WILD NORTHLAND GER. SIR WM. BUTLER (^ LIBRARY ^ UNlVtnSlTY ©F CALIFORNIA SAN UI&60 ^ J o f^ THE WILD NORTHLAND: BEING THE STORT OF A WINTER JOURNET, WITH DOG, ACROSS NORTHERN NORTH AMERICA By GEN. SIR WILLIAM FRANCIS JUTLER, K.C.B. Author ot "Liteot General Gordon" ♦*The Great Lone Land" etc., etc. fFITH A ROUTE MAP NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY PUBLISHERS: NEW YORK, 1903 Copyright, 1903, by NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY A'- PREFACE. People are supposed to have au object in every journey they undertake in this world. A man goes to Africa to look for the Nile, to Rome to see the Coliseum or St. Peter's; and once, I believe, a certain traveller tramped all the way to Jerusalem for the sole purpose of playing ball against the walls of that city. As this matter of object, then, seems to be a rule with travellers, it may be asked by those who read this book, what object had the writer in undertaking a journey across the snowy wilderness of North America, in win- ter and alone? I fear there is no answer to be given to the question, save such as may be found in the motto on the title-page, or in the pages of the book itself. About eighteen mouths ago I was desirous of entering upon African travel. A great ex- plorer had been lost for years in the vast lake-region of Southern Central Africa, and the British Nation — which, by the way, be- comes singularly attached to a man when he is dead, or supposed to be dead — grew anx- ious to go out to look for him. PREFACE. As the British Nation could not all go out at once, or together, it endeavoured to select one or two individuals to cairy out its wislies. It will l)e only necessary to state here, that the I'.ritisli Nation did not select the writer of this book, who forthwith turned his atten- tion from African tropic zones to American frigid ones, and started out upon a lonely cruise. Many tracks lay before me in that immense region I call "The Wild North Land." Former wandering had made me familiar with the methods of travel pursued in these coun- tries by the Indian tribes, or far-scattered fur-hunters. Fortunate in recovering posses- sion of an old and long-tried Esquimau dog — the companion of earlier travel — I started in the autumn of 1872 from the Ketl River of tlie North, and, reaching Lake Athabasca, completed half my journey by the first week of March in the following year. From Atha- basca I followed the many-winding channel of the frozen Peace River to its great caiion in tlie Rocky Mountains, and, journeying through this pass — for many reasons the most remarkable one in the whole range of the Rocky Mountains — reached the north of British Columbia in the end of May. From thence, following a trail of '^^)0 miles through tlie dense forests of New Caledonia, I emerged on tlie 3rd of June at the frontier station of PREFACE. Quesnelle on the Frazer Eiver, still 400 miles north of Victoria. In the en.suing pages the story of tliat long tramp — for it was mostly jx'iformed on foot ■ — will be duly set forth Written by camp fire, or in caiion, or in the little log-house of a northern fnr fort, when dogs and men rested for a day or two in the long icy run, that narrative will be found, I fear, to bear many indications of the rough scenes 'mid which it has been penned ; but, as, on a former occasion, many critics passed in gentle silence over the faults and failings of another story of travel in the Great Lone Land, so now it may be my fortune to tell to as kindly an audience, this record of a winter's walk through more distant wilds — for in truth there has been neither time for revision nor correction. Fortune, Avhich eighteen months ago de- nied me African adventure, offers it now with liberal hand. I reached the Atlantic from the Pacific shore to find an expedition starting from England against Ashantee ; and long ere this story finds a reader I hope to be pushing my way through the mangrove swamps which lie between the Gold Coast and Coomassie. To others even must fall the task of correcting proofs, while I assume my part in the correc- tion and revision of King Koffi Kancalli, and V PREFACE. the administration to his subjects of that l»roof ol' ]5iitish i)rowess Avhich it has been deemed desiraijle to give them. iVreantime, my ohl friends Chief Kar-ka- konias, Kalder, and Cerf-vola, will be absent from this new field: but, nevertheless, there will be present many companions of former travel, and one Chief under whose command I first sought the Great Lone Land as the threshold to remoter regions. W. F. Butler. Loxijox, Sept em her 21st, 3873. INTRODUCTION. Among the thousand? of books sent out month after month by the ever-busy presses of the world, only an occasional one is fitted to survive. Books of travel in particular are seldom read a generation after their produc- tion; they must contain something of almost universal interest, otherwise they are speed- ily relegated to a forgotten shelf to accumu- late the dust of neglect. While this is true of the great majority of such publications it is not true of all; an occasional volume, like "The Wild Northland," by virtue of some inherent quality very hard to adequately specify, is sought for year after year; edition after edition of it comes from the press, and still the demand for it by the great reading public remains unsatisfied For this reason General Butler's masterpiece is reprinted iu the Commonwealth Library. The author of " The Wild Northland " has risen high in the British service since his great book was written. Grade after grade was reached, from Ensign of the 69th Regi- vii THE WILD NOKTH LAND. nieiit in 1858, to Major-General commanding the Ilouie Department of the Southwest, witli headquarters at Devonport in 1900. He served his country in Canada, in Ashan- cee, in Egypt, in the Soudan, and in South Africa. During all these years of service he accomplished considerable literary work. The list of his books includes : " The Great Lone Land," "The Wild :N'orthland," "Akim Foo," "Far Out: Rovings Retold," "Red Cloud, the Solitary Sioux," "The Campaign of the Cataracts," "Life of General Gor- don," "Life of Sir Charles Napier," etc. ]>orn in the County of Tipperary, Ireland, in 1838, of a good Irish family, Butler was educated in Dublin and entered the Army in 1858. In 1877 he married the distinguished painter. Miss Elizabeth Thompson. General Butler's connection with American exploration began very soon after his regi- ment landed iu Canada. In 1870-1 he was dispatched on a special mission to the Sas- katcliewan Territories. Almost immediately after his return he started on the solitary and lonely journey through the interior of tlie Continent — a journey which will associate his name with pioneer work in the North Ameri- can Continent for all lime. The " Wild Korlliland " of General Butler is that portion of North America where the region of forest terminates, and that of the viii INTRODUCTION. frozen barren lands commences. Its grand and desolate scenery, its lakes and forests, its lofty mountains and profound ravines, are admirably described; the incidents of travel keep the reader's attention well sustained, as he is carried in imagination across the wildest portions of the North. General Butler's wanderings led him from Fort Garry on the Red River to the Athabaska Lake, and thence up the Peace River, and through u wild gorge in the Rockies to British Columbia Fort Chipewyan on this route is a place of peculiar interest; for it is a station whence several famous Arctic land expeditions of former days have taken their departure. It was from this point that Mackenzie set forth to explore the great northern river which bears his name. It was from here also that Simpson started on his expedition to examine the coast-line of the Arctic Ocean. Franklin and Richardson rested on the shores of Atha- baska before they struck deeper into the heart of the Great North. The route across the Rocky Mountains by following the ravines of the Peace River, as described by General Butler, passes through ^scenery of marvelous grandeur. Most of the streams which feed the Great Slave Lake and the Mackenzie take their rise in the Western side of the range, and force a passage through it, The Peace River cleaves the main chain ix THE WILD NORTH LAXD. of the Eockies through a cliasin with steep perpeudiciUar cliffs of great height on either side, and the current floAvs silently under the immense precipice without a break. This awful gorge was the route by which Sir Alex- ander Mackenzie, over a hundred years ago, crossed the mountains to the Pacific Coast. I believe I am correct in saying that the pro- jected extension of the Grand Trunk Rail- way of Canada is to reach British Columbia through this pass. The Peace River, with the ranges on the south and north of it, make the dividing line between the temperate and strictly Arctic fauna. Here, too, is the land of the moose, and the author gives an interesting account of the skill and cunning with Avhich the great deer strives to elude his pursuers, and of the superior intelligence, aided by long experi- ence, which enables the Indian hunter to cir- cumvent him. Very fascinating is General Butler's vivid description of the higher mountains, " their lower ridges clothed in forests of spruce, poplar, and birch; their middle heights cov- ered with dense thickets of spruce alone; their summits cut with a thousand varied peaks, bearing aloft into the sunshine 8,000 feet above us the glittering crowns of snow." Butler excels in these descriptions of scenery, and the imagination of the reader is kept INTRODUCTION. constantly stretched not to miss anything material in the magnificent panorama. Such scenes as these, however, were not visited in the early days Avithout the exercise of much hardihood and daring, without the endurance of hardship and the facing of dan- gers. Xature reserves the enjoyment of her grandest scenes only for the bravest and most resolute of the sons of men. Such men are not often gifted with the art of conveying some portion of their pleasure, at second hand, to their brethren. It is very rarely in- deed that the restless wanderer, whose love of adventure leads him into the wildest re- cesses of distant mountains, can reproduce his impressions with the skill and power that are shown in "The Wild Northland." It is the wide recognition of this fact which has placed this notable book among the classics. Egbert Waite. New York, December, 1903. xi CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE The Situation at Home— The "West Again — A Land of Silence, 1 CHAPTER II. Powder Terms Primroses — Tlie American Lounger — "Home, Sweet Home," . . 6 CHAPTER III. Civilization and Savagery — Fort Garry Under New Aspects — Social Societies — An Old Friend — " Pony " the Perverse, . . .10 CHAPTER IV. The Wilderness— A Sunset Scene— A White Savage— Cerf-Vola the Untiring- Dogger- el for a Dog— The Hill of the Wolverine —The Indian Paradise — I Plan a Surprise — Biscuits and Water, . . . .20 CHAPTER V. The Forks of the Saskatchewan — A Perverse Parallel— Diplomatic Bungling— Its Re- sults, 35 xiii CONTENTS. CHAPTER VI. PAGE Uur "Winter Home— A Welcome— I Start Again — Tlie Hunter's Camp— In Quest of Buffa- lo on tlie Plains — "Lodge-poling" Leads to Love, 41 CHAPTER Vn. An Ocean of Grass— The Red Man — Whence Comes He? — The Buffalo — Puritans and Pioneers- The Red Man's Friend, . . 4G CHAPTER Vni. Buffalo Hunts — A Pictuie Once Seen Long Re- memljered — L'Homme Capable — A Won- derful Lake — The Lost Indian — An Appari- tion — We Return Home, . . . .54 CHAPTER IX. Strange Visitors — At-tistighat The Philosopher — Indian Converts — A Domestic Scene — The Winter Packet — Adam and his Dogs, 67 CHAPTER X. A Tale of AVarfare — Dog-sleds — A Missing Link — The North Sea — " Winterers " — Samuel Hearne, 80 CHAPTER XL A Dog of No Character — The Green Lake — Lac He a la Crosse — A Cold Day — Fort He a la Crosse— A Long lost Brother — Lost Upon xiv k CONTENTS. PACE the Lake — Unwelcome Neighlxmrs — Mr. Roderick Mrtclurlaue — "A Beautilul Morn- ing " — Marble Features, . . , ,1)3 CHAPTER XII. The Clearwater — A Bygone Ocean — A Land of Lakes — The Athabasca River — Who is He ? — Chipewyan Indians — Echo — Major Succumbs at Last — Mai de Raquette, . 115 CHAPTER XIII. Lake Athabasca — Northern Lights — Chipe- wyan— The Real Workers of the World, . 131 CHAPTER XIV. A Hudson's Bay Fort — It Comes at Last — News From the Outside World — Tame and Wild Savages — Lac Clair — A Treacherous Deed— Harper, ... . . 140 CHAPTER XV. The Peace River — Volcanos — M. Jean Batiste St. Cyr — Half a Loaf is Better Than no Bread— An Oasis in the Desert — Tecumseh and Black Hawk, 155 CHAPTER XVI. The Buffalo Hills— A Fatal Quarrel— The Ex- iled Beavers — "At-tal-loo" Deplores His Wives — A Cree Interior — An Attractive Camp — I Camp Alone — Cerf-vola Without a Supper — The Recreants Return — Dunve- gan— A Wolf-hunt, 168 XV CONTENTS. CHAPTER XVII. PAGE Alexander Mackenzie — The First Sign of Spring — Spanker the Suspicious — Cerf-vola Con- templates Cutlets — An Indian Hunter — "Encumbrances" — Furs and Finery — A "Dead Fall "—The Fur Trade at Both Ends— An Old Fort— A Night Attack— Wife-lifting— Cerf-vola in Difficulties and Boots— The Rocky Mountains at Last, . 188 CHAPTER XVIII. The wild Animals of the Peace River— Indian Method of Hunting the Moose — Twa-poos — The Beaver— The Bear— Bear's Butter— A Bear's Hug and How it Ended — Fort St. John — The River Awakes — A Rose With- out a Thorn — Nigger Dan — A Threatening Letter — I Issue a Judicial Memorandum — Its Effect is all That Could be Desired— Working up the Peace River, . . . 203 CHAPTER XIX. Start From St. John's — Crossing the Ice — Ba- tiste le Fleur — Chimeroo — The Last Wood- buffalo — A Dangerous Weapon — Our Raft Collapses — Across the Half-way River, . 233 CHAPTER XX. Hudson's Hope — A Lover of Literature — Cross- ing the Peace — An Unskilful Pilot — We are Upset — Our Rescue — A Strange Vari- ety of Arms— The Buffalo's Head — A Glo- rious View. 233 xvi CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXI. rA«E Jciccjues, the Ficncli Miner — A I'Varfiil Altyss — Tlie Great Cafiou of tlie Peace River — We Are oil" on our Western Way — L'nfor tunate Indians — A Burnt Baby — "The Moose Tliat Walks," 244 CHAPTER XXII. Still Westward — The Dangers of the Ice — We Enter the Main Range — In the Mountains — A Grizzly — The Death of tlie Moose — Peace River Pass — Pete Toy — The Omini- ca— -'Travellers" at Home, . . .260 CHAPTER XXIII. The Black Canon — An Ugly Prospect — The Vanished Boat — We Struggle on — A For- rorn Hope — We Fail Again — An Unhoped- for Meeting and a Feast of Joy — The Black Canon Conquered, .... 