very fresh and tempting ; but we are not
after white-tail to-day. Just as the hands of my
watch point to 8 a.m., my Indian and I stop
simultaneously, and my heart begins to go several
beats per minute faster than it has done hitherto,
for there, right across the track, are the great
hoof-prints of a bull moose, fresh, of course, for
the snow has hardly ceased falling. Without a
word, Jocko turns into the hard-wood, and for
an hour neither of us speaks, but both plod on,
following yard for yard where the bull has gone!
Every moment I expected to see the great spread-
ing palms of his antlers or his huge misshapen
bulk moving slowly before us, nibbling the tender
tops of birch or willow.
From the top of every hard-wood hill we look
to see him lying down, a brown mass, in tlie snow,
resting after his night's tramp. But no. One
hard- wood hill after another is climbed and left
behind ; one belt of balsam after another pene-
trated and passed through, and still the great
tracks lead on, with no sign of resting or Aveari-
ness. At last Jocko stops and draws^ down the
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end of a tall sajjling, wtill bleeding' from the teeth
of the bull. Turning- to me, he speaks (to my
horror) above his breath : * Pie has been hero
about two hours a^o, and he's travellinfj to find
the rest ; if we find him, we shall find them all.'
So then, Jocko is expecting to come across a
gang of moose ; I only hope he may be right,
though one, if he is big enough, would do for me.
At any rate, from the tone in which my careful
Jocko speaks, it is evident that he does not
think our senses need be kept on the strain any
longer just at present, so, though we keep going,
we ease down a little and look about us. In
front of us is a tree whose scratched bark and
broken twigs show (Jocko says) where our beast
has rubbed his horns. Further on the deep
furrow-like track of an otter Q'oinof- down to the
marsh catches the old trapper's eye, and I sea him
making careful mental notes of the very numerous
aimia of marten on the outskirts of the balsam
patches. At one moment we 2)ass through a
long thin wood of birches, whose every tip bears
marks, old or fresh, of the teeth of the moose ;
at another we pause to look at a hole in the
ground where the white-tail has been jjawing up
a bulb. Our quarry is taking us now in a line
parallel to the main line of marshes round which
the hard-wood hills gather, and which may be a
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LETTER XIX.
221
part, "or all I know, of that great chain which
stretches from the St. Lawrence to the Great
Bear Lake in the far North- West. Along this
chain of lakes, ' some of them as large as Euro-
pean kingdoms,' the moose still wanders in large
gangs, and will wander, in spite of the lumberer's
axe and the hunter's rifle, for many a year to
come. The only wonder is that man manages
ever to come across the great beast in his forest
fastnesses.
It is about three o'clock when the track leads
into a very heavy g-ove of balsam, floored with
dwarf hemlock and the tea-bush. Here the snow
is tremendously deep, almost knee -deep in places,
and the heavy wreaths on the dark balsams half
smother us as they fall.
Here, indeed, is an ideal home for the old-
fashioned King Christmas of the fairv tales of
our boyhood. Our moose seems to have been as
much enamoured of the scene as we are, for his
track wanders in and out, backwards and for-
wards, in the most aimless and wearying fashion.
In a little snowfield among the balsams he has
indulged in a pas seul, springing from side to
side in huge bounds, and generally having a good
romp round. But even here we can get no
glimpse of brown hide or branching horns, and
still the trail leads on, until we debouch on the
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222
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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most perfectly ideal lake of the woods, frost-
bound, snow-clad, set in dark solenni pines us in
a, frame, throu<^li which the red i'-low of evenini^
forces its way into the twilii^ht of the woods.
Here the moose has found his .'iiates, and here,
thoroughly tired, we lunch at about 3.30, having
been ijoino: without snow-shoes since 7 a.m.
Never before did I realize the value of fat.
Tij'e'd, and in the severe cold, my stomach loathed
even the comparatively lean breakfast-bacon in
my pocket, and craved for the solid fat in Jocko's
brown fist.
* Indian right, you see ; lean meat no good for
hunting, all very well in town ; but salt bad.
Indians never had colds before they used to eat
salt,' he muttered, pecking away with a stick at
the ice beneath his feet to get a drink. Still as
the woods seem, and empty of bird life, we had
not stood five minutes eating our huriied lunch
before there was a twitter in the branches above
us, and looking up, I saw we were observed by
half a dozen i)airs of bright hungry eyes belonging
to blue-tits and golden-crested wrens. No doubt
they did well on our crumbs when we had gone.
Poor little mites ! they seemed so tiny to be out
alone in the snow in those great gloomy woods.
Having found the moose, Jocko proposed to
return, but to this I could not consent. To-day
LETTER XIX.
223
WHS ours still, I argued ; but who know what
surface ice, sudden thaw, or fresh snowfall to-
morrow nn'ght bring ? Xo, Jocko ; on, on, my
friend ; even a moose cannot travel for ever with-
out resting. We soon found this was so, for in the
deei) woods round the lake, two or three knolls
bore traces of the mid-day siestas, here of one,
there of a gang, of the great bulls. Unfor-
tunately we found, too, that some of the beasts
had got our wind and gone. In these balsam
labyrinths, the moose seemed all round us, and it
was impossible to avoid alarming some of them.
Vith the obstinacy of my race, I insisted on
sticking to the bull whose track I had first struck
Jit 8 a.m., and as luck Avould have it, at about
5 i).m. I was rewarded. Creei)ing wearily to the
top of a knoll, I saw him standing below me in
the twilight, still as a stone, so still that it
seemed almost incredible that the great creature
which must have been moving within a couple of
hundred yards of me was really flesh and blood,
and not some monstrous forest shadow. There
is only one beast in the world which shares with
the moose that weird and old-world look wliich
is so peculiar to him, that rouo'h, strikino- thouc^-li
uncouth outline of figure whicli suggests that he
and the Eocky Mountain goat are two of Xature's
first-born, made in the days when the gray world
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
was young-, before Xature had time to do more
than put force into her models, ere yet she had
leisure to smooth down their outlines.