276 CHAPTER XXIV. The Untiring Over-estimates his Powers — He is not Particular as to the Nature of his Dinner — Toil and Temper — Farewell to the Ominica — Germansen — The Mining Camp— Celebrities, 292 CHAPTER XXV. Mr. Rufus Sylvester — Tlie Untiring Developes a New Sphere of Usefulness — Mansen — A Last Landmark 302 xvii CONTENTS CHAPTER XXVI. PAGB British Columbia — Bouudaiics Again — Juau dc Fu(;ii — Carver — The Sliiuing Mountains — Jacob Astor — The Monarch of Salmon — Oregon — " Riding and Tying " — Nation Lake— The Pacific, 308 CHAPTER XXVn. The Look-out Mountain— A Gigantic Tree — The Untiring Retires Before Superior Num- bers — Fort St. James — A Strange Sight in the Forest— Lake Noola — Quesnelle — Cerf- vola in Civilized Life — Old Dog, Good- bye! 325 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER I. The Situation at Home — The West Again — A Land of Silence. There had never been so many armies in England. There was a new army, and there was an old army ; there was an army of mili- tia, an army of volunteers, and an army of reserve ; there were armies on horse, on foot, and on paper. There was the army of the future — of which great things were predicted — and far away, lost in a haze of history (but still more substantial than all other armed realities, present or future), there lay the great dead army of the past. It was a time when everybody had some- thing to do with military matters, everybody on the social ladder, from the Prime Minister on the topmost round to the mob-mover on the lowest. Committees controlled the army. Depart- ments dressed it, Radicals railed at it, Lib- 1 THE WILD NORTH LAND. erals ler-tured upon it, Conservatives con- demni'd it, Teeis wrote pamphlets upon it, Dukes denounced it, I'rinces paraded it, and every member of Parliament who could put together half a dozen words with tolerable grammatical fluency had something to say about it Surely such a period must have been one in which every soldier would have recognized the grandeur and importance of his profes- sion, and clung with renewed vigour to a life which seemed of moment to the whole Bitish nation. But this glowing picture of the great "nation of shop-keepers," suddenly fired by military ardour, had its reverse. The stream of advancement slowly stag- nating under influences devised to accelerate it, the soldier wearied by eternally learning from masters the lesson he could have taught, the camp made a place of garrison routine and not of military manoeuvre, the uniform harness Avhicli had galled a Burton, a Pal- grave, a Ruxton, and a Hayward, from ranks Avhere the spirit of adventurous discovery sickened under chilling regulation — this har- ness made more unrelaxingly irksome ; a sys- tem of promotion regulated by money — the offspring, it is true, of foul corruption, but which had become not a little purified by lapse of time; this system, supplanted by one of selection theoretically pure, but des- 2 THE WILD NORTH LAND. tined to fall into that lowest of all corrup- tions, the influence of jwlitical jobbery : all this formed the leading features in that order of things, old and new, which the spectacle of a neighbouring nation, struck suddenly to the ground by a mighty army, had caused the l)anic-stricken British people to overhaul and to reconstruct. Taken any way one can, an army on paper is not a satisfactory profession. It is subject to sudden and unlooked-for bursts of military zeal ; it is so bent upon nervously asserting itself fit for anything ; it is from its nature so much akin to pen, ink, and envelope of a common-place type ; it has such disagreeable methods at garrisoning the most pestilential spots upon the earth, and abandoning to re- publican bluster whole continents called colo- nies; those who shape its destinies are so ready to direct it against matchlock monarchs and speared soldier}^ ; while arms are folded before those conflicts which change the past and future of the centuries ; all these consid- erations go a great way towards making the profession of arms, on paper, at any time an anomaly. But when there was also present to the memory of one who thus regarded the new order of military life, the great solitudes, the inland oceans, the desolate wilds, the gloomy forests of a far-away land, through which his 3 THE WILD NORTH LAND. fonnei' wanderings had carried liini ; wlien thought re-sought again those vast regions of the earth where Kature has graven her image in characters so colossal, that man seems to move slowly amidst an ocean frozen rigid by lapse of time, frozen into those things we name mountains, rivers, prairies, forests; man a mere speck, powerless so far to mark his presence, in blur of smoke, in noise of city, in clash of crank, or whirl of wheel: when these things came back in pictures touched by the soft colours Memory loves to limn with, there were not wanting dull pro- fessional outlooks and dearth of service to turn the footsteps gladly into the old regions again, there to trace new paths through the almost exhaustless waste which lies between the lonely prairies of the Saskatchewan and the icy oceans of the Xorth. What shall we call this land to those who follow us into its depths? It has prairies, forests, mountains, barren wastes, and rivers ; rivers whose single lengths roll through twice a thousand miles of shore- land ; prairies over which a rider can steer for months without resting his gaze on aught save the dim verge of the ever-shifting hori- zon; mountains rent by rivers, ice-topped, glacier-seared, impassable; forests whose sombre pines darken a region half as large as Europe ; sterile, treeless wilds whose 400,000 4 THE WILD NORTH LAND. square miles lie spread in awful desolation. How shall it all be called? In summer, a land of sound, a land echo- ing with the voices of birds, the ripple of running water, the mournful music of the waving pine-branch ; in winter, a land of si- lence, a land hushed to its inmost depths by the weight of ice, the thick-falling snow, the intense rigor of a merciless cold — its great rivers glimmering in the moonlight, wrapped in their shrouds of ice ; its still forests rising weird and spectral against the Aurora-lighted horizon ; its notes of bird or brook hushed as if in death ; its nights so still that the mov- ing streamers across the northern skies seem to carry to the ear a sense of sound, so mo- tionless around, above, below, lies all other visible nature. If then we call this region the land of still- ness, that name will convey more justly than any other the impress most strongly stamped upon the winter's scene. THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER II. Powder versus Primroses — The American Lounger — "Home, Sweet Home." It was just time to leave London. The elm-trees in the parks were beginning to put forth their earliest and greenest leaves; in- numerable people were flocking into town because custom ordained that the country- must be quitted when the spring is at its finest ; as though the odor of primroses had something pestilential about it, and anything in the shape of violets except violet powder was terribly injurious to feminine beauty. Youthful cosmopolites with waxed mous- taches had apparently decided to compromise with the spring, and to atone for their aban- donment of the country by making a minia- ture flower-garden of their button-holes. It was the last day of April, and ere the sum- mer leaves had yellowed along the edge of the great sub- Arctic forest, my winter hut had to be hewn and built from the pine-logs of the far-distant Saskatchewan. In the saloon or on the after-deck of a Cunard steamship steering west, one sees perhaps more of America's lounging class 6 THE WILD NORTH LAND. than can be met with on any other spot in the world ; the class is a limited one, in fact it may be a matter of dispute, whether the pure and simple lounger, as we know him in Piccadilly or Pall ]Mall, is to be found in the New World; but a three, or six, or twelve months' visit to Europe has sufficiently de- veloped the dormant instincts of the class in the New Vork or Boston man of business, to give color to the assumption that Columbia possesses a lounger. It is possible that he is a lounger only for the moment. That one glimpse of Bunker, one echo of "Wall Street, will utterly banish for ever the semblance of lounging ; but for the present the Great Pyramid /ninns Bun- ker's Hill, the Corso /« //^ //*- Wall Street, have done something toward stamping him with the air and manner of the idler. For the moment he sips his coffee, or throws his ci- gar-end overboard, with a half-thoughtful, halt-bhtse air ; for the moment he has discov- ered that the sun does not rise and set exclu- sively in the United States, and that there were just a few shreds and patches of history in the world prior to the declaration of Ameri- can independence: still, when the big ship has steamed on into the shallow waters Avhich narrow into Sandy Hook or Plymouth Sound, and the broad panorama twixt Long Island and Staten, or Plymouth and Nahant opens 7 THE "WILD NORTH LAND. on the view, the old feeling comes back with the old scenes again. " Sir, the Bay of New York closely resem- bles the Bay of Naples." There is not the slighest use in telling him that it is quite as like the Bey of Tunis, or the Hospodar of Bulgaria — so we let it be "There, sir, is Bunker's Hill." " Ah, indeed I " drawled a genuine British lounger, with that superb ignorance only to be attained after generations of study, as he (piietly scanned the ridge through his lazilj'- arranged eye-glass. "Bunker — who was J*)unker? and what did he do on his hill?" Yet, ere we hasten away to the North, another word anent our cousin. These things are, after all, the exception; the temptation to tell a good story, or what we may deem such, must not blind us to the truth ; the other side of the question must not be forgot- ten. An English traveller in America will have so much to thank American travel for that he can well afford to smile at such things. It was an American who painted for us the last scenes of Moorish historj^, with a colour- ing as brilliant as that which the Hall of the Lions could boast of in tlie old days of Gre- nada's glory. To-day an American dwelling in Home recalls for us in marble the fierce voluptuous beauty of the Egyptian Queen. 8 THE WILD NORTH LAND. Another catches the colouring of Claude, in his ''Twilight in the Wilderness." And if, as I have somewhere heard, it is to the writer of the ballad-song that true poetic fame be- longs, that song which is heard at lonely camp-fires, which is sung by sailors at the wheel as the canvas-clouded ship reels on under the midnight gloom through the tum- bling seas — the song which has reached the heart of a nation, and lives forever in the memory of a people — then let us remember, when we listen to those wondrous notes on whose wings float the simple words, " Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home;" let us remember the land whose memory called them forth from the heart of an American exile. And now we must away. THE AVILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER III. Civilization and Savagery — Fort Garry under New Aspects — Social Societies — An Old Friend — " Pony" the Perverse. The long, hot, dusty American simimer was drawing to a close. The sand-fly had had his time, the black-fly had run his round the mosquito had nearly bitten himself to death, and during that operation had ren- dered existence unbearable to several millions of the human race. The quiet tranquil fall- time had followed the fierce wasting summer, and all nature seemed to rest and bask in the mellow radiance of September. In old tales, written I know not by whom, but read chiefly by youthful eyes, we are told of those who seek through lands infested by goblins and demons, by monstrous and un- couth forms of man and beast, for some fair realm of rest and happiness. He who to-day would seek the great solitudes of North America must pass through a somewhat similar ordeal. Civilization, or what we term such, rolls with queer strides across the American con- tinent. Far in advance of the last i-eal city 10 THE WILD NORTH LAND. lies a land of terrible savagery, a desolate realm in which ruffianism and rowdyism hold sway. Here, in an expansion which is ever shifting, ever moving west and northwest, stand congregated the civilizers of the New World — the navvy, the gambler, the rowdy, the saloon-keeper, tlie tramster, the murderer. To civilize a new land is the easiest of tasks if we but set about it after the American model. Here is the recipe. Given a realm from which the red man has been banished, tricked, shot, or hunted out ; from which the bison and elk have been chased ; a lonely, tenantless land, with some great river flowing in long winding reaches silently through its vast plains and mountain gorges: here, then, is what you have to do : Place on the river a steamboat of the rudest construction . Wherever the banks are easy of ascent, or where a smaller stream seeks the main river, build a drinking-house of rough-hewn logs; let the name of God be used only in blasphemy, and language be a medium for the conveyance of curses. Call a hill a "bluff," a valley a "gnlch," a tire-fly a "lightning bug," a man "a cuss," three shanties a "city." Let every man chew when he isn't smoking, and spit when he isn't asleep; and then — when half a dozen persons have come to violent ends — when U THE WILD NORTH LAND. killing has literally become " no murder " — 3^our new land will be thoroughly civilized. Poor, wild man of the West! scalper, war-raider, savage dweller in woods and on prairies; believer in manitous and dream- omens, painted and eagle-feathered; crafty, stealthy, and treacherous to foe, utterly hopeless to the man-tamer : this is the state of things which supplants thy savagery. This is civilization as it comes to thee from the East Whenever thy wandering bands roam in from the great West, this is the sight they see in lands but lately their own. I know not how it is, but in Avild glen or lonely prairie, amidst races whose very names are supposed to be synonymous with all tliat is wild, lawless, or barbarous, I have known many a bond of sympathy, many a link t'wixt their lives and mine own. Nay, when man has been far distant, and nought but the lone spaces lay around me, and tlie gaunt pine- tree stretched its arms athwart the icy sky, I have felt companionship and friendship for the very dogs that drew my load; but for this band of civilizers, for these brutal pioneers of Anglo-American freedom, in their many stages between unblackened boots and diamond breast-pins, I liave felt nothing but loathing and disgust. It was late in the month of September, 1872, when, after a summer of travel in 13 THE WILD NORTH LAND. Canada and the United States, I drew near the banks of the Red lliver of the North. Two years had worked many changes in scene and society ; a railroad had reached the river ; a " city " stood on the spot where, during a former visit, a midnight storm had burst upon me in the then untenanted prairie. Three steamboats rolled the muddy tide of the winding river before their blulf, ill-shapen bows. Gambling-houses and drinking-sa- loons, made of boards and brown paper, crowded the black, mud-soaked streets. A stage-coach ran north to Fort Garry two hundred and fifty miles, and along the track rowdyism was rampant. Horse-stealing was prevalent, and in the "city" just alluded to two murderers walked quietly at large. In tine, the land which borders the Red River, Minnesota, and Dakota, had been thoroughly civilized. But civilization had worked its way even deeper into the Northwest. The place for- merly known as Fort Garry had civilized into the shorter denomination of " Garry ; " the prairie around the Fort had corner lots which sold for more hundreds of dollars than they possessed frontage-feet; and society was di- vided in opinion as to whether the sale which called forth these prices was a " bogus " one or not. Representative institutions had been estab- THE WILD XOT^TIT LAND. lished in the new province of Manitoba, and an election for members of Parliament had just been concluded. Of this triumph of modern liberty over primeval savagery, it is sufficient to say, that the great princij)le of freedom of election had been fully vindicated by a large body of upright citizens, who, in the freest and most independent manner, had forcibly possessed themselves of the poll- books, and then fired a volley from revolvers, or, in the language of the land, "emptied their shooting-irons " into another body of equally upright citizens, who had the temer- ity to differ with them as to the choice of a political representative. It was gently rumored that some person or persons were to be arrested for this outburst of constitutional patriotism, but any proceed- ing so calculated to repress the individual in- dependence of the citizen Avould have been utterly subversive of all representative in- stitutions. Civilization had also developed itself in other ways. Several national societies had been founded, and were doing prosijerously. There was a St. George's Society and a St. Andrew's Society, and, I think, also a St. Patrick's Society. Indeed the memory of these saints appears to be held in consider- able reputation in the New World. Accord- ing to the prospectus and programme of these 14 THE WILD NOKTII LAND. societies, cliarity aijpears to be the vital ])i'in- cii)le of each association: sick Scotchiucn, emigrating Eiiglisli, and indigent Irish, were all requested to come forward and claim relief at the hands of the wealthier sous of St. An- drew, St. George, and St. Patrick. Charity, which is said to begin at home, and which, alas! too frequently ends there also, having thus had its commencement in the home circle, seemed determined to observe all home- like institutions; and the annual dinner was of necessity a very important item in the transactions of each society. Indeed it would be difficult to find a place Avhere, in the present day, one could witness "fichting for Chairlie," "Scots wha haeing," "Manning for a' that," and those other peculiar customs of the Celtic race, carried out wdth better effect than in the meeting which annually gathers to do justice to the memory of the Apostle of the Picts in the New World. Amidst all these changes of scene and so- ciety there was one thing still unchanged on the confines of the Red Eiver. Close to the stream, at the place known as the Point of Frogs, an old friend met me with many tokens of recognition. A tried companion Avas he through many long days of wintry travel. There, as fresh and hearty as when I had parted from him two years before, stood Cerf- vola, the Esquimau dog who had led my 15 THE WILD NORTH LAND. train from Cumberland, on tlie Lower Sas- katchewan, across t.lie ice of the great Lakes. Of the four dogs lie alone remained. Two years is a long time in the life of any dog, but still a longer period in that of a hauling- dog; and Cerf-vola's comrades of that date, Muskeymote, Cariboo, and Tigre, had gone the way of all earthly things. To become the owner of this old friend again and of his new companions Spanker and Fony, was a work of necessity ; and I quitted the Point of Frogs by the steamboat " Selkirk " with three hauling-dogs in my possession. Strong and stout as of yore; clean-limbed, long-woolled, deep-chested ; with ears pointed forward and tail close curled over his broad back, Cerf-vola still stood the picture of an Esquimau. Of the other two dogs, Fony was a half- breed, and Spanker, sharp, keen, and rest- less, was like his leader, a pure Husky ; but, unlike the older dog, his nature was wild and fierce : some malignant guardian of his youth had despoiled him of the greater part of his tail, and by doing so had not a little detracted from his personal appearance. As these three animals will be my constant companions during many months, through many long leagues of ice and snow, I have here sketched their outward semblance with some care. Civilization and a steamboat ap- 16 THE WILD NORTH LAND. peared to agree hut i)oorly with my new friends. Spanker, failing in making his teeth emancipate his own neck, turned all his at- tention toward freeing his companion, and after a deal of toil he succeeded in gnawing Pony loose. This notable instance of canine abnegation (in which supporters of the Dar- winian theory will easily recognize the con- necting link between the Algerme captives assisting each other to freedom, etc., after the manner of the Middle Ages), resulted in the absconding of the dog Pony, who took advantage of the momentary grounding of the steamer to jump on shore and disappear into the neighboring forest. It was a wild, tempestuous night; the storm swept the waters of the Red River until at length the steamboat was forced to seek her moorings against the tree-lined shore. Here was a chance of recovering the lost dog. Unfortunately the boat lay on the Dakota side, and the dog was at large somewhere on the Minnesota shore, while between the stormy water heaved in inky darkness. How was the capture to be effected? As I stood on the lower deck of the steam- boat, pondering how to cross the dark river, a man paddled a small skiff close to the boat's side. " Will you be good enough to put me across the river? " I asked. 