There was a flash, a sharp re])ort, a huge form
dead on the snow, and the latest invention of
man, a 450 express, had killed one of Nature's
first-born, and aflcr all, when we came alongside,
the head was so poor that but for the dim light
and the distance, even after my nine hours' chase,
I would gladly have spared my bull to roam on
many a day through lake-land and pine-forest.
I think Jocko said it was nine miles home
irom the point at which I killed my first moose ;
but to mc it seemed as if hardly two hours
elapsed before it was again dawn and we were
again on the war-path. There was a grand old
bull amongst the gang I had tracked yesterda}^,
and I meant to have one good head as reward
for the long dajfi I had spent amongst the snows.
I won't recount our second day's wanderinscs
amongst dark balsams and by frozen lakes —
favourite fitrhtinQf-iif rounds of the moose in the
early autumn — but hurry on to late afternoon.
We are amongst the balsams. Jocko's face is quite
drawn with excitement. I am tremblinof with
ffitigue. Suddenly he stops, carefully dusts the
lock and hammers of my rifle, which he has been
carrying for some time past, and then, though he
LETTER XIX.
225
absolutely has not spoken all day, lays liis finger
on his lips, and, crouching like a cat, creeps on.
For quite a quarter of an hour we steal s-lent as
shadows through the snow, and then he stoi)s,
his eyes ablaze with excitement, but his figure
rigid.^ Slowly he stretches out and passes^nie
the rifle, and signs to me to look across the gully.
Two hundred yards away in the big trees a great
brown form is moving slowly. I get glimps^es of
his body, but cannot see his head. ' Shoot, shoot
that one,' whispers Jocko. ' Shoot, or they'll be
gone.' I only see one, and only a small i)atch of
him from time to time between the pine-stems.
However, I lire. ' No, no ; there, there he is
now,' whispers Jocko, and again I fire at ^^ liat
looks like my beast, going at a trot through the
timber. The smoke hangs, and as Jocko clutches
my arm and points to a brown patch standing
still between two pines, I fire again, as he whispers
hoarsely, ' Steady, don't hurry ; he won't give
you another cliancc.' As I fire. Jocko snatches
the rifle from my hand and goes off at best imce
across the valley. Anotlrer miss, I suppo,-^o
(though why, as T am a fair shot at any rate, I
cannot guess), and witli my blood up, fl,tigue
ibrgotten, follow at my Indian's flying heels. °
For half an hour, it seems to me, mo run and
stumule on. What does the fool expect, I v, onder.
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226
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
The moose, if I have missed him, won't stop again
between this and the Arctic Circle after such
a fusilade. But I recanted my thoughts as they
passed through my brain, for there, hke great
statues of stones in the middle of the snowy
path, with heads turned to see what we were
who followed them, stood three bull moose, the
pine-boughs and snow-wa^eaths over them, and
the dim depths of the forest beyond. The one
next me was the big bull of the gang, and my
heart lono-ed for the ^rand antlers which looked
SO gigantic against the white background. * Take
the front one, he isn't wounded, and you will get
the three,' whispered the murderous Jocko.
Taking no notice of him, I fired at my bull. The
hammer fell with a click, but no report followed.
Miss fire ! Again — and this time my bull dro])s
dead in his tracks. As vet I have not moved,
and the other two, bewildered, stand and gaze
back over their great quarters at us. * Fire
again, fire again !' Jocko almost shrieks in my ear.
* See you damned first, Jocko,' I reply in very
good English, and dropping my rifle, I throw up
my hands with a yell, and have the pleasure of
seeino" the two cfreat beasts crash throuQch the
forest with bounds which, though clumsy, cover
a cfreat deal of Gfround, and soon take them out
of sight.
LETTER XIX.
227
gaze
Jocko was very wrath, and, standing lookino-
at the grand head thrown back on the snow, the
huge horns looking black against their back-
ground, I didn't care how angry he was.
If only I could have brought my moose of
yesterday back to life and sent him after his
fellows, I should have been quite happ^, although
1 was dead beat, and had ten miles throucrh the
snow between me and my dinner. After crral-
lochmg my beast. Jocko, still grumbling at^lly
suicidal folly in not firing, rose to return. ^ Imagine
my disgust, when I heard him console hinTself
thus : ' Ah, well, there's the other two bulls safe
enough anyways.' And I am sorry to say he
was quite right. My first two shots had been as
clean as if made at a target, and though mo^ -.
through thick timber at 200 yards, the two buJ. .
lay there dropped dead in their tracks, each with
a bullet behind his shoulder.
I make no boast of the shooting, thouo-h to
shoot a moose moving through timber at" that
distance is not so easy as the size of the beast
would lead you to believe. They were -ood
young heads and well worth keei)ing, but I would
have given a good deal to have missed them and
so avoided an unwarrantable slaughter and un-
witting breach of the game-laws of the country
Those who have shot moose in these dense forest
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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and know how little of the beast you somethnes
see, and how the smoke hangs in certain condi-
tions of atmosphere, will believe my stor" and
forgive my nnstakc. Of course, to Mr. Jocko,
meat was meat, and each carcase was worth
about 25 dollars to him. This accounts for his
action in the matter, and it is easy to see how
such excellent hunters and shameless butchers as
he may and will, if not carefully watched, destroy
vast quantities of Canadian big-game.