2 17 THE AVTI.D XORTIT LAND. "I've no darned time to lose a night like this," lie answered, "but if you want to cross jump in." The lantern which lie carried showed tlie skilf to be half-filled with Avater, but the chance was too good to be lost. I sprang in, and we shot away over the rough river. Kneeling in the bottom of the boat I held the lantern aloft, while my gruff com- rade paddled hard. At last we touched the shore ; clambering up the wet, slippery bank, I held the light amidst the forest ; there, not twenty paces distant, stood Pony. " Pony, poor fellow, good dog, come. Pony, cess, cess, poor old boy." Alas! all the al- luring doggisms by which we usually attract the animal were noAv utterly useless, and the more I cried "Here, here," the more the wretch went there, there. Meanwhile my boating friend grew impatient; I could hear him above the storm shouting and cursing at me with great volubility : so I made my way back to the shore, gave him his lantern, and went back into the forest, while he shot out into the darkness of the river. Every now and again I heard the brute Pony close to me in the brushwood. Por some time I wandered on ; suddenly a light glimmered through the wet trees: a})p]'oach- ing the liglit I found it to issue from an In- dian wigwam, and at my summons two or three half-clad creatures came out. There 18 THE Wir.D NOKTII LAND. was a dog lost in the woods, would tliey get lights and help me to catch hiui? a dollar wouhl be the reward. Tlie dollar threw a new light upon the matter. lUiruing l)rands were instantly brought forth from the wig- wam fire, but with little result ; the vagabond Pony, now utterly scared out of all semblance of dog wit, sought safety in the deepest re- cesses of the forest, from whence he poured forth howls into the night. I returned to the river, and with the aid of my wigwam friends regained the steamboat. Half an hour later the man on watch saw a dark object swimming around the boat ; it was the lost dog. Cerf-vola, tied in the rain as a lure, had continued to howl without inter- mission, and the vagrant Pony had evidently come to the conclusion that there were worse ])laces on a wet autumnal night than the warm deck of the steamboat " Selkirk." In the earliest days of October all phases of civilization were passed with little regret ; and at the Rat Creek, near the southern shore of Lake Manitoba, I bid good-bye to society. The party was a small one — a member of the Imperial Legislature, Avell known in Ireland, now en route to get a glimpse of the great solitudes ere Avinter had closed in, his servant, mine own, five horses, and two carts. 19 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER IV. The Wilderness — A Suuset Scene — A White Savage — Cerf-vola the Untiring — Doggerel for a Dog — The Hill of the Wolverine — The Indian Para- dise — I Plan a Surprise — Biscuits and Water. It was the 4th of October, bright with the warmth of the fading summer — that quiet glow which lingers over the face of nature, like the hectic flush upon a dying beauty, ere the wintry storms come to kill. Small and insignificant, the Musk-Rat Creek flows on toward Lake Manitoba amidst bordering thickets of oak and elm trees On each side, a prairie just beginning to yellow under the breath of the cold night wind; be- hind, towards the east, a few far-scattered log-houses smoke, and a trace of husbandry ; the advanced works of that army whose rear- guard reaches to the Vistula ; before, toward the west, the sun going down over the great silent wilderness. How difficult to realize it! HoAV feeble are our minds to gauge its depths ! He who rides for months through the vast solitudes sees during the hours of his daily travel an unbroken panorama of distance. The seasons come and go; grass grows and 30 THE WILD NORTH LAND. flowers die ; the lire leaps with tiger bounds along the earth ; the snow lies still and quiet over hill and lake ; the rivers rise and fall, but the rigid features of the wilderness rest unchanged. Lonely, silent, and impassive; heedless of man, season, or time, the weight of the Infinite seems to brood over it. Once only in the hours of day and night a moment comes when this impassive veil is drawn from its features, and the eye of the wanderer catches a glimpse of the sunken soul of the wilderness ; it is the moment which follows the sunset; then a deeper stillness steals over the earth, colors of wondrous hue rise and spread along the western horizon. In a deep sea of emerald and orange of fifty shades, mingled and interwoven together, rose-colored isles float anchored to great golden threads ; while, far away, seemingly beyond and above all, one broad flash of crimson light, the parting sun's last gift, reddens upward to the zenith. And then, when every moment brings a change, and the night gathers closer to the earth, and some waveless, nameless lake glimmers in uncertain shore-line and in shadow of inverted hilltop ; when a light that seems born of another world (so weirdly dis- tant is it from ours) lingers along the western sky, then hanging like a lani}) over the tomb of the sun, the Evening Star gleams out upon the darkening wilderness. THE WILD NORTH LAND. It may be only a fancy, a conceit bred from loneliness and long wandering, but at such times the great solitude has seemed to me to open its soul, and that in its depths I read its secrets. Ten days dawned and died ; the Mauvais Bois, the Sand Ridges, western shore of au older world's immense lake, the Pine Creek, the far-stretching hills of the Little Sas- katchewan rose, drew near, and faded behind us. A wild, cold storm swept down from the north, and, raging a day and a night, tore the yellow leaves from the poplar thick- ets, and scared the wild fowl far southward to a warmer home. Late on the 10th of October we reached the Hudson's Bay Company's post of Beaver Creek, the western limit to the travels of my friend. Here, after a stay of three days and a feast of roasted beaver, we parted ; he to return to Killarney, St. Stephen's, and De- nominational Education — a new name for the old feud between those great patriot armies, the Ins and the Outs ; I to seek the lonely lands where, far beyond the distant Sas- katchewan, the great L^nchagah, j)arent of a still mightier stream, rolls through remote lakes and whispering pines its waters to the Polar Seas. With one man, three horses, and three dogs, and all those requisites of food, arms, 83 THE WILD NORTH LAND. and raiment witli -which a fonuer journey liad familiarized me, I started on the 14tli of (October bound for the North-west. I was virtually alone; my companion was a half- breed taken at chance from the wigwam at the scene of the dog Pony's midnight esca- pade on the Red River. Chance had on this occasion proved a failure, and the man had already shown many symptoms of worthless- ness. He had served as a soldier in an American corps raised by a certain Hatch, to hold in check the Sioux after the massacre of Minnesota in 1862. A raid made by nine troopers of this corps, against an Indian tent occupied by some dozen women and children, appears to have been the most noteworthy event in the history of Hatch's Battalion. Having surrounded the wigwam in the night, these cowards shot the miserable inmates, then scalping and mutilating their bodies they returned to their comrades, bearing the gory scalp-locks as trophies of their prowess. Hatch is said to have at once forwarded to Washington a despatch, announcing "a de- cisive victory over the Sioux by the troops under his command." But a darker sequel to the tale must remain in shadow, for, if the story told to a Breton missionary rests on a base of truth, the history of human guilt may ;be searched in vain for a parallel of atrocity. J had other companions besides this ci- 33 THE WILD NORTH LAND devant trooper, of a far more congenial na- ture, to share ni}^ spare time with. A good dog is so much a nobler beast than an indif- ferent man that one sometimes gladly ex- changes the society of one for that of the other. A great French Avriter has told us that ani- mals were put on earth to show us the evil effects of passions run riot and unchecked. But it seems to me that the reverse woukl be closer to the truth. The humanity which Napoleon deemed a dog taught to man on Bassano's battle-field is not the only virtue Ave can learn from that lower world which is bound to us by such close ties, and yet lies so strangely apart from us Be that as it may, a man can seldom feel alone if he has a dog to share his supper, to stretch near him under the starlight, to answer him with tail Avag, or glance of eye, or prick of ear Day after day Cerf-vola and his comrades trotted on in all the freedom which summer and autumn give to the great dog family in the north. Now chasing a badger, who in- variably popped into his burrow in time to save his skin ; now sending a pack of prairie grouse flying from the long grass; now wad- ing breast-deep into a lake where a few wild ducks still lingered, loath to quit their sum- mer nesting-haunts Of all the dogs I have known, Cerf-voU 24 THE WILD NORTH LAND. possessed the largest share of tact. He never fought a pitched battle, yet no dog dared dispute his supremacy. Other dogs had to maintain their leadership by many a deadly conflict, but he quietly assumed it, and invariably his assumption was left un- challenged; nay, even upon his arrival at some Hudson Bay fort, some place wherein he had never before set foot, he was wont to instantly appoint himself director-general of all the Company's dogs, whose days from earliest puppyhood had been passed within the palisades. I have often watched him at his work, and marvelled by what mysterious power he held his sway. I have seen two or three large dogs flee before a couple of bounds merely made by him in their direction, while a certain will-some-one-hold-me-back? kind of look pervaded his face, as though he was only prevented from rending his enemy into small pieces by the restraining influence which the surface of the ground exercised upon his legs. His great weight no doubt carried respect with it. At the lazy time of the year he weighed nearly one hundred pounds, and his size was in no way diminished by the im- mense coat of liair and fine fur which en- veloped him. Had Sir IJoyle Roche known this dog he would not liave given to a biid alone the faculty of being iii two places at THE WILD NORTH LAND once, for lu) nioital eye could measure the interval between Cerf-vola's demolishnient of two pieces of dog-meat, or pemmican. flung in different directions at the same moment. Thus we journeyed on. Sometimes when the sheen of a lake suggested the evening camp, while yet the sun was above the hori- zon, my three friends Avould accompany me on a ramble through the thicket-lined hills At such times, had any Indian watched from sedgy shore or bordering willow copse the solitary wanderer who, with dogs follow- ing close, treaded the lonely lake shore, he would probably have carried to his brethren a strange story of the "white man's medi- cine." He would have averred that he had heard a white man talking to a big, busliy- tailed dog, somewhere amidst the Touchwood Hills, and singing to him a " great medicine song" when the sun went down. And if now we reproduce for the reader the medicine song which tlie white man strung together for his bushy-tailed dog, we may perhaps forestall some critic's verdict by prefixing to it the singularly appropriate title of DOGGEREL. And so, old friend, we arc nit-t aifjiin, comiianion.s still to Ix', Across the waves of drifted snow, across the prairie seu. 36 TlfE WILD NORTH LAND. •Again we'll tread the sik'iil lake, the frozen swamp, the fen. Beneath the snowcrown'd sombre pine we'll build our cam]) again : And long before the iey dawn, while hush'd all na- ture lies, And weird and wan the white lights Hash across the northern skies; Thy place, as in past daysthou'lt take, the leader of the train, To steer until the stars die out above the dusky plain ; Then on, thro' space by wood and hill, until the wintry day In pale gleams o'er the snow-capped ridge has worn itself away. And twilight bids us seek the brake, where midst the pines once more The tire will gleam l)efore us, the stars will glimmer o'er. There stretch'd upon the snow-drift, bef(jre the pine log's glare, Thy master's couch and supper with welcome thou wilt share. To rest, unless .some prowling wolf .should keep thee watchful still. While lonely tlirough the midnight sounds his wail upon the hill. And wIkui the storm raves around, and thick and blinding snow Comes whirling in wild eddies around, above, below; Still all immoved thou 'It keep thy pace as manfully as when Thy matchless mettle tirst I tried in lone I'uscpiia's glen. Thus day by day we'll pierce the wilds where rolls the Arctic stream, S7 THE WILD NORTH LAXD. Where Athabasca's silent lakes, thi-ough whispering pinetrees gleam. Until, where far Unchagah's flood by giant cliffs is crown'd, Thy bells will feed the echoes, long hungering for a sound. Old dog, they .say thou hast no life beyond this earth of ours, That toil and truth give thee no place amidst Ely- sian bowers. Ah well, e'en so, I look for thee when all our dan- ger's past, That on some liearth-rug, far at home, thou 'It rest thy limbs at last. A long distance of rolling plain, of hills fringed with thickets, of treeless waste, and lakes spreading into unseen declivities, stretches out betAveen the Qu'Appelle and Saskatchewan rivers. Roamed over by but few bands of Indians, and almost bereft of the larger kind of game, whose bleached bones cover it thickly, this expanse lies in unbroken solitude for more than three hun- dred miles. Through it the great trail to the north lays its long, winding course ; but no other trace of man is to be found ; and over lake and thicket, hill and waste, broods the loneliness of the untenanted. Once it was a famous field of Indian fight, in the old days when Crees and Assineboinc strove for mastery. Now it has almost lost the tradition of battle, but now and again a 28 THE WILD NOirni LAND. hill-top or a rivoi-couvse, whos(>. Fiencli or English luiiiie faintly echoes the Indian mean- ing, tells to the traveller avIio eares to look below the surface some story oi tight in by- gone times. The hill of the Wolverine and the lonely Spathanaw Watchi have witnessed many a deed of Indian daring and Indian perfidy in days not long passed away, but these deeds are now forgotten, for the trader as he un- yokes his horses at their base, and kindles his evening fire, little recks of such things, and hails the hill-top only as a landmark on his solitary road. Alone in a vast waste the Spathanaw Watchi lifts his head, thickets and lakes are at his base, a lonely grave at top, around four hundred miles of horizon ; a view so vast that endless s})ace seems for once to find embodiment, and at a single glance the eye is satiated with immensity. There is no mountain range to come up across the sky- line, no river to lay its glistening folds along the middle distance, no dark forest to give shade to foreground or to fringe perspective, no speck of life, no track of man, nothing but the wilderness. Reduced thus to its own nakedness, space stands forth with al- most terrible grandeur. One is suddenly brought face to face with that enigma which we try to comprehend by giving to it the 29 THE ^yILn xoirni land. names of endless, interminable, measureless; that (lark inanity Avhich broods ujjon a waste of moorland at dusk, and in wliich faney see the spectral and the shadowy. Yet in this view from the Spathanaw there is nothing dimly seen ; the eye travels to the farthest distance Avithout one effort of vision, and, reaching there, rests untired by its long gaze. As the traveller looks at this wonder- ful view he stands by the grave of an Indian, and he sees around him for four hundred miles the Indian Paradise. It was from scenes such as this, when the spring had cov- ered them with greensward, and the wild herds darkened them by their myriads, that the shadowy sense of a life beyond the tomb took shape and form in the Red man's mind. It was the 25th of October when I once more drew near to the South Saskatchewan. Amidst its high wooded banks the broad river rippled brightly along, as yet showing no trace of that winter now so close at hand. Two years before, all but a few days, I had reached this same river, then shored by dense masses of ice ; and now, as I looked from the southern shore, the eye had no little difficulty in tracing through the lingering foliage of the summer the former point of passage, where on the cold November morning my favourite horse had gone down beneath the ice-locked river. 