For moose to shelter in from the wild winds
and bitter cold, those deep balsam woods, with
their mounds and hollows, their barricades of
fallen lop, and drowning de})ths of soft white
snow, may be well enough ; but for the weary
hunter ten miles from home, with the moon just
beginning to show palely in the sky, they are a
very Slough of Desjiond.
All day Jocko and I had been too careful to
talk ; now we were too tired to do so. In the
woods it is small wonder if men become taciturn.
A vacation sj)ent moose-hunting in a Canadian
forest might be a pleasant relief and wholesome
discipline for some of the more loquacious amongst
our legislators.
To-night, luckily, we had no need to worry
ourselves about the nervousness of those in camp,
for my wife had already gone back to No-matter-
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LETTER XIX.
229
where, leaving me for 'just one more day.' And it
was well it was so, for when we stood by the * half-
mile crik,' the moon was well uj) and the night
well advanced. To cross the * crik,' which was
forty or fifty feet wide, we had felled some small
trees and made with them a platform over the
ice, which swayed unpleasantly as the trees bent
under Jocko's weight. As I crossed after him
the principal tree smashed in the middle, and
before I knew where I was, I was up to my
armpits in the icy flood. A cat could not have
got out quiclier than I did, but for a moment
I felt as if the chill had stoi)ped my heart
beacmg. Tired as I was, Jocko and I raced
over the logs and snow between the creek and
the shanty until, utterly exhausted, I threw my-
self down by the blazing logs, and let the boy
divest me of what remained of my hard-frozen
overalls.
Next morning I walked back to the town,
starting at early dawn and getting in about 3 p.m.,
as quaint a sight as any hunter ever presented.
The overalls, which were originally of stout red
canvas, consisted now of a waistbelt, short traitors
with fringed edges — the connection between the
aforesaid points being maintained by an exceed-
ingly choice pair of flannel pyjamas of the
brightest cerulean blue. It speaks volumes for
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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the primitive simplicity of the place that no one
seemed to notice the odd costume much.
The tracks by the wayside upon the freshly-
fallen snow were very intv ) "sting, as showing how,
in spite of the houses, and the hunters who
dwelt in them, game still abounded at their very
threshold. I tracked one buck along the road
jjast three log cabins, two of which were tenanted.
He must, in the early morning, have passed within
a few feet of one of the houses. Within a mile of
the town, two more deer had crossed the main-road
two or three times about sunrise. Of course
these were all white-tail, whose quiet skulking
habits enable them to live in comparative safety
in timber, however close to a town. * Hounding '
alone is likely to destroy or drive away these
pretty beasts, and 'hounding' — i.e., hunting with
dogs, which drive the deer to a gunner stationed
on the runway or deer's path — is in man}' pro-
vinces wisely prohibited by law.
Let me finish this letter with a story of one
of my predecessors which should be a warning
to critics of works of art. The Major had slain
his moose. He had slain many a great beast
before, and had a fair right to consider himself a
judge in matters connected with natural history.
Fresh from the forest he walked into the Hudson
Bay ComiJany's store, and was warmly welcomed
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LETTER XIX.
231
by his friend the agent. As he stood, he noticed
in the passage leading to the outside yard a young
moose set up.
* Hullo ! where did you get that moose from V
he asked.
*' Oh, one of the Indians brought him in.
What do you think of him ?' replied the agei:<t.
' Well, he is pretty well set up, well filled out,
and carries his head in a natural way enouoh ;
but, you know, he is much too high in the quarters
for a moose. That's where you fellows always
make a mistake.'
' Do you think so, Major ?' grinned the agent,
and turning to the moose, ' Hi, Jack !' he shouted ;
* come and apologize for yourself I'
The great beast, a yearling bull, lifted his
head, woke from his day-dream, and shnmbled up
to his master I Beware, Pat, how you criticise
my trophies after that !
Yours truly,
C. P. W.
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232
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
LETTER XX.
Dear Reader,
Since I have decided to publish these
letters, it has been suggested to me that, as a
thank-offering for the good sport which I en-
joyed last year, and as an atonement for that act
of poaching which I hope I recorded with be-
coming sorrow, I should attempt to draw up a
short resume of the game-laws of the different
provinces of Canada as they stand at present.
It may be that this has already been done by
someone better qualified to do it than myself If
it has, I can only say that the number of men
who apply to me for information on these sub-
jects proves that my predecessor's work is not
as much read as it deserves to be. Moreover,
the game-laws of Canada change as rajDidly as
the face of the country, and already what was
allowed last autumn has been prohibited by this
year's law.
LETTER XX. 233
Sometimes it is the entire disappearance of a
game beast which causes an alteration in the
law; sometimes it is the advent of a com-
paratively dense population in a country where,
a few years ago, the only means of support for
the casual wanderer was the slaughter of game
in season or out of season. Whatever the clause,
the ftict remains that even the Fish and Game
Club of Montreal is not thoroughly posted up to
date in the game-laws of the different provinces
of Canada. I don't want to libel my country-
men, but I think it is true, as a general rule,
that they are possessed with the idea that there
are no game-laws out of England.
This, of course, is a very grievous error. The
Canadians and Americans, for instance, are far
too near akin to us to let their best field-sports
perish without a struggle to preserve them.
For awhile they have been so busy makino- a
new world and building up a new people, that
they have somewhat overlooked such minor
matters as the protection of wild beasts in a
country which they found almost too full of
them. But the extinction of one species of great
game, and the ominous decrease in the nuinbers
of several other species, has thoroughly awakened
our cousins to the necessity for protection.
America as a whole (Canada and the United
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
States) is following rapidly in the footsteps of
older states. Because it is in the nature of man
generally to be improvident, to cull the j^ltiJ^suro
of the present greedily, without due regard for
the probable needs of the future, it has been
found necessary in all civilized countries to im-
pose certain restrictions, in the nature of game-
laws, upon the rights of the individual.