30 THE WILD Noirm land.* Crossing to the soutlioin slioi'e I tuniod eastward tlirougli a ricli uiululating land, and I'idiiig liard for one day reached tlie little mission station of Prjnee Albert, midway be- tween the Red lliver and the liocky Moun- tains Those who have followed me through former wanderings may remember a spot where two large rivers unite after man}^ hun- dred miles of prairie wandering, and form one majestic current on the edge of the Great Northern Forest. To this spot, known as the "Grand Forks of the Saskatchewan," I was now journeying, for there, while the autumn was yet younger, two friends had preceded me to build at the point of conflu- ence a hut for oar residence during the early winter. The evening of the 28th of October found me pushing hastily through a broad belt of firs and pines which crosses the tongue of land between the rivers some ten miles from their junction ; beyond this belt of trees the country opened out, but, as it finally nar- rowed to the point of confluence, the dark pine-clumps, outliers of the dense Northern Forest, again rose into view. With these features a previous visit had made me ac- quainted; but the night had now closed in ere yet the fir forest had been passed, and the rain, which all day had been ceaseless, 31 THE WILD NORTH LAND settled down with darkness into a still heavier toi'rent. As we emerged from the pines my baggage-cart suddenly Ijroke down, and there only remained the alternative of camping by the scene of the disaster, or ])ushing on for the river junction on foot. Unfortunately the prospect of unexpectedly walking in upon my friends, housed in the depths of the wilderness, amidst the wild rain-storm of the night, proved too strong a temptation ; and having secured the cart as best we could against weather and wolves, we set out into the darkness. For more than an hour we walked hard through undulating ground intermixed with swamps and beaver dams, until at length the land began to de- cline perceptibly. Descending thus for nearly a mile we came suddenly upon a large, quick-running river, whose waters chafed with sullen noise against boulder-lined shores, and his.sed under the wild beating of the rains. With cautious steps we groped our way to the edge and cast a dry branch into the flood ; it floated towards the left; the river, then, must be the South Saskatchewan. Was the junction of this river with the northern branch yet distant? or was it close at hand? for if it was near, then my home was near too- Making our way along the shore we held on for some time, until suddenly there rose 32 TTTE WILD NOHTII LAND. before us a steop bank, at the base of which the current ran in whirling eddies. To climb up a high bank on our left, and tlius flank this obstacle, next became our toil ; soon we found ourselves in a dense wood where innu- merable fallen trees lay in endless confusion. For another hour we groped our way through this labyrinth in a vain attempt to reach the upper level, until at last, exhausted by hours of useless toil, wet, hungry, and bruised, I gave the reluctant word to camp. To camp, what a mockery it seemed with- out blankets or covering save our rain-soaked clothes, without food save a few biscuits. The cold rain poured down through leafless aspens, and shelter there was none. It was no easy matter to find a dry match, but at length a fire was made, and from the sur- rounding wood we dragged dead trees to feed the flames. There is no necessity to dwell upon the miserable hours which ensued ! All night long the rain hissed down, and the fire was powerless against its drencliing torrents. Towards morning we sunk into a deep sleep, lying stretched upon the soaking ground. At last a streak of dawn broke over the high eastern shore, the light struggled for mastery with the surrounding darkness and finally prevailed, and descending to the river showed the broad current sweeping on to the north-east. Quitting without regret our 3 33 THE WILD NORTH LAND. cheerless bivouac, we climbed with stiff limbs the high overhanging bank, and gained the upper level. Far away the river still held its course to the north-east, deep sunken 300 feet below the prairie level: we were still distant from the Forks. Retracing our steps through miles of fallen timber Ave reached the cart, but the morning had worn on to midday before our long- wished-for breakfast smoked in the kettle. Three hours later on, during an evening which had cleared sufficiently to allow the sun to glint through cloud rifts on pine forest and prairie, I reached the lofty ridge which overlooks the Forks of the Saskatcliewan. 34 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER V. The Forks of the Saskatchewan — A Perverse Parallel —Diplomatic Bungling — Its Results. Two hundred and fifty feet above water level, the narrow tongue of laud rises over the junction of the two Saskatchewan rivers. Bare and level at top, its scarped front de- scends like a wall to the rivers ; but land-slip and the wear of time have carried down to a lower level the loose sand and earth of the plateau, and thickly clustering along the northern face, pines, birch, and poplar shroud the steep descent. It is difficult to imagine a wilder scene than that which lay beneath this projecting point. From north-west and from south-west two broad rivers roll their waters into one com- mon channel, two rivers deep furrowed below the prairie level, curving in great bends through tree-fringed valleys. One river has travelled through eight hundred miles of rich rolling landscape; the other has rnn its course of nine hundred through waste and arid solitudes; both have had their sources in mountain summits where the avalanche thundered forth to solitude the tidings of 35 THE WILD NORTH LAND. their birth. And here at this point, like tAvo lives, which, coming from a distance, are drawn together by some mysterious sympa- thy, and blended into one are henceforth to know only the final separation, these rivers roll their currents into one majestic stream, which, sinking into a deep gorge, sweeps eastward through unbroken pine forest. As yet no steamboat furrows the deep water ; no whistle breaks the sleeping echoes of these grim scarped shores ; the winding stream rests in voiceless solitude, and the summer sun goes down beyond silent river reaches, gleaming upon a virgin land. Standing at this junction of the two Sas- katchewan rivers, the traveller sees to the north and east the dark ranks of the great sub-Arctic forest, while to the south and west begin the endless prairies of the middle continent. It is not a bad position from whence to glance at the vast region known to us as British North America. When the fatal error at Saratoga had made room for diplomatists of Old and New Eng- land, and removed the arbitrament of rebel- lion from the campaign to the council, those who drew on the part of Great Britain the boundary-lines of her transatlantic empire, bungled even more conspicuously in the treaty-chamber than her generals had failed in the field. Geographical knowledge ap- 36 THE WILD NORTH LAND. pears ever to have been deemed superfluous to those whose business it was to shape the destinies of our colonial dominions, and if something more tangible than report be true, it is not many months since the British mem- bers at a celebrated conference stared blankly at each other when the free navigation of a river of more than two tJiousand miles in length was mooted at the Council Board. But then, Avhat statesman has leisure to mas- ter such trifles as the existence of the great river Yukon, amid the more important brain toil of framing rabbit laws, defining com- pound householders, and solving other equally momentous questions of our Imperial and Pa- rochial politics? However to our subject. When in 1783 the great quarrel between Britain and her Colonies was finally adjusted, the northern boundary of the United States was to follow the 49th parallel of latitude from the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods to the river Mississippi, and thence down that river, &c., &c. Nothing could possibly have been more simple, a child might comprehend it; but un- fortunately it fell out in course of time that the 49tli parallel was one of very considera- ble latitude indeed, not at all a parallel of diplomatic respectability, or one that could be depended on, for neither at one end nor the other could it be induced to approach the 37 THE WILD NORTH LAND. north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods or the river Mississippi Do all that sex- tant, or quadrant, or zenith telescope could, the 49th parallel would not come to terms. Doggedly and determinedly it kept its own course ; and, utterly regardless of big-wig or diplomatic fogie, it formed an offensive and defensive alliance Avith the Sun and the Pole Star (two equally obstinate and big-wig dis- respectful bodies), and struck out for itself an independent line. Beyond the Mississippi there lay a vast region, a region where now millions (soon to be tens of millions) draw from prairie and river flat the long-sleeping richness of the soil. Then it Avas a great wilderness, over which the dusky bison and his wilder master roamed, in that fierce freedom which civiliza- tion ends forever. To the big-wigs at the Council Board this region was a myth — a land so far beyond the confines of diplomatic geography that its very existence was questioned. Not so to the shrewd solicitor, admiral, auctioneer, general conveyancer, and Jack-of-all-trades in one, who guided the foreign policy of the United States. Unencumbered by the trappings of diplo- matic tradition, he saw, vaguely perhaps, but still with prescient knowledge, the empire which it was possible to build in that western 38 THE WILD NORTH LAND. wild ; and as every shifting scene in the out- side workl's politics called iq) some new occa- sion for boundary rearrangement, or treaty rectification, he grasped eagerly at a fresh foothold, an additional scrap of territory, in that land which was to him an unborn em- pire, to us a half-begotten wilderness. Louis- iana, purchased from Napoleon for a trifle, became in his hands a region larger than European Russia, and the vast water-shed of the Missouri, passed into the Empire of the United States. Cut off from the INIississippi, isolated from the Missouri, the unlucky boundary traversed an arid waste until it terminated at the Rocky Mountains. Long before a citizen of the United States had crossed the Missouri, Canadian explorers had reached the Rocky Mountains and pene- trated through their fastnesses to the Pacific ; and British and Canadian fur traders had grown old in their forts across the Continent before Lewis and Clark, the pioneers of American exploration, had passed the Mis- souri. Discovered by a British sailor, ex- plored by British subjects, it might well have been supposed that the great region along the Pacific slope, known to us as Oregon, be- longed indisputably to England ; but at some new treaty "rectification," the old story was once more repeated, and the unlucky 49th par- 39 THE WILD NORTH LAND. allel again selected to carry across the Moun- tains to the Pacific Ocean, the same record of British bungling and American astuteness which the Atlantic had witnessed sixty years earlier on the rugged estuary of the St. Croix. For the present our business lies only with that portion of British territory east of the Rocky Mountains, and between them, the Bay of Hudson and the Arctic Ocean. From the base of the great range of the Rocky Mountains, the Continent of British America slopes towards North and East, until, unbroken by one mountain summit, but in a profound and lasting desolation, it dips its shaggy arms and ice-bound capes into a sea as drear and desolate. •Two great rivers, following of necessity this depression, shed their waters into the Bay of Hudson. One is the Saskatchewan, of which we have already spoken ; the other, that river known by various names — " Eng- lish," because the English traders first en- tered the country by it ; '' Beaver, " from the numbers of that animal trapped along it in olden time ; " Churchill, " because a fort of that name stands at its estuary; and " Mis- sinipi," or "much water," by the wild races who dwell upon it The first river has a total length of 1,700 miles; the last runs its course through worthless forest and 2)rimeval rock for 1,200 miles 40 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER VI. Our Winter Home — A Welcome — I Start Again— The Hunter's Camp — In Quest of Buffalo on the Plains — " Lodge-poling " Leads to Love. At the foot of the high ridge which marks the junction of the two Saskatchewaus, deep in pines and pojjlars, through which vistas had been cut to give glimpses along the con- verging rivers, stood the winter hut of whioh I have already spoken. From its chimney blue smoke curled up amongst the trees into the lower atmosphere, and the sound of wood- cutting came ringing from below, a token of labour not yet completed in our wild and secluded resting-place. I stood for a moment looking down on this scene — a home in the great wilderness— and then a loud shout echoed into the valley to carry tidings of our arrival to the inmates of the hut. In an instant it was answered from below, and the solitudes rang with many a note of welcome, while half a dozen dogs bayed furious defiance at my pack, already become boisterouslj' jubilant on the ridge above. When friends meet thus, after long travel and separation, there are many ques- 41 THE AYILD NUKTII LAND. tious to ask and to answer, and the autumn evening had worn to midnight ere the pine- log lire threw its light upon a silent hut. The winter season was now at hand ; our house was nearly completed, our stores put away, our dogs kennelled ; but one most press- ing want had yet to be supplied — our winter stock of meat had to be gathered in, and there was no time to lose about obtaining it. It was the last of October, just one day after my arrival at the Forks, when we turned our faces westward in quest of buffalo. They Avere said to be a long Avay off— 200 miles nearer to the setting sun — out somewhere on that great motionless ocean, Avhere no tree, no bush breaks the vast expanse of prairie ; land to which the wild men of the west and those who lead wild lives there have turned for many an age in search of that food Avhich nature once so generously scattered over the plains of Central North America. Journeying slowly towards the west — for already the snow had begun to fall in many storms, and the landscape had become wrapt in its winter mantle — we reached in live days one of those curious assemblages of half-breed hunters which are to be found in winter on the borders of the great plains. Huts promiscuously crowded together; horses, dogs, women, cliildren, all intermixed in a confusion worthy of Donnybrook Fair; 43 THE WILD NORTH LAND. •half-breed hunters, ribboned, tasselled, and capoted, lazy, idle, and, if there is any spirit in the camp, sure to be intoxicated; rem- nants and wrecks of buffalo lying everywhere around; robes stretched and drying; meat piled on stages ; wolf-skins S})read over frame- work; women drawing water and carrying wood ; and at dusk from tlie little hut tlie glow of tirelight through parchment windows, the sound of fiddle scraped with rough hunter hand, and the quick thud of hunter heel