In Great Britain these laws concern themselv^cs
with two matters — the protection of the public
against the recklessness of the individual in de-
stroying game at im})roper seasons, or by in-
expedient methods ; and the protection of the
private rights of individuals with respect to game,
by the infliction of a penalty for r/amc tresjmss in
excess of the penalty for simi^le trespass to land.
In Canada (and, I believe, in the States) the
law is content, as a rule, to disregard private
rights in these matters, and to busy itself only
with the protection of the interests of the public
by the imposition of a close time.
I say * as a rule ' advisedly, for in Manitoba,
at any rate, the rights of the landowner or of
the occu])ier in game, on his own land, are pro-
tected by the infliction of a penalty for trespass
in pursuit of it ; and the fishing rights of riparian
owners in certain Canadian rivers are also ad-
mitted by the law.
LETTER XX. ^^^
After wading tlirouo-li the statutes oV the
different provinces, it will only seem natural that
I should add my voice to the voices of those
Avho are already pleading for co-operative legisla-
tion, not only between the different states in the
Union and the different provinces of the Do-
minion, but also between the Union as a whole
and the Dominion as a whole, with regard to
close times for American fur, fin, and feather,
and also for a simplified code of laws in respect
to game.
It is surely absurd that there should be such
difference between the close times of different
adjoining provinces as to make it lawful, for
instance, to kill a snipe a month earlier on one
side of a river than on the other.
Besides the absurdity of such laws, they defeat
each other by throwing difficulties in the way of
the successful prosecution of tLose who break
them. Further on are set out in tables the close
times for big game in the different provinces and
territories of Canada respectively.
Where no close time is accorded to any i)ar-
ticular animal, it is either because it is accounted
vermin, or is not supposed to exist in tlit3 pro-
vince under consideration, so that these tables
may affi)rd a glimpse of the natural history of
each province as well as a notice of the measure of
(t • '
■fin-r
236
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
I'
,ii.
Mr « ^ *>
protoction given to its wild denizens. All penalties
of a pecuniary nature inflicted by the game-laws
arc paid in whole or in part to the prosecutor,
whether an individual or a society. This is very
necessary, as the protection t)f game throughout
Canada is mainly due to the energy of certain
clubs (jf sportsmen, whose ex2)enses are somewhat
lightened by the receii)t of such fines.
Canada labours under many disadvantages in
her attempt to protect her great game ; but the
greatest of all her difficulties arises froni the fact
that the Indian still exists, and is not amenable
to all the laws as the white man is. Because, in
times past, he depended on hunting for his ex-
istence, the redskin is still allowed to kill in
season and out of season, so long as, * by reason-
able presumption, the game so killed may be
deemed for the innncdiate and personal use of
the Indians who kill it, and not for sale or
barter.' I believe, however, that this exemption
of the Indian from the operation of the law is
being daily curtailed.
There is one beast of whom no mention is
made in the game-laws of any of the provinces.
I mean, of course, the buffalo. It is commonly
reported that this beast, which ten years ago
still existed in vast herds, is now as extinct as
the great auk. This, in spite of the evidence of
J
I
LETTER XX. ^^^
inou who (,u-lit to knoNv, is a mistake. Li the
autuiiiii of last year I had certain and i-eliable
luforinatioii of a lierd of about ei^dlty not many
days' journey from Medicine Hut, and of another
smaller bunch in another part of tlie country.
In addition to this, there were three heads ex-
hibited in a naturalist's window in London this
spring; the buffidoes themselves havincr been
slain last autunm by a couple of young English-
men, just down from Oxford.
Some sportsman, without rein-oach himself,
will probably feel inclined to inveigh bitterly
against the men who secured these trophies
Undonbt, dly the bufialo should be preserved,
and he who slays more than one specimen de-
serves all the reproaches which can be heaped
upon liim ; but, brother sportsman, don't you
feel inclined to jjray with me, ' Lead me not into
temptation ' ? Do you think that if you or I met
a lonely bull, even if he was the last of his race,
or nearly so, we should spare him ? I believe you
or I would only take one if we came across a
herd of a thousand ; but I know that, lawfully
or unlawfully, I should feel terribly tempted to
kill 'just one.'
From the reports current in British Cohmd^ia,
I have not the smallest doubt but that there are
still plenty of buffaloes in the Peace River country
i'ii';>
i: t. ;
238
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
and a notice aiipeared very recently in the Ercn-
ing Standard, to tlie effect that a herd a hundred
strong had been found in a remote part of Texas,
and that an expedition had been sent out to
drive this herd into a certain enclosure for
preservation.
One of the i\ suits of the extermination of the
buifalo a]"»pears to be that a fierce Avar is now
being waged upon his kinsman, the musk ox ; for
in Montreal and Quebec nowadays, the rug
which adorns the sleiofh, and was always wont to
be a buffalo robe, is now musk ox. A more
serious result, so some of the North-West men
alleofo, is that the water-holes at which the herds
drank are now drying up ; while the water-fowl,
v/hich used to come in thousands, nov/ scarcely
come in tens. The tramping hoofs of the buffa-
loes used to cake the bottoms of these pools,
which now crack, so that water leaks away.
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LETTER XX.
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A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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All other fur-bearing animals, such as^b^
(grizzly, cinnamon, and black), panthers, wolves
lynxes, foxes, skunks, etc., are not protected,'
being expected, as Mr. Whitcher says of the
bear m his report on the Banff National Park
generally to protect themselves.
Besides the knowledge of close times, con-
veyed, I hope, by the foregoing tables, the
English sportsman should remember that in some
of the provinces he must procure a license to
* sport ' at all.
Non-residents in Quebec are expected to take
out a license to hunt, the cost of which is
20 dollars. The omission to take out such a
license may be punished by the infliction of a
fine of 40 dollars. This apphes also to New
Brunswick.
The annual license for non-residents in Nova
Scotia IS 30 dollars.
^ A license must be taken out in Ontario, thouo^i
1 am unable to ascertain the cost of it.
These licenses are obtainable from the Com-
missioner o^ Crown Lands.
In Manitoba, the North-West, and British
Columbia, licenses are still unnecessary but
here too, there are wise regulations M^hich it
would be suicidal on the part of English sports-
men to neglect. For example, in Manitoba,
!i|
2^^
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
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wildfowl may only be killed with an honest
shoulder-gun ; batteries, swivel-guns, and punt-
guns, are abominations to Manitoba.
In a speech lately reported, it was asserted
that pheasants were now very numei'ous in Van-
couver. This is hardly the case. There are
j)heasants there, and they are doing fairly well,
but want a great deal of pi'otection, and it would
be well if the clauses of the game-law which
make it an offence to kill hens at any season, or
purchase pheasants of either sex, were more
strictly enforced.
An immense amount of harm to the interests
of true sportsmen in America is being done by
the traffic in trophies. I alluded to this in a
former book on shooting on the American
continent (' Trottings of a Tenderfoot '). That
was written four j^ears ago, and I spoke there
rather of the States than of Canada. The trade
in heads has, I think, increased, and the damage
done by the Stony Indians round Calgary, em-
ployed, I was told, by a white man wdio blends
the professions ' of Methodist minister and skalla-
wag ' (/.('., skin-hunter) in one person, is enormous.
Indians, unfortunately, as I before stated, are
not, as a rule, bound by the game-laws which
bind the white man : and far from reofardinsf a
natural close-time, a favourite dish with them is
LETTER XX. ,^^
the body of an unborn fti^N^iTtek^Tft^^
mother.
There are times, in early spring, ,vhen any
fool can km the half-starved mountain-sheep and
goats, or even bears ; a time when any loafer is
active enough to kill the hind, heavy wi'th youn,. •
but men who do these things should not be en-
couraged by the mo,:oy of those who woul,! ban.
troph.es on their walls that their friends mav-
thmk them Nimrods.
In >fova Scotia, New Brunswick, Ontario, and
Quebec a hmit has been put to the number of
head winch each hunter n,ay kill per annum.
In ]\ova Scotia no one man may kill more
than two n,oose and four cariboo in each season.
In th.s province the use of a dog in huntino-
moose or cariboo is punishable by a fine of
^0 dollars.
In New Brunswick a more liberal allowance
of gan.c ,s made for each man, to wit, three
moose, five cariboo, and five deer.
^ Here, too, deer -hunting with dogs is pro-
hibited. ^1
In Quebec two moose, two cariboo, three deer
was the lai^est bag allowed per n.an p.r annum'
untd the close of 1886 ; but I understand that
no more female moose are to be killed until
further notice ; and the report was current in
IG — 2
244
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
m
1
tlie jjrovince in the autumn of 1887 that the
kilhng of any moose (bull or cow) until 1890
was illegal. Up to the date of writing this I
have been unable to cfet any definite information
on this point.
Two of the most fatal methods of destroy-
ing game in the lumber-region used to be by
* hounding ' and by snaring moose. Both are
illegal now, and in Ontario, as the close-time
endures until October 1st, it would seem that
* calling ' could no longer be successfully practised
by those who wish to abide by the law.
Moose are snared by means of a spriii_;e
attached to a strong young tree by the side of
one of their most frequented paths. Caught by
the leg in this springe, they are hoisted almost
off their legs by the tree, which their struggles
have released from its bent position, and spend
days jDcrhaps of helpless misery until the poacher
despatches them with a bullet from a safe
distance.
This noble beast falls an easy prey, too, when
* yarded ;' that is to say, when, having chosen his
winter quarters, he has collected all his clan
together in a kind of fold trampled out of the
deep snow. Seventeen were killed on one day
in the winter of 1886, by one Indian, Avho came
across them under these conditions. He did not
LETTER XX.
245
even attempt to sell the greater portion of the
meat.
Some of the terms in the foregoing- tahles are
a little misleading, and require explanation.
The Canadian partridge is the ruffed grouse.
There is no true partridge in Canada.
Pekan and fisher are two names for the same
beast, Mustek Pennantii.
Sable and marten are synonymous terms.
Some idea of the strong inclination of the
Canadians of to-day to i)rotect their beasts of
chase may be derived from a perusal of the pro-
posal to establish a National Park at Banff,
somewhat similar to the American Yellowstone
National Park.
The site was explored and reported on last
year by Mr. Whitcher for the Dominion Govern-
ment, and his reconnnendation is that an area of
some twenfy-five square miles should be set apart
as a breeding-ground and asylum for all manner
of harmless or useful beasts, birds, and fishes,
such animals only to be destroyed as he considers
noxious to the others to be protected.
Fish are to be bred, and birds and fish imported.
Rice to make a shelter for wildfowl is to replace
poorer covert, and belts of timber as a hiding-
place for the hinds heavy with young are to be at
once an ornament and a useful adjunct to the park.
ill I
246
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
It will take time to rejD.iir the ravages of tho
miner's giant powder and the Stony Indian's
Winchester repeater ; but if energy and wisely-
spent money will attain these ends, no doubt our
cousins over the water will attain them,
I cannot conclude this chapter Avithout a word
of hearty thanks to Mr. Just, the librarian of the
London Agency of the Dominion of Canada, and
the gentlemen of the Fish and Game Club, and
Star newspaper, of Montreal, for the efforts they
have made to help me in collecting the materials
for this little sketch.