as Louison, or Batiste, or Gabriel foot it cease- lessly upon the half -hewn floors. Unquestionably these French half-breeds are wild birds— hunters, drinkers, rovers, ras- cals if you will — yet generous and hospitable withal; destined to disappear before the white man's footprint, and ere that time has come owing many of their vices to the pioneer American, whose worst qualities the wild man, or semi-wild man, has been ever too sure to imitate. After a delay of three days in this hunter's camp, which by some strange anomaly was denominated "la mission," its sole claim to that title being the residence of a French priest in the community, we started on our journey further west. The winter had now regularly set in ; the broad South Saskatchewan was rolling thick masses of ice down its half-closed channel, 43 THE WILD NORTH LAN'D. the snow-covering had deepened on the land- , scape, the wmd blew keenly over the prairie. Many of our horses had been too poor to take upon this journey, and the half-breed whom I had brought from Red River, dreading the exposure of the plains, had taken advantage of the hunter's camp to desert our service; so another man liad been engaged, and, with three fresh horses and an urchin attendant in the shape of a little half-breed, designated by our new man as 'Thomme capable," and for whose services he demanded only the moderate sum of hve shillings per diem, we held our course along the South Saskatche- wan towards the Great Prairie. Xavier Batoche was a fair sample of his class. The blood of four nationalities min- gled in his veins. His grandfather had been a French Canadian, his grandmother a Crow squaw ; Englisli and Cree had contributed to his descent on his mother's side. The cere- mony of taking a wife in the early days of the nortli-west fur trade was not an elaborate performance, or one much encumbered by social or religious preliminaries. If it did not literally fulfil the condition of force im- plied by the word "taking," it usually de- veloped into a question of barter; a horse, a flint gun, some white cloth and beads, could purchase the hand and heart of the fairest squaw in Prairie land. If she did not love 44 THE WILD NORTH LAND. after one of these valuable " presents " had been made to her father, the lodge-poles were always handy to enforce that obedience neces- sary to domestic happiness — admirable idea, the roof-tree couti-ibiited to the peace of the hearth-stone, and jealousy fled before a " lodge-poling. " To return to Batoche ; Crow and Cree, French and English, had contrived to produce a genial, good-humoured, hand- some fellow ; the previous year had been one of plenty, buffalo had once more appeared in vast herds on the prairies of the Saskatche- wan; wolf-skins, robes, and pemmican had fetched high prices, and Batoche was rich and prosperous. Two days' journeying brought us to the edge of the great prairie ; silent, vast, and desolate it spread away into unseen space ; the snow but scantily covered the yellow grass, and the November wind sighed mourn- fully through the wrecks of summer vegeta- tion as it sped along its thousand leagues of unmeasured meadow. At the last copse of poplar and willow we halted for a day, to bake bread and cut Avood sufficient for a week's food and fuel, and then we launched our ocean ships — horses and sleds — out into the great meadow. 45 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER VII. An Ocean of Grass — The Red iVIan — Wlience Comes HeV — Tlie Buffalo — Puritans and Pioneers — The Red Man's Friend. The general term " prairie " comprises many varieties of open landscape. There are the level, alluvial prairies of Illinois, long since settled and colonized; there are the low, fertile prairies of the Red River, where the rich black mould, fallow under five months of snow, puts forth the rank luxuriance of a hot-bed during the half tropic heat of summer; there are the sandy prairies of the Assineboine and Qu'Appelle, inter- mixed with clusters of aspen and of willow, and broken by lakes and saline ponds : but above each and all — exceeding all other prai- ries and open spaces — wild, treeless, and ocean-like in everything save motion, there stands forth in dreary grandeur the Great Prairie. What the Irish Sea, the Channel, the Bal- tic, and the Mediterranean are to the Atlan- tic, so are these various outlying regions of plain to the vast rigid ocean of the central continent. It is true that on the Red River, 46 THE WILD XORTIT LAND. on the Qii'Ai)pello, or along tlie lin(^ T liave lately passed, one may frequently "get out of siglit of land; " tluMe a're spaces where no tree or bush breaks the long monotony of the sky-line ; but all these expanses are as noth- ing compared to the true prairie. The unending vision of sky and grass, the dim, distant, and ever-shifting horizon ; the ridges that seem to be rolled upon one another in motionless torpor; the effect of sunrise and sunset, of night narrowing the vision to nothing, and morning only expanding it to a shapeless blank; the sigh and sough of a breeze that seems an echo in unison with the solitude of which it is the sole voice; and, above all, the sense of lonely, unending dis- tance which comes to the voyaginir when day after day has gone by, night has closed, and morning dawned upon his onward progress under the same ever-moving horizon of grass and sky. Only two wild creatures have made this grassy desert their home. Back, since ages at whose birth we can only guess, but which in all human proba- bility go deeper into the past than the reign of Arab in Yemen, or Kirghis in Turkestan, the wild red man has roamed these wastes : back into that dark night which liangs for- ever over all we know or shall know of early America. " The time before the white man 47 TFTE WILD NORTH LAND. came," Aviiat a measureless eternity lies hid- den under the words ! Tliis prairie was here when the stones of the pyramid were unhewn, and the site of Babylon was a river meadow — here as it is to-day, treeless, desolate, and storm-swept. But where and whence came the wild denizens of the waste? Who shall say? Fifty writers have broached their vari- ous theories, a hundred solutions have been offered. The missionary claims them as the lost tribes of Israel, one ethnologist finds in them a likeness to the Tartar, another sees the Celtic eye, another the Roman nose, another traces them back to Japan, or China, or Australasia; the old world is scarcely large enough to give them room for their speculations. And what say we? Nothing; or if aught, a conjecture perhaps more vague and shadowy than the rest. It has seemed to us when watching this strange, Avild hunter, this keen, untutored scholar of na- ture, this human creat\ire that sickens beneath our civilization, and dies midst our prosperity — it has seemed to us that he was of a race older and more remote than our own, a stock coeval with a shadowy age — a remnant, per- chance, of an earlier creation which has van- ished from the earth, preserved here in these wilds — a waif flung by the surge of time to these later ages of our own. This New World is older than our old one. 48 THE WILD NORTH LAND. Its 30,000 feet in depth of Azoic rock tell us of ail age when nought of living form moved over the iron earth. And here, probably lirst of all, the molten sands rose above the boiling floods, and cooled and crusted into a chaotic continent. These are but idle speculations; still the antiquity of the Indian race rests upon other foundations. Far to the south, where the prairies rise into the lofty plateau of New Mexico, ruined monuments, weed-grown, and hidden beneath ivy and trailing parasites, stand like spectres from the tomb of time. Before these mouldering rock-hewn cities conjecture halts; the past has drawn over them a veil that no research can pierce, no learning solve. Inscrutable as the vestiges of an earlier earth they stand, the lonely, ruined wrecks of the Red man's race. So much for the earlier existence of the human dweller on the prairie ; to us he is but a savage — the impediment to our progress — the human counterpart of forests which have to be felled, mountains which must be tun- nelled, rivers whose broad currents are things to conquer ; he is an obstacle, and he must be swept away. To us it matters not whether his race dwelt here before a Celt had raised a Druid altar. The self-styled heirs to all the centuries reck little of such things. And now let us turn for a moment to that 4 49 THE WILD NORTH LAND. other Avild creature which has made its dw ell- ii)g on the Great Prairie. Over the grassy ocean of the west there has moved from time immemorial a restless tide. Backwards and forwards, now north, now south — now filling the dark gorges of the Rocky Mountains — now trailing into the valleys of the Rio del Norte — now pouring down the Avooded slopes of the Saskatchewan, surged millions on millions of dusky bisons. AVhat led them in their strange migrations no man could tell, but all at once a mighty impulse seemed to seize the myriad herds, and they moved over the broad realm which gave them birth as the waves of the ocean roll before the storm. Nothing stopped them on their march ; great rivers stretched before them with steep, overhanging banks, and beds treacherous with quicksand and shifting bar; huge chasms and earth-rents, the work of subterraneous forces, ci'ossed their line of march, but still the countless thousands swept on. Through day and night the earth trembled beneath their tramp, and the air was filled with the deep bellowing of their unnumbered throats. Crowds of wolves and flocks of vultures dogged and hovered along their way, for many a huge beast, half sunk in quicksand, caught amidst whirling ice floe, or bruised and maimed at the foot of some steep preci- se THE WH-I) NOHTH I.AXD ])ico, inaiked tlieiv line of luarcli, like the wrecks lying spread beliiiid a routed army. Nearly two millions of s(|uare miles formed their undivided domain ; on three sides a forest boundary encircled it, on the fourth a great mountain range loomed up against the western sky. Through this enormous area countless creeks and rivers meandered through the meadows, where the prairie grass grew thick and rank, and the cottonwoods spread their serpentine belts. Out in the vast prai- rie the Missouri, the Platte, the Sweet Water, the Arkansas, the South Saskatche- wan, the Big Horn, the Yellowstone, rolled their volumes towards the east, gathering a thousand affluents as they Howed. Countless ages passed, tribe warred and Avandered, but the life of the wilderness lay deep beneath the waves of time, and the roll of the passing centuries disturbed not its slumber. At last the white man came, and soon from south and uorth the restless adventurers of Latin Europe pierced the encircling forests, and beheld the mighty meadows of the Cen- tral Continent. Spaniards on the south, Frenchmen on the north, no one in the cen- tre ; for the prudent Plymouth Puritan was more intent on flogging witches and gather- ing riches than on penetrating the tangled forest which lay westward of his settlement, 51 THE WILD NORTH LAND. Ko; his was not tlie work of adventure and discovery. Others might go before and brave the thousand perils of food and forest; lie would follow after, as the Jew jtedlar follows the spendthrift, as the sutler dogs the foot- steps of the soldier. What though he be in possession of the wide dominion now, and the names of France and Spain be shrunken into a shapeless dream; tJiat only proves what Ave knew be- fore, that the men who lead the way to a great future are fated never to reap the golden harvest of their dreams. And ever since that advent of the Avhite man the scene has changed ; the long slumber of the wilderness was broken, and hand in hand with the new left death moved amidst the wild denizens of the Prairies. Human life scattered over a vast area, animal life counted by tens of millions, take a long time to destroy; and it is only to-day — 370 years after a Portuguese sailor killed and captured a band of harmless Indians, and 350 since a Spanish soldier first beheld a herd of buffa- loes beyond the meadows of the Mississijjpi — that the long, ho])eless struggle of the wild dwellers of the wilderness may be said to have reached its closing hour. In thus classing together the buffalo and the red man as twin dwellers on the Great Prairie, I have but followed the Indian idea. 53 THE WILD NORTH LAND. " What shall we do? " said a young Sioux warrior to an American officer on the Upper Missouri some fifteen years ago. " What sliall we do? tlie buffalo is our only friend. When lie goes, all is over with the Dacotahs. I speak thus to you because like me you are a Brave." It was little wonder that he called the buffalo his only friend. Its skin gave him a house, its robe a blanket and a bed, its un- dressed liide a boat, its short, curved horn a l)owder-flask, its meat his" daily food, its sinew a string for his bow, its leather a lariat for his horse, a saddle, bridle, rein, and bit. Its tail formed an ornament for his tent, its inner skin a book in which to sketch the brave deeds of his life, the *' medicine robe " of his history. House, boat, food, bed, and covering, every want from infancy to age, and after life itself had i)assed, wrapt in his buffalo robe the red man waited for the dawn. 58 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER VIIT. Buflfak) Hunts — A Picture Once Seen Long Remem- bered — L'Homme Capable — A Wonderful Lake — The Lost Indian — An Apparition — We Return Home. It was mid-Xovember before we reached the buffalo; tlie snow had deepened, the coUl had become intense, and our horses under the influence of travel, cold, and exposure, had become miserably thin. To hunt the herds on horseback Avould have been an inij)ossi- bility ; the new-fallen snow hid the nuirder- ous badger holes that covered the prairie sur- face, and to gallop weak liorses over such ground must have been certain disaster. l^uft'alo hunts on horseback or on foot have frequently been tlie tlieme of travellers' story. Eu.xton and Palliser, and INlayne Reid and Catlin, have filled many a page witli glowing deseriptions of charge and countercharge, stalk and stampede. Wash- ington Irving has lighted with liis genius the dull records of western wandeiings, and to sketch now the ])ursuit of that huge beast (so soon to l)e an extinct giant) would be lo repeat a thrice-tohl tale. Wlio has not seen in pencil sketch or peu 54 TflK AVILI) XoKTir T.AXD. Story tlie image of tlie huge, sliaggy beast careering madl3'- before an eagle-feathered red man, wliose horse decked like its rider with the feathered troj^hy, launches liimself swiftly over the prairie'/ The full-drawn bow, the deadly arrow, the stricken aninuil, the wild confusion of the flying herd, the wounded giant turning to bay — all these have been described a thousand times; so also has the stalk, the stealthy approach under the wolf-skin covering, the careful shot and the stupid stare of the startled aninuils as they pause a moment to gather consciousness that this thing which they deemed a wolf in the grass is in reality their most deadly enemy, man. All these have found record from pen and pencil ; but I much doubt me if it be possible to place before a reader's mental vision anything like a true picture of the sense of solitude, of endless space, of awful desolation which at times comes to the travel- ler's mind as he looks over some vast prairie and beholds a lonely herd of bisons trailing slowly across that sn()w-wrai)t, endless ex- panse, into the shadows of the coming night. Such a sight I have beheld more than once, and its memory returns at times with the sigh of the south wind, or the waving of a pine branch. It is from moments such as these that the wanderer draws the recompense of his toil, and reaps in aftertime the harvest of 50 THE WILD NORTH LAND. his hardship. No book has told the story, no picture has caught the colouring of sky and plain, no sound can echo back the music of that vuitainted breeze, sighing so mournfully through the yelloAv grass, but all the same the vision returns Avithout one effort of re- membrance : the vast plain snow-wrapt, the west ablaze Avith gold, and green, and saf- fron, and colours never classed or catalogued, while the horizon circle from north to east and south grows dim and indistinct, and, far off, the bison herd in long, scattered file trails sloAvly across the blue-Avhite snoAV into the caverns of the sunset. We carried with \is a leather tent of eight skins, small of its kind, but capable of shel- tering the five individuals comprising our party. This tent, pitched in some hollow at sunset, formed the sole speak of life amidst the vast solitude. Ten poles resting on the ground, and locked together at the top, sup- ported the leather covering. An open space at the apex of the tent Avas supposed to alloAV the smoke to escape, but the smoke usually seemed to consider itself under no restraint AA'hatever in the dim interior of our lodge, and seldom or neA'er