!ii I
P.S. — Since preparing these pages for press,
I have had my attention called to a short note,
by Colonel Ridout, in one of the May numbers
of the Field, in which it is stated that certain
important amendments of the game-laws have
just been made by the Ontario Legislature. I
feel certain that that gallant officer will have no
objection to my availing myself of his riformation
so as to bring my notes * up ' to date.
It seems deer may only be killed from
October 15th to November 20th. No one
person may kill more than five deer in the same
season. The shooting of moose is absolutely
prohibited until 1895, and until that date no
person, unless he has resided at least three
LETTER XX.
lie
247
months in Ontario, and is in possession of a
license, may kill any deer or other game.
May I, in parting from my reader, express a
hope that he will, if he goes to Canada for sport,
pay the same regard to Canadian game-laws
which he would expect a Canadian to pay to our
laws ? and if he does so, may he be as successful
as his obedient servant.
The Author of these Letters.
248
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
111 - ■
POSTSCRIPT.
London, 1888.
Dear Reader,
I cannot help adding a postscript to
these letters, beofotten of observation of Jiose
thinjxs which are occurri?!*): round nie in England
as I write. A London si)iing is dreary enough
in all conscience, for those whose business coni-
l^els them to pass night and morning along the
streets between the West and the East, or
through the mephitic vapours of the underground
railway between those poles of London life. But
when the traveller has but just returned from
the bright pure climate of Canada ; when at
every other turn he meets stalwart navvies with
their hands in their pockets, proclaiming in dreary
sing-song that their families are starving, and
that they have got no work to do, then, indeed,
the March fogs look sadder than ever, and the
bitter east wind overcomes even the most buoy-
ant spirits with its churchyard chill.
POSTSCRIPT.
249
It is at such times as these that the superb
love of fatherhiud, or iuexpHcable inertness of the
human race, strikes the spectator with full force.
That professional men stay in England is com-
prehensible enough. Sucli a climate as ours at
this season of the year naturally produces ample
employment for the doctor and the lawyer. Xo
constitution, however strong, could resist the east
wmd of a British spring for many years after the
cooling of boyhood's blood ; no temper, however
sweet, remain unimpaired by its attacks. ' Liver '
and the litigious temperanieni thrive naturally in
our sweet London spring-tide. Besides all this,
professional men are not in great demand abroad.
In Canada, for exami)le, the professions are just
as crowded as they are at home. But with the
labourer it is different. If he has nothing to do
here, there is enough for him to do across the
Atlantic if he is willing and able to do it. If he
is neither willing nor able, or unwilling or unable,
then, of- course, he will be as useless and uni)aid
and unhai)py there as here. For my part, I
cannot help thinking that some kinds of paupers
are best cured, like biliousness, by a course of
starvation. It is true that on April 27 last
the Caiiadian Government discontinued the sys-
tem of assisted passages for English innnigrants,
and that there is an outcry at present in Canada
' !'!
250
A SPORTS^fAN'S ED EX.
af^ainst the constniit influx of Britisli and other
pauijcrs. ]3ut the only paupers objected to by
Canada are tliose who insist on reniainini^ paupers,
wlio insist on livin}:j on charity, and will not or
cannot work. It must be remembered that it
C(jsts less to get to Canada than to any other
English colony, and that, in spite of this fact,
Canada has continued to ofter assisted passages
to English immigrants after every other colony
except Xew Zealand has ceased to do so ; and
New Zealand oidy assists those who can show
that they will arrive in their new home with
money sufficient for their su})p(n't at the outset.
If a man cannot by some means acquire the tiny
sum t)f four pounds, sufficient to pay his own
passage to Canada, he is hardly likely, argue the
Canadians, to have sufficient * grit ' to ensure
success in a new country.
But listen to what Sir Matthew Begbie, our
Chief Justice in British Columbia, a man of long
and real experience in the country, said in 18 85,
when answering questions before the Commission
on the Chinese Question. * I never heard,' he
said, ' of any ])erson, white, black, or yellow, who
had labour to sell that was worth buying who
could not in this province find a ready employer.
But in order to get remunerative emjiloyment
here or anywhere else in the world, a man must
r^ft
)tlier
POSTSCRIPT. 251
be able to do rcuiunumtivo work. Tlu; iiiiseiy is
that many men who profess to l)e willing- io turn
their hands to anytliing, know notliiiiLr to wliich
they can usefully turn tlieir hands. Tl>^ normal
rate of wages is five shillings for Chinamen, and
in Victoria eight shillings for white men. Below
that rate, no white man, even if penniless and
starving, is willing to engage upon any work or
service whatever. Skilled artisans, carpenters,
masons, blacksmiths, ask i'vom twelve to twenty
shillings a day. Board is advertised at many
hotels at sixteen shillings a week, so I suppose
eight shillings a day is renmnerative to the work-
man,' etc.
This was written, of course, in 1885 — written
by a man whom his worst enemy could not
accuse^ of trying to advertise British Columbia,
or striving to induce immigration by sanguine
representations of the benefits to be obtained by
the incomers, and by a man, moreover, who knows
and has known British Columbia since the very
early days as few others know or have known it.
That, at least, is his rei)utation in the islajid Avhich
is his home. When Sir Matthew wrote the
above, British Columbians M^ere beginning to
tremble at the comi)etition of cheap Chhiese
labour. In the recent Budget speech, the
Finance Minister of British Columbia said:
i
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i' !
If St
I
252
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
'' Three 3'ears ago there were 10,000 Chiiumion
in British Columbia, now there are only 8,000 ;'
but ' 10,000 v/hites were added to the population
in 1887.'