took advantage of the means of fieedom so liberally provided for it. Our stock of fuel was very limited, and barely sufficed to Ixtil a kettle and fry a dish of pemmioau at the opening or close of each THE WIIJ) NORTH LAND. day. When the evening meal was finished, we sat awhile grouped around the small fire in the centre. " L'homnie capable " ran round our line of traps, returning with a couple of kit foxes, the fattest of which he skinned and roasted for his supper. Then we gathered the blankets close together, and lying down slept until the dawn came struggling through the open roof, and cold and hungry we sat again around the little fire. Thus we jour- neyed on. Scattered over the wide prairie which lies between the South Saskatchewan and the Eagle Hills roamed many herds of buffalo. But their numbers were very far short of those immense herds which, until a few years ago, were wont to cover the treeless regions of the west. Yet they were numerous enougli to make the onlooker marvel how they still held their own against the ever-increasing odds arrayed against them. Around the wide circle of this prairie ocean lay scattered not less than 15,000 wild peo- ple, all preying with wasteful vigour upon these scattered herds ; but the niimbers killed for the consumption of these Indian or half- Indian men formed but a small item in the lists of slaughter. To the north and east the denizens of the remote parts of tlie great regions locked in savage distance, the land of fur, the laud ^^'hieh stretches to the win- 57 THE WILD NORTH LAND try shores of the Bay of Hudson, and the storm-swept capes of the Arctic Ocean, looked for their means of summer transports to these wandering herds in the, to them, far distant Saskatchewan. What food w^as it that the tired voyayeur munched so stolidly at night- fall by the camp fire on some long I'tortarje of the Winnipeg, the Nelson, or the Beaver Rivers, or ate with so much relish ere the morning sun Avas glinting along the waves of far Lake Athabasca; and his boat, rich laden with . precious fur, rocked on the secluded shore of some nameless bay? It was buffalo pemmican from the Saskatchewan. And wdiat food Avas it tliat these dozen hungry dogs devoured with such haste by that lonely camp fire in the dark pine forest, Avhen all nature lay in its mid-Avinter torpor frozen to the soul ; Avhen the i)ine-log flared upon some snoAv-sheeted lake, or ice-bound river in the great Avilderness of the north? It Avas the same hard mixture of fat and dried buffalo- jueat pounded down into a solid mass Avhich the Indians called " pemmican." Small Avon- der then that the great herds had dwindled doAvn to their present numbers, and that noAV the once wide domain of the buffalo had shrunken inio the limits of the great prairie. Yet, even still, the numbei'S annually killed seem (juite iiicredil)le ; 12,000 are said to fall to the Blackfeet tribes alone ; in a 5« THE WILD NOI^TII LAXD. single liunt the French half-breeds, whose winter camp we had lately visited, liad killed GOO cows. The forts of the Hudson's Bay Company were filled with many thousand bags of pemmican, and to each bag two ani- mals may be counted ; Avhile not less than 30,000 robes had already found their way to the lied River, and fully as many more in skins of parchment or in leather had been traded or consumed in the thousand wants of savage life ; and all are ruthlessly killed — young and old, calves and cows, it matters little; the Indian and the half-breed know no such quality as forethought. Kor, looking at this annual havoc, and seeing still in spite of all the dusky herds yet roaming over the treeless waste, can we marvel that the Red man should ascribe to agencies other than mortal the seemingly endless numbers of his favourite animal? South-west from the Eagle llills, far out in the i)rairie, there lies a lake whose waters never rest; day and night a ceaseless mur- mur l)reaks the silence of the spot. "See," says the Red man, ''it is from under that lake that our buffalo comes. You say they are all gone ; but look, they come again and again to us. We cannot kill them all — they are there under that lake. Do you hear the noise which never ceases? It is the buffalo fighting with each other far down 50 THE WILD NORTH LAXD. undei- the ground, and striving to get out upon the prairie — where else can they come from? " We may well ask the question where can they come from? for in truth the vast ex- panse of the great prairie seems too small to save them from their relentless foes. The creek of the Eagle Hills winds through the prairie in long, lazy bends. The beaver has made his home under its banks ; and in some of the serpentine bends the bastard maple lifts its gnarled trunk, and the willow copses grow thickly. It is a favourite ground for the hunter in summer ; but now, in mid- Xovember, no sign of man was visible, and we had the little thicket oasis all to ourselves. It was in this spot, some two years ago, that the following event occurred. In a band of Crees travelling over the plains there happened to be a blind Indian. Following the band one day he lagged behind, and the party dipping over a ridge on the prairie be- came lost to sound. Becoming suddenly alarmed at having thus lost his friends, he l^egan to run swiftly in hope of overtaking them ; but now his judgment was at fault, and the direction of his run was the wrong one — he found himself alone on the immense plains. Tired at last b^- the speed to Avhich feverish anxiety had urged him, he sat down to think over his chances. It was hopeless 60 THE WILD NORTH LAND. to attempt to regain his party; he was far out ill the grassy ocean, and south, west, and east, hiy hundreds of miles of inuhihiting plain ; to the north many days' journey, but still near, in relative distance, lay the forts of the white man, and the trail which led from one to the other . He would steer for the north, and Avould endeavour to reach one of these forts. It was midsummer; he had no food but the carcasses of lately killed buf- falo were, he knew, numerous in that part of the prairie, and lakes or ponds were to be found at intervals. He set out, and for three days he journeyed north. " How did he steer? " the reader will ask ; " for have you not told us the man was blind? " Nevertheless, he steered with accu- racy towards the north. From sunrise he kept the warm glow on his naked right shoulder; six hours later the heat fell full upon his back ; towards evening the rays were on his left side ; and when the sun had gone, and the damp dew began to fall, he lay down for the night: thus he held a tolerably correct course. At times the soft mud of a lake shore cloyed his feet; but that promised water, and after a drink he resumed his way ; the lakelet was rounded and the course pursued. There was no food ; for two days he travelled on pa- tiently, until at last he stumbled over the bones of a buffalo. He felt around ; it had ei THE WILD Noirni LAND. been killed some time, and tlie wolves had left scant pickings on ribs or legs, but on the massive head the skin was yet untouched, and his knife enabled him to satisfy his hun- ger, and to carry away a few scraps of skin and flesh. Thus recruited he pressed on . It was draw- ing towards evening on the fifth day of his weary journe}' when he found himself reduced to starvation, weak from protracted hunger and faint from thirst; the day had been a warm one, and no friendly lake had given him drink. His scanty food had been long exhausted, and there seemed but little hope that he could live to feel the warm sun again. Its rays were growing faint upon his left shoulder, when his feet suddenly sank into soft mud, and the reeds and flags of a swamp brushed against his legs: here was water, he lay down and drank a long, long drauglit. Then he bethought him. Was it not better to stay here while life lasted? Here he had at least water, and of all the pangs that can afflict the lost wanderer that of thirst is the hardest to bear. He lay down midst the reeds, determined to wait for death. Some few miles distant to the north-east lay the creek of the Eagle Hills. That even- ing a party of hunters from the distant fort of A la Corne, had appeared on the wide prairies which surrounded this creek; they 62 THE WTT.D NOPvTII LAND. were in search of Imlfalo, it wanted an lioiir of sunset. The man in eharge h)oke(l at tlif sinking sun, and he bethought him of a cauiping-place. " Go to such and such a bend of the creek, '' he said to his hunters, "unyoke the horses and make the camp. I will ride to yonder hill and take a look over the plains for buf- falo; I will rejoin you at the camp." The party separated, and their leader pushed on to the hill-top for a better survey of the plains. When he reached the summit of the ridge he cast a look on every side ; no buffalo Avere to be seen, but to his surprise, his men, instead of obeying his orders as to the route, appeared to be steering in a differ- ent direction from the one he had indicated, and were already far away to the south. When he again overtook them they were in the act of camping on the borders of a swampy lake, a long way from the place he had intended; they had mistaken the track, they said, and seeing water here had camped at sunset. It was not a good place, and the officer felt annoyed at their stupidity. While they spoke together thus, a figure suddenly rose from the reeds at the further side of the lake, and called loudly for assistance. For a mo- ment the hunters were amazed at this sudden apparition ; they were somewhat startled too, 63 THE WILD NORTH LAND. for the Blackfeet l)an(ls were said to be on the war-trail. But presently they saAv that there was only a solitary stranger, and that he Avas blind and helpless: it was the lost Cree. He had long before heard the hunters' approach, but not less deadly Avas the fear of Blackfeet than the dread of death by starva- tion. Both meant death ; but one meant scalping, therefore dishonour in addition. It was only Avhen the Avelcome sounds of the Cree language fell on his ear that he could reveal his presence in the reed-fringed lake. I have told this story at length just as I heard it from the man who had been in charge of the party of hunters, because it brings home to the mind of the outsider, not only the power of endurance Avhich the Indian dis- plays in the face of physical difficulties, but also the state of society produced by the never-ending wars among the Indian tribes. Of the mistake which caused the hunters to alter their course and pitch their camp in another direction than that intended by their leader I have nothing to say ; chance is a strange leader people say. Tables are said to be turned by unseen powers seemingly like the stars in the song, "because they've noth- ing else to do ; " but for my part I had rather believe that men's footsteps are turned south instead of west under other Guidance than that of chance, when that change of direc- 64 THE WILD NORTH LAND. tion, heedless tliough it be, saves some lost wanderer who has lain down to die. It was the oid. of December, when with thin and tired, horses, we returned to the Forks of the Saskatchewan. We found our house wholly completed; on the stage in front safe from dogs and w^olves the produce of the hunt was piled, the weary horses were turned loose on the ridge above, and with a few books on a shelf over a rude but com- fortable bed, I prepared to pass the next two months of winter. It was full time to reach home ; the snow lay deep upon the ground ; the cold, which had set in unusually early, had even in mid- November fallen to thirty degrees below zero, and some of our last buffalo stalks had been made under a temperature in which frozen fingers usually followed the handling, with unmittened hands, of rifle stock or gun trigger. Those who in summer or autumn visit the great prairie of the Saskatchewan can form but a faint idea of its winter fierceness and utter desolation. They are prone to paint the scene as wanting only the settler's hut, the yoke of oxen, the waggon, to become at once the paradise of the husbandman. They little know of what they speak. Should they really wish to form a true conception of life in these solitudes, let them go out towards 5 a THE WILD NORTH LAND. the close of November into the treeless waste ; tJien, midst tierce storm and biting cold, and snowdrift so dense that earth and heaven seem wrapped together in indistinguishable chaos, they will witness a sight as different from their summer ideal as a mid-Atlantic mid-winter storm varies from a tranquil moonlight on the ^Egean Sea. During the sixteen days in which we tra- versed the prairie on our return journey, we had not seen one soul, one human being mov- ing over it; the picture of its desolation was complete. THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER IX. Strange Visitors — At-tistighat tlie Philosopher — In- dian Converts — A Domestic Scene — The Winter Packet — Adam and His Dogs. December passed away, the new year came, the cold became more mtense. The snow deepened and the broad rivers lay hushed under their sparklmg covering; wide roadways for our dog sleighs. At times there came a day of beautiful clearness, the sun shone brightly, the sky was of the deep- est blue, and the earth sparkled in its spot- less covering. At night the moon hung over the snow-wrapt river and silent pines with the brilliancy of a fairy scene ; but many a day and night of storm and bitter tempest passed, and not unfrequently the thermome- ter placed against the hut wall marked full 70 degrees of frost. Towards the end of the year four of our horses died, from the depth and hardness of the snow. The others would have soon fol- lowed if left to find their own sustenance, but a timely removal to the Fort A la Corne, twenty miles lower down the river, saved them. 67 THE WILD NORTH LAND. When tlie year was diawiiig to its close, two Indians pitched tlieir lodge on the oppo- site side of the North River, and finding our stage pretty well stocked with food they be- gan to starve immediately. In other words, it was easier to come to us for buffalo meat than to hunt deer for themselves: at all hours of the day they were with us, and fre- quently the whole family, two men, two squaws, and three children, would form a doleful procession to our hut for food. An Indian never knocks at a door; he lifts the latch, enters quietly, shakes hands with every one, and seats himself, without a word, upon the floor. You may be at breakfast, at din- ner, or in bed, it doesn't matter. If food be not offered to him, he will wait until the meal is finished, and then say that he has not eaten for so many hours, as the case may be. Our stock of food was not over suifi- cient, but it was impossible to refuse it to them even though they would not hunt for themselves; and when the three children were paraded — all pretty little things from four to seven years of age — the argument of course became irresistible. It was useless to tell them that the winter was long, that no more buffalo could be ob- tained; they seemed to regard starvation as an ordinary event to be calculated upon, that as long as any food was to be obtained it was 68 THE WILD NORTH LAND. to be eaten at all times, and that when it was gone — well then the best thing was to do without it. January drew to a close in very violent storms accompanied by great cold. Early one morning " At-tistighat, " or as we called him, Bourgout No. 1, arrived Avith news that his brother had gone away two days before, that he had no blanket, no food ; and that, as it had not been his intention to stay out, he concluded that he had perished. " At- tistighat " was a great scoundrel, but never- theless, as the night had been one of terrible storm, we felt anxious for the safety of his brother, who was really a good Indian. "Oo," we said to him, "look for your brother ; here is pemmican to feed you during your search." He took the food, but coolly asserted that in all probability his brother had shot himself, and that consequently there was no use whatever in going to look for him; "or," he said, "he is dead of cold, in which case it is useless to find him." While he spoke a footstep outside an- nounced an arrival, the door opened, and the lost Bourgout No. 2 entered, bearing on his back a heavy load of venison. At-tistighat' s line of argument was quite in keeping with the Indian character, and was laughable in its selfish logic. If the man was alive, he would find his own way 69 THE WILD NORTH LAND. home ; if dead, there was nothing more to be done in the matter : but in any case pemmi- ean was not to be despised. But despite their habits of begging, and their frequently unseasonable visits, our Cree neighbours aiforded us not a little food for amusement in the long winter evenings. In- dian character is wortli the stud}^, if we will only take the ti'ouble to divest ourselves of the notion that all men should be like our- selves. There is so much of simplicity and cunning, so much of close reasoning and child-like suspicion ; so much natural quick- ness, sense of humour, credulousness, power of observation, faith and fun and selfishness, mixed up together in the Red man's mental composition ; that the person who will find nothing in Indian character worth studying will be likely to start from a base of nullity in his own brain system. In nearly all the dealings of the white man with the red, except perhaps in those of the fur trade, as conducted by the great fur companies, the mistake of judging and treat- ing Indians by European standards has been made. From the earliest ages of American discovery, down to the present moment, this error has been manifest; and it is this error which has rendered the whole missionary labour, the vast machinery set on foot by the charity and benevolence of the various reli- 70 THE WILD NORTH LAND. gious bodies during so many centuries, a practical failure to-day. When that Christian King Francis the First commissioned Cartier to convert the In- dians, they were described in the royal edict as " men without knowledge of God, or use of reason ; " and as the speediest mode of giving them one, and bringing tliem to the other, the Quebec chief savage was at once kidnapped, carried to France, ba})tized, and within six months was a dead man. We may wonder if his wild subjects had imbibed sufficient " reason " during the absence of the ship to realize during the following season the truth of what they were doubtless told, that it was better to be a dead Christian than alive savage; but no doubt, under the cir- cumstances, they might be excused if they " didn't quite see it." Those who would imag- ine that the case of Memberton could not now occur in missionary enterprise are deceived. Memberton, who is said to have been a de- vout Christian in the early days of Acadie, was duly instructed in the Lord's Prayer; at a certain portion of the prayer he was wont to append a request that "fish and moose meat " might also be added to his daily bread. And previous to his death, whicli occurred many years after his conversion, he is said to have stoutly demanded that the savage rites of sepulture should be bestowed upon 71 THE WILD NORTH LAND. his bodj^, in order that he might be well pre- pared to make vigorous war upon his euemies in the next world. This is of the past; yet it is not many years since a high dignitary of the Church was not a little horrified by a request made by some recently converted Dog-Rib Chiefs that the rite of Baptism should be bestowed upon three flaming red flannel shirts, of whicli they had for the first time in their lives become the joint possessors. But all this is too long to enter upon here ; enough that to me at least tlie Indian charac- ter is worth the trouble of close examination. If those, whose dealings religious and politi- cal with the Red man ai-e numerous, would only take a leaf from Goldsmith's experience when he first essayed to become a teacher of English in France, ("for I found," he writes, "that it was necessary I should previously learn French before I could teach them Eng- lish,") very much of the ill success which had attended labours projected by benevo- lence, and prosecuted with zeal and devotion, might perhaps be avoided. Long before ever a white man touched the American shore a misty idea floated through the red man's brain that from far-off lands a stranger would come as the messenger of peace and plenty, where both were so fre- quently unknown. In Florida, in Norem- bega, in Canada, the right hand of fellowship 72 THE WILD NORTH LAND. was the Jji-fit proffered to the new-comer; and when Cartier entered the palisaded village where now the stately capital of Canada spreads out along the base of the steep ridge, which he named Royal after that master whose " honour " had long been lost ere on Pavia's field he yielded up all else, the dusky denizens of Hochelaga brought forth their sick and stricken comrades "as though a God had come among them." Three centuries and a half have passed since then ; war, pestilence and famine have followed the white man's track. Whole tribes have vanished even in name from the continent, yet still that strange tradition of a white stranger, kind and beneficent, has outlived the unnumbered cruelties of ages; and to-day the starving camp and the shiver- ing bivouac hear again the hopeful yet hope- less story of " a good time coming. " Besides our Indians Ave were favoured with but few visitors, silence reigned around our residence ; a magpie or a whisky-jack some- times hopped or chattered about our meat stage ; in the morning the sharp-tailed grouse croaked in birch or spruce tree, and at dusk, when every other sound was hushed, the small grey owl hooted his lonely cry. Pleas- ant was it at night when returning after a long day on snow shoes, or a dog trip to the ueai'est fort, to reach the crest of the steep 73 THE WILD NORTH LAND. ridge that surrounded our valley, and see be- low the firelight gleaming through the little window of our hut, and the red sparks flying upward from the chimney like fire-flies amidst the dark pine trees; nor was it less pleasant when as the night Avore on the home letter was penned, or the book read, while the pine-log fire burnt brightly and the dogs slept stretched before it, and the light glared on rifle-barrel or axe-head and showed the skin- hung rafters of our lonely home. As January drew towards a close, it became necessary to make preparations for a long journey. Hitherto I had limited my wan- derings to the prairie region of the Saskatche- wan, but these wanderings had only been a preliminary to further travel into the great northern wilds. To pierce the forest region lying north of the Saskatchewan valley, to see the great lakes of the Athabasca and that vast extent of country which poui-s its waters into the Frozen Ocean, had long been my desire ; and when four months earlier I had left the banks of the Red River and turned away from the last limit of civilization, it was with the hope that ere the winter snow had passed from plain and forest my Avanderings would have led me at least 2,000 miles into that vast wilderness of the Xortli. But many preparations had to be made 74 THE AVILD NORTH LAND. against cold and distance. Dogs liad to be fattened, leather clothing got ready, harness and sleds looked to, baggage reduced to the very smallest limit, and some one found will- ing to engage to drive the second dog sled, and to face the vicissitudes of the long north- ern road. The distance itself was enough to make a man hesitate ere for hire he embarked on such a journey. The first great stage was 750 miles, the second was as many more, and when 1,500 miles had been traversed there still must remain half as much again before, on the river systems of the North Pacific, we could emerge into semi-civilized ways of travel. Many were the routes which my brain sketched out during the months of autumn, but finally my choice rested between two rivers, the Mackenzie rolling its waters into the Frozen Ocean, the Peace River piercing the great defiles of the Rocky Mountains through the canons and stupendous gorges of Northern British Columbia. A chance meet- ing decided my course. One day at the end of October I had camped during a snow-storm for dinner in the Touchwood Hills. Suddenly through the drift a horseman came in sight. He proved to be an officer of the Hudson's Bay Company from the distant post of Dunvegan on the Peace River : of all men he was the 75 THE WILD NORTH LAND. one I most wished to see. Ninety clays earlier he had left his station ; it was far away, but still with dogs over the ice of frozen rivers and lakes, through the snow of long leagues of forest and muskey and prairie, I might hope to reach that post on Upper Peace River in sixty days ; twenty days more might carry me through the defiles of the liocky Mountains to Avaters which flow south into the Pacific. "Good-bye, ban voyiujey'' and we went our different ways ; he towards Red River, I for Athabasca and the Peace River. And now, as I have said, the end of Janu- ary had come, and it was time to start; all my preparations Avere completed, Cerf-vola and his companions were fat, strong, and hearty. Dog shoes, copper kettles, a buffalo robe, a thermometer, some three or four dozen rounds of ammunition, a little tobacco and pain-killer, a dial compass, a pedometer, snow shoes, about fifteen pounds of baggage, tea, sugar, a little flour, and lastly, the in- evitable pemmican ; all were put together, and I only waited the arrival of the winter packet from the south to set out. Let me see if I can convey to the reader's mind a notion of this winter packet. Towards the middle of the month of De- cember there is unusual bustle in the office of the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Garry 7t> TPIE WILD NORTH LAND. oil tlie Red River; the winter packet is being made ready. Two oblong boxes are iilled with letters and papers addressed to nine different districts of the northern continent. The limited term district is a singularly un- appropriate one ; a single instance will suffice. From the post of the Forks of the Athabasca and Clear Water Rivers to the Rocky Moun- tain Portage is fully 900 miles as a man can travel, yet all that distance lies within the limits of the single Athabasca district; and there are others larger still. From the Fort Resolution on the Slave River to the ram- parts on the Upper Yukon, 1,100 miles lay their lengths within the limits of the Mac- kenzie River district. Just as the days are at their shortest, a dog sled bearing the winter packet starts from Fort Garry; a man walks behind it, another man some distance in advance of the dogs. It holds its way down the Red River to Lake Winnipeg; in about nine days' travel it crosses that lake to the north shore at Norway House ; from thence, lessened of its packet of letters for the Bay of Hudson and the distant Churchill, it journeys in twenty days' travel up the Great Saskatche- wan River to Carlton House. Here it under- goes a complete readjustment ; the Saskatche- wan and Lesser Slave Lake letters are detached from it, and about the 1st of Feb- 77 THE AVILD NORTH LAND. ruaiy it starts ou its long journey to the north. During the succeeding months it holds steadily along its northern way, sending off at long, long intervals branch dog packets to right and left; finally, just as the sunshine of mid-May is beginning to carry a faint whisper of tlie coming spring to the valleys of the Upper Yukon, the dog train, last of many, drags the packet, now but a tiny bun- dle, into the enclosure of La Pierre's House. It has travelled, nearly 3,000 miles; a score of different dog teams have hauled it, and it has camped for more than a hundred nights in the great northern forest. The end of January had come, but con- trary to the experience of several years, had brought no packet from Fort Garry, and many were the surmises afloat as to the cause of this delay. The old Swampy Indian Adam who, for more than a score of years had driven the dog packet, had tumbled into a water-hole in the ice, and his dogs had literally exemplified one portion of the popu- lar saying of following their leader through fire and water; and the packet, Adam, and the dogs, lay at the bottom of the Saskatche- wan River. Such was one anticipated cause of this non-appearance. To many persons the delay was very vexa- tious, but to me it was something more. 78 THE WILH NOIITIT LAND. Time was a precious article : it is true a uortheru winter is a long one, but so also was the route I was about to follow, and I hojjed to reach the upper regions of the Eoeky Mountains while winter yet held with icy grasp the waters of the Peace River Canon. The beginning of February came, and I could wait no longer for the missing packet. On the 3rd, at mid-day, I set out on my journey. The day ^vas bright and beautiful, the dogs climbed defiantly the steep high point, and we paused a moment on the sum- mit ; beneath lay hut and pine wood and pre- cipitous bank, all sparkling with snow and sunshine ; and beyond, standing motionless and silent, rose the Great Sub-Arctic Forest. 79 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER X. A Tale of Warfare — Dog-sleds — A ]Missing Link — Tlic North Sea — "AViuterers" — Samuel Hearne. During the three months which had elapsed since liis arrival at the Forks, Cerf- vola had led an idle life; he had led his train occasionally to Fort A la Corne, or hauled a light sled along the ice of the frozen rivers, but these were only desultory trips, and his days had usually passed in peace and plenty Perhaps I am wrong in saying peace, for the introduction of several strange dogs had occasioned much warfare, and although he had invariably managed to come off victori- ous, victory was not obtained without some loss. I have before remarked that he pos- sessed a very large bushy tail. In time of war this appendage was carried prominently over his back, something after the manner of the plumes upon casque of knight in olden times, or the more modern helmet of dragoon in the era of the Peninsular War. One day, while he was engaged in a des- perate struggle with a bumptious new-comer, a large ill-conditioned mongrel which had 80 THE WILD NORTH LAND. iilready been vanquished, seeing his victor fully occupied, deemed it an auspicious mo- ment for revenge, and springing upon the bushy tail proceeded to attack it with might and main. The unusual noise brought me to the door in time to separate the combatants while yet the tail was intact, but so unlocked for had been the assault that it was found upon examination to be considerably injured. With the aid of a needle and thread it was repaired as best we could, Cerf-vola appar- ently understanding what the surgical opera- tion meant, for although he indulged in plenty of uproar at every stitch, no attempt at biting was made by him. He was now, however, sound in body and in tail, and he tugged away at his load in blissful ignorance that 1,500 miles of labour lay before him. I know not if my readers are acquainted with the manner in which dogs are used as draught animals in the great fur regions of the North. A dog sled is simply two thin oak or birchwood boards lashed together with deer-skin thongs : turned up in front like a Norwegian snowshoe, it runs when light over hard snow or ice with great ease ; its length is about nine feet, its breadth sixteen inches. Along its outer edges runs a leather lashing, through the loops of which a long leather line is passed, to hold in its place whatever may be placed ujjon it. From the front, close 6 81 THE WTT.D XORTn LAND. to the turned ])ortion, tlie traees for drauglit are attaclied. The dogs, usually four in luini- ber, stand in tandem fashion, one before the other, the best dog generally being ])laeed in front, as "foregoer," the next best in rear as " steer-dog. " It is the business of the fore- goer to keep the track, however faint it may be, on lake or river. The steer dog guides the sled, and prevents it. from striking or catch- ing in tree or root. An ordinary load for four dogs weighs from 2 to 400 lbs. ; laden with 200 lbs., dogs will travel on anything like a good track, or on hard snow, about thirty or thirty-live miles in each da3^ In deep or soft snow the pace is of necessity slow, and twenty to twenty-tive miles will form a fair day's work. If any one should ask what length of time dogs will thus travel day after day, I refer them to the following chapters, wherein the fortunes of Cerf-vola and his brethren, start- ing out to-day on a long journey, are duly set forth. Some feAV miles west of the mission station called Prince Albert I parted from my friend Captain M , Avho thus far had accomi)a- nied me. He was to return to Red River and Canada, via Cumberland and the lakes, I to hold my way across the frozen continent to the Pacific. For many months each day would place a double day's distance between «3 THE WILD NOirni LAND. us, but wo still looked forward to anotlier meeting, even though between us and tliat })rospeet there lay the breadth of all the sav- age continent. A couple of days later I reached the Ihul- soii's Bay Company's fort of Carlton, the great rendezvous of the winter packets be- tween north and south. From north and west several of the leading agents of the fur company had assembled at Carlton to await the coming of the packet bearing news from the outer world. From Fort Simpson on the far jNlackenzie, from Fort Chipewyan on the lonely lake Athabasca, from Edmonton on the Upper Saskatchewan, from Isle a la Crosse, dogs had drawn the masters of these remote establishnients to the central station on the middle Saskatchewan. But they waited in vain for the arrival of the packet ; with singular punctuality had their various trains arrived within a few days of each other from starting-points 2,000 miles apart; yet after a few days' detention these officers felt anxious to set out once more on their journey, and many a time the hillside on which the packet must first appear was scanned by watchers, and all