The effect of the last tlireo years upon the
rate of waives in British Columbia has not been,
as ffir as I fan see, very material. There is an
increasimg wliite population, and an increasing
demand, for certain kinds of labour. There are
fewer Chi lanicn, and those who are there get
white men's ^^ages, and thoroughly earn them.
But of them 1 shoulu like to say a word later on.
Farni-labouroi's' wnges appear still to be about
two dollars a dav, or eio-ht shillings. F.ven a
man or boy t(j assist in a ' camp outfit ' as cook
or general hel[; wants two dollars and his food.
As viiiners, farr. -labourers, carpenters, phmibers,
or exp(}rts in any kind of manual labour, English-
men will find lots of work to do, and good ])ay
for doing it. As clerlis and office-seekers they
will find tfat they are not wanted.
Ti'avelling as I did from one end of Canada
to the other, I picked U]> ..nne information as to
work and wages all along my route. Here are
some of the flicts collected ;
At Halifax, a town which in Xovendjei' should
bring his home verv vividlv before the emiu'rant
from London, as being dirtier, more foi>-o-v, and
POSTSCRI^-T.
'■53
therefore more home-like than any other to^vn
out of tJie United Kingdom, the average wage
for ct labourer without board is five shillings a
day. This is for unskilled labour. A gardener
Avithout board gets six shillings a day,' and the
plainest of i)lain cooks twenty-two pounds a year,
and an unlimited choice of nn'stresses.
In Ottawa I interviewed a gardener, whose
wages, he told me, were thirty-six shillings a
week, whilst his work was of the very simplest
description. His five-roomed cottage cost him
seven shillings a week, and he was ^al)le to buy
the best beef-steak at sixpence a pound. But
the Ottawa gardener deprecated the idea of living
in another man's house. Out of his savings he
had bought a small plot of land in the town, anil
in his spare time had built upon it, principally
with his own hands, a home for himself and his
wife, whose labours as a laundress added another
thirty shillings a month to the family income.
^ In Winnipeg, the most go-ahead of all Cana-
dian towns, with a climate pleasant and bracing,
in spite of the extremes registered l)y the
thermometer, both in summer and ^v inter, farm-
labourers' wages are a trifle higher than in
Halifax. ]\Iiners' wages are a little higher than
farm-labourers', and any kind of a cook is worth
at least twenty-five pounds a year and her board.
li!: !
i
254
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
In Olympici, a new town of the States, upon
Puget Sound, a large employer of labour told me
that he paid his farm-labourers thirty-five dollars
a month without board, and that labourers ex-
perienced no difficulty in finding work at that
rate of wages all the year I'ound. In Olympia
a cottage may be rented at one pound a month,
and a water-rate of eight shillings a montli, all
other rates and taxes being 2)aid by the landlord,
while the people who have no jjroperty, though
they pay no taxes, have the advantage of first-
rate free schools.
As to female labour, generally speaking, it is
in great demand and highly paid throughout
Canada. Even in England, I have cause to
know that competent cooks and respectable par-
lour-maids are more often sought than found.
What the daughters of the AV(n-king-classes are
doinii' when their fatliei's and brothers sav that
they are starving for want of Avork it is difficult
to conceive. It cannot be very hard for a woman
to learn to cook or wait at table, and yet look at
the number of advertisements for women who
can do these things in every daily paper.
The lucky Victorians have found a substitute
for cook and parlour-maid in tlie versatile China-
man. They grumble at him, of course ; but
what they would do without him, no man can
POSTSCRIPT.
255
guess. Docile, clean, ready to work, and able to
do anything that a woman can, the universal
emjiloynient of them as domestic servants, at a
high rate of wages, proves the esteem in which they
are held. As cooks, I can testify of my own know-
ledge to their excellency. I have had experience
(and pretty frequent exi)erience) of three different
Chinese cooks in private Iiouses during my wan-
derings out West. I can honestly say that I
never had a cook in England fit to hold a candle
to any one of the three. But liigli rates of
wag .-. ^vill not greatly help the workmai] if the
price 01 the necessaries of life is so high as to
swallow up all he earns. In Victoria foo^^l is un-
deniably cheap ; that is to say, bread and meat,
the absolute necessaries of life, with fish and fruit,
are cheap ; but groceries, coal, and clothing are
dear. I think my wife computed that liviiig in
the best way in which you can live in Yictmia
would cost about as much as such living would
do in England. Thanks to a friend before re-
ferred to, I am able to give some accurate figures
regarding the cost of labourers' food in tlie neigh-
bourhood of 01ymi)ia, and I fluK.y tluit little dif-
ference would be found to exist between the cost
of living there and in Vancouver Island. A
farm-labourer's board is calculated at 3 5 cents
per diem (say Is. o^d.), while in the lumberers*
il
1
256
A SPORTSM/IN'S EDEN.
camps the men can be boarded for a little less,
33i cents a day being the allowance for food per
man, thouG^h these men, doino: hard work in the
keen open air, have giants' appetites to satisfy
and Qfiants' muscles to maintain. Of course the
food is })lain ; boiled beef sometimes, bacon more
often, beans, brown sugar, bread, and maple
syrup — these are the principal items in the lum-
berer's bill of fare ; but the quality of this simple
food must be good, and the quantity unstinted,
or there will soon be grumbling in the shanties.
Apropos of lumbering, it is fair to I'cnn'nd
emigrants, attracted by this most fascinating of
all forms of physical labour, that the lumberer is
not employed all the year round, so that a man
takinof to the axe for a livelihood must be i>re-
pai'ed to work at some other em[)loyment during
those months in which the gangs are out of the
timber limits.
One more word, and I have done with the
emigrant labourer. The Commission which sat
on the Chinese Questi(m in British Columbia,
brouo'ht to lio-ht incidcntallv a few facts of
interest to our unemployed. There were unem-
ploved in Enufland before the date of that Com-
mission, just as there are now. I believe there is
Avoi'k in Canada, and handsome wages for English
muscle and En«disli eiiei'ij'v, iust as there was
I
POSTSCRIPT.
257
less,
the
sat
iil)ia,
of
iicni-
'oni-
rc is
•lish
was
then. What our unemployed did then, let us
hope their successors will not do now. Then
they allowed the little yellow Chinamen to get
the work and take the money away with them ;
they let Chinamen build the railways, r(;!claim
the marshes, till the fields and vineyards oi" a land
which should have been the Ensflish labourers'
inheritance. On the Central Pacific liailway
alone four-fifths of the labour was done by
Chinese. On the Southern Pacific Railway,
again Chinese took the Avork which Englishmen
should have done, and this through no want of
patriotism on the part of the employers of labour,
or any niggardliness in the matter of pay. On
the contrary, the builders of these lines were
prejudiced strongly in favour of white labour,
and had a strong disinclination to employ China-
men. Over and over again tliey advertiwd for
white hibourors, but could not get them, and
those tl\oy obtained allowed (liomselves, through
drink and want of st(>adiness, to be beaten by
the Chinese ; ibr no one who knows them can
believe that the Chinaman has yet been born
who could beat a Cornish miner at his own Avork.
^nd yet iha gang of Chinamen beat the gang of
Cornish nfimrii in the rock-cutting in the summit
tunnel of the Central Pacific Railway line, accord-
ing to the evidence given by Mr. Crocker in
17
! <
! m\
II'.
258
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
1885. The wages earned by white navvies on
these two works were about 45 dollars a month
and board. There is lots of work still to be
had in British Columbia for stron<x and willin"'
men, though much of the land has already been
reclaimed, and most of the great lines have been
built.
There is another class to which British
Columbia holds out great inducements — the
men, I mean, of small capital or limited incomes,
the ruined landlords and soldiers, of whom Eng-
land considei's tliat she has no longer any need.
To these latter British Columbia is specially
kind. I dare say I am insufficiently informed,
but I kno^\• of no other country to-day in which
retired officers, formerl} in her Majesty's Service,
are offered free grants of land as they are in
British Columbia,
To a subaltern of seven years' service, British
Columbia offers 200 acres of land as a free grant ;
to field officers of twenty-five years' service, she
offers ()00 acres. As a home the world cannot
offer anything better than Vancouver's Island to
my mind, save for those luxuries and advantages
of society, amusement, and education, which in
the nature of thiuLfs can only be obtained in
crowded centres. Ah to the society, it is made
up largely in \'ictoria of tlje miUQ sort of people
POSTSCRIPT.
259
Vies on
- month
I to be
will i no-
ly been
^e been
British
;s — the
icomes,
1 Enof-
/ need.
)ecially
brmed,
which
ervice,
are in
British
^a-ant ;
!e, she
cannot
uid to
itaofes
ich in
ed in
made
)eople
whom you would meet in English country towns
with the addition of a large body of nava! officers
on duty at Esquimalt, and a resident bar.
As to education, there is certainly some room
iov improvement; but the English gentleman
who elects to reside at Victoria should be able
to save enough money to send his boy home to
one of our English public schools when the lad
IS old enough for it ; for if you cannot make
money as rapidly in Vancouver as you can in
the States— a point which I do not concede
though I do not feel prepared to argue it-at
least you can live happily on a small income, and
save more than you would make elsewhere. There
are no very rich jjcople on the island, no very hW
entertainments, no rivalry between the squire and
the plutocrat, the parson and the squire If
tenms and music, a few dances every year
gardening, and boating, with a lovely home
amongst English neighbours,, will satisfy a ladv
she can be happy at Victoria ; if not, she had
better stay at home. If splendid fishing, poor
rough-shooting, big-game-shooting, withhi two
or tliree days of home, will satisfy her hu.band,
and If they can no longer live as they have been
accustomed to do in the old country, and make
both ends meet, whilst putting by something for
the children, let them take tickets by the Allan
17—2
!:
r I
260
A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN.
Line to Quebec (£10 10s. each for saloon accom-
modation), and thence to Victoria, Vancouver's
Island, by the Canadian Pacific, the cost of
this part of the journey being at present only
£15 8s. 3d. each for first-class passengers. To
this fare, however, must be added the cost of
living on the train, which you may reckon at
75 cents a meal, the meals being served in the
dining-saloon. Two meals a day are about as
much as the ordinary digestion can compass,
though a luncheon-basket to console you at mid-
day, or whenever the dining-car is not available,
is a very necessary adjunct to a perfect travelling
equipment. Of course these rules as to food do
not apply to anti-tobacconists or teetotalers. I
presume a double allowance of the food-supply
should meet their requirements. There is one
other expense for which allowance must be made,
i.e.) the sleeping-compartment, without which, to
my mind, the trans-continental journey would be,
for a lady, intolerable. The cost of a double
berth is about 12 s. a day, and for this travellers
get not only a comfortable couch at night, but a
couch or arm-chair by the window during the
day.
If I have forgotten anything, gentle reader,
which you or your husband want to know, for-
give me, and accept this advice as my amende
POSTSCRIPT.
261
honorable. The Canadian Agency is close to
your favourite haunt (of course I mean the
Army and Navy Stores), and should you invade
the library of that establishment, you will find
all the information you can possibly require about
British Columbia, and, unless my experience has
been unique, more courtesy and kindness than in
any public office in London.
Your obedient servant,
C. P. W.
THE END.
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