the boasted second sight and conjuring power of haggard squaw and medicine man was set at Avork to discover the whereabouts of the " missing link " between the realms of civilization and savagery. To 83 THE WILD NORTH LAXD. me the delay, except for the exigencies of time and distance, was not irksome. I was in the society of gentlemen whose lives liad been passed in all portions of the great north, on the frozen shores of Hudson's Bay, in the mountain fastnesses of the Chipewyan range, or midst the savage solitudes that lie where, in long, low-lying capes, and ice-piled prom- ontories, the shore of America stretches out to meet the Avaves of the Northern Ocean. There was one present who in the past seven months had travelled by horse and canoe, boat and dog train, full 4,000 miles; and another, destined to be my close com- panion during many weeks, whose matchless determination and power of endurance had carried him in a single winter from the Lower Mackenzie Kiver to the banks of the Missis- sippi. Here, while we await the winter packet, let me sketch with hasty and imperfect touch the lives of those who, as the " winterers " of the great Company of Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay, have made their homes in the wilderness. Two hundred and sixty-two years ago, a French adventurer under the banner of Samuel de Champlain wintered with an In- dian tribe on the shores of the Upper Ottawa. In the ensuing spring he returned to Mont- real, recounted his adventures, and became 84 THE WILD NORTH LAND. the hero of an hour. Beyond the country of the Ottawas he described a vast region, and from the uttermost sources of the Ottawa a large river ran towards the north until it ended in the North Sea. He had been there, he said, and on the shore lay the ribs of an English vessel wrecked, and the skeletons of English sailors who had been drowned or murdered. His story was a false one, and ere a year had passed he confessed his du- plicity ; he had not been near the North Sea, nor had he seen aught that he described. Yet was there even more than a germ of truth in his tale of wreck and disaster, for just one year earlier in the same North Sea, a brave English sailor had been set adrift in an open boat, with half a dozen faithful sea- men; and of all the dark mysteries of the merciless ocean, no mystery lies wrapt in dee})er shadow than that which hangs over the fate of Hudson. But the seventeenth century was not an age when wreck or ruin could daunt the spirit of discovery. Here in this lonely North Sea, the palm of adventure belonged not to France alone. Spain might overrun the rich regions of the tropics, Richelieu (prototype of the great German chancellor of to-day) might plant the fleiii'-de-Us along the mighty St. Lawrence, but the north — the frozen north — must be the land of English enter- 85 THE WILD NORTH LAND. prise and English daring. The years that fol- lowed the casting away of the fearless Hud- son saw strange vessels coasting the misty shores of that weird sea; at lirst, to seek through its bergs and ice floes, its dreary cloud-wrapt fiords and inlets, a passage to the land where ceaseless sunshine glinted on the spice-scented shores of fabulous Cathay ; and later on, to trade with the savages who clad themselves in skins, which the fairest favourites of Whitehall or the Louvre (by a strange extreme wherein savagery joined hands with civilization) would be proud to wrap round their snoAvy shoulders. Prosecuted at first by desultory and chance adventurers, this trade in furs soon took defi- nite form and became a branch of commerce. On the lonely seashores wooden buildings rose along the estuaries of rivers flowing from an unknown land. These were honoured by the title of fort or factory, and then the ships sailed back to England ere the autumn ice had closed upon the waters ; while behind in Eupert's Fort, York Factory, Churchill, or Albany (names which tell the political his- tory of their day), stayed the agents, or "winterers," whose Avork it was to face for a long season of hardship, famine, and disease, a climate so rigorous that not unfrequently, wlien the returning vessel rose upon the dis- tant sea line, scarce half the eyes that had «6 THE WILD NORTH LAND. seen her vanish were tlieie to watch her re- turn. And they had other foes to contend with. (Jver the height of land, away by the great lakes, and along the forest shores of the St. Lawrence, the adventurers of another nation had long been busy at the mingled work of conc^uest and traffic. The rival Sul- tans of France and England could, midst the more pressing cares of their respective ha- rems, find time occasionallj^ to scribble " Henri " or " Charles " at the foot of a parch- ment scroll which gave a continent to a com- pany; it little mattered whether Spaniard, Frenchman or Briton had first bestowed the gift, the rival claimants might light for the possession as they pleased. The geography of this Kew World was uncertain, and where Florida ended or Canada began was not mat- ter of much consequence. lUit the great car- dinal, like the great chancellor, was not likely to err in the matter of boundaries. " If there should be any doubt about the parts, we can take the whole," was probably as good a maxim then as now ; and accordingly we find at one sweep the whole northern con- tinent, from Florida to the Arctic Circle, handed over to a company of which the priest-soldier was the moving spirit. Tlius began the long strife between France and England in North America — a strife which ended only under the walls of Quebec. «7 THE WILD NORTH LAND. The story of their bravery, their endurance, their constancy, their heroism, has been woven into deathless history by a master- hand.' To France belongs the glory of tlie Great West — not the less her glory because the sun has set forever upon her empire. Nothing remains to her. Promontory or lonely isle, name of sea-washed cape, or silent lake, half mistily tells of her former dominion. In the deep recesses of some north-western lake or river-reach the echoes still waken to the notes of some old French chanson, as the half-Indian voyageur, igno- rant of all save the sound, dips his glistening paddle to the cadence of his song. But of all that Cartier and Champlain, De Monts, La Salle, Marquette, Frontenac, and Mont- calm lived and died for — nothing more re- mains. Poor France ! In the New World and in the Old history owes thee much. Yet in both hast thou paid the full measure of thy people's wrong. But to return. The seventeenth century had not closed ere the sea of Hudson became the theatre of strife, the wooden palisades of the factories were battered or burnt down; and one fine day in August, 1697, a loud cannonade boomed over the sullen waters, and before the long summer twilight had ' Fraucis P^rkman. 88. THE WILD XORTII LAND. closed, the "Hampshire," with her fifty-two guns on high poop or lofty forecastle, lay deep beneath the icy sea, her consorts tlie Frenchman's prize. Nor had she gone down before a foe more powerful, but to the single frigate of Le Moyne d' Iberville, a child of Old and New France, the boldest rover that e'er went forth upon the Northern Seas. Some fifteen years later France resigned her claim to these sterile shores. Blenheim, Ra- ni ilies, Oudenarde, and Malplaquet had given to England the sole possession of the frozen North. And now, for nigh seventy years, the Eng- lish Company pursued unmolested its trade along the coast. A strong fort, not of wood and lath and stockade, but of hard English brick and native granite hewn by English lumds, rose near the estuary of the Churchill River. To this fort the natives came annu- ally along the English river bearing skins gathered far inland, along the shores of the Lake of the Hills, and the borders of the great river of the nortli. With these natives wandered back an Eng- lishman named Samuel Hearne ; he reached the Lake Athabasca, and on all sides he heard of large rivers, some coming from south and west, others flowing to the remotest north. He Avandered on from tribe to tribe, reached a great lake, descended a great river 89 THE WILD NORTH LxiND. to the north, and saw at last the Arctic Sea. Slowly did the Fur Company establish it- self in the interior. It was easier to let the nativ^es bring down the rich furs to the coast than to seek them in these friendless regions. But at last a subtle rival appeared on the scene ; the story of the North -AVest Fur Com- pany has often been told, and in another place we have painted the effects of that con- flict ; here it is enough to say that when in 1822 the north-west became merged into the older corporation, posts or forts had been scattered throughout the entire continent, and that henceforth from Oregon to Ungava, from Mingan to the Mackenzie, the countless tribes knew but one lord and master, the Company of Adventurers from England trad- ing into Hudson's I^ay. What in the meantime was the work of those wintering agents whose homes Avere made in the wilderness? God knows their lives were liard. They came generally from the remote isles or higlilands of Scotland, they left home young, and the mind tires when it thinks upon the remoteness of many of their fur stations. Dreary and monotonous beyond words was their home life, and hard- ship was its rule. To travel on foot 1,000 miles in winter's darkest time, to live upon the coarsest food, to see nought of bread or 90 THE WILD NORTH LAND. sugar for long months, to lie down at night under the freezing branches, to feel cold such as Englishmen in England cannot even com- prehend, often to starve, always to dwell in exile from the great world. Such was the routine of their lives. The names of these northern posts tell the story of their toil. "Resolution," "Providence," "Good Hope," "Enterprise," "Keliance," "Confidence;" such were the titles given to these little forts on the distant Mackenzie, or the desolate shores of the Great Slave Lake. Who can tell what memories of early days in the far away Scottish isles, or Highland glen, must have come to these men as the tempest swept the stunted pine-forest, and wrack and drift hurled across the frozen lake — when the dawn and the dusk, separated by only a few hours' day-light, closed into the long, dark night. Perchance the savage scene was lost in a dreamy vision of some lonely Scottish loch, some Druid mound in far away Lewis, some vista of a fireside, when storm howled and waves ran high upon the beach of Storno- way. n THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER XI. A Dog of No Character — The Green Lake — Lac He a la Crosse — A Cold Day — Fort He a la Crosse — A Long-lost Brother — Lost upon the Lake — Un- welcome Neighbours — Mr. Roderick Macfarlaue —"A Beautiful Morning" — Marble Features. On the night of the 11th of February, under a brilliant moonlight, we quitted Fort Carltou; crossing the Saskatchewan, we climbed the steep northern bank, and paused a moment to look back. The moon was at its full, not a cloud slept in the vast blue vault of heaven, a great planet burned in the western sky ; the river lay beneath in spot- less lustre ; shore and prairie, ridge and low- land, si)arkled in the sheen of snow and moonlight. Then I sprung u])on my sled, aud followed the others, for tlie music of their dog-bells was already getting faint. The two foHowiug days saw us journeying on through a rich and fertile land. Clumps of poplar interspersed with pine, dotted the undulating surface of the country. Lakes were numerous, and the yellow grass along their margins still showed above the deep snow. Six trains of dogs, twenty-three dogs in all, 93 THE WILD NORTH LAND, made a goodly show ; the northern ones all beaded, belled, and ribboned, were mostly large powerful animals. Cree, French, and English names were curiously intermixed, and as varied were the tongues used to urge the trains to fresh exertions. Sometimes a dog would be abused, vilified, and cursed, in French alone; at others, he would be im- plored, in Cree, to put forth greater efforts. " Kuskey-taj-o-atim-moos," or the little " black dog " would be appealed to, " for the love of Heaven to haul his traces." He would be solemnly informed that he was a dog of no character ; that he was the child of very disreputable parents; that, in fact, his mother had been no better than she should have been. Generally speaking, this infor- mation did not appear to have much effect upon Kuskey-tay-o-atim-moos, who was doubtless well satisfied if the abuse hurled at him and his progenitors exhausted the ire of his driver, and saved his back at the ex- pense of his relations. Four days of rapid travelling carried us far to the north. Early on the third day of travel the open country with its lakelets and poplar ridges, was left behind, and the forest region entered upon for the first time. Day had not yet dawned when we quitted a deserted hut which had given us shelter for the night ; a succession of steep hills rose be- THE WILD NORTH LAND. fore lis; and when the highest had been gained, the dawn had In-oken upon the dull grey landscape. Before us the great Sub- Arctic Forest stretched away to the north, a line of lakes, its rampart of defence against the wasting fires of the prairie region, lay be- neath. This was the southern limit of that vast forest whose northern extreme must be sought where the waters of the Mackenzie mingle with the waves of the Arctic Sea. We entered this forest, and in four days reached the southern end of the Green Lake, a long narrow sheet of water of great depth. The dogs went briskly over the hard snow on the surface of the ice-covered lake, and ere sun set on the 15th of February we were housed in the little Hudson's Bay post, near the northern extremity of the lake. We had run about 150 miles in four days. A little more than midway between Carl- ton and Green Lake, the traveller crosses the height of land between the Saskatchewan and Beav^er Eivers; its elevation is about 1,700 feet above the sea level, but the rise on either side is barely perceptible, and be- tween the wooded hills, a network of lakes linked together by swamps and muskegs spreads in every direction. These lakes abound with the finest fish; the woods are fairly stocked with fur-bearing animals, and the country is in many respects fitted to be 94 THE WII.D NORTH LAND. made the scene of Indian settlement, upon a plan not yet attempted by Ameiioan ov Cana- dian governments in their dealings with the red man. On the morning of the 17th of February we quitted the Green Lake, and continued on cur northern Avay. Early on the day of de- partiire we struck the Beaver or Upper Churchill River, and followed its winding course for some forty miles. Tlie shores were well wooded with white spruce, juni])er, and birch ; the banks, some ten or twenty feet above the surface of the ice, sloped easily back ; while at every ten or fifteen miles smaller streams sought the main river, and at each accession the bed of the channel nearly doubled in width. Hitlierto I had not spoken of the cold ; the snow lay deep upon the ground, but so far the days had been fine, and tlie nights, though of course cold, were by no means ex- cessively so. The morning of the 19th of Feb- ruary found us camped on a pine ridge, be- tween lakes, about fifteen miles south of Lac He a la Crosse, by the spot where an ox liad perished of starvation during the ])revious autumn, his bones now furnishing a niglit- long repast for our hungry dogs. The night had been very cold, and despite of blanket or buffalo robe it was impossible to remain long asleep. It may seem strange to those 95 THE WILD NORTH LAND. who live in warm houses, who sleep in cosy rooms from which the draught is carefully excluded, and to whom the notion of seeking one's rest on the ground, under a jDine tree in mid-winter, Avould appear eminently sui- cidal ; it may seem strange, I say, how in a climate where cold is measured by degrees as much below the freezing point as the hot- test shade heat of Carnatic or Scindian sum- mer is known to be nboce it, that men should be able at the close of a hard day's march to lie down to rest under the open heavens. Yet so it is. When the light begins to fade over the frozen solitude, and the first melancholy hoot of the night owl is heard, the traveller in the north looks around him for " a good camping- place." In the forest country he has not long to seek for it ; a few dead trees for fuel, a level space for his fire and his blanket, some green young pines to give him " brush " for his bed, and all his requirements are su^j- plied. The camp is soon made, the fire lighted, the kettle filled with snow and set to boil, the supper finished, dogs fed, and the blankets spread out over the pine brush. It is scarcely necessary to say that there is not much time lost in the operation of undress- ing; under the circumstances one is more likely to reverse the process, and literally (not figuratively as in the ease of modern so- 96 TITE WILD NORTH LAND. ciety, preparing for lior l)all) to (/n'ss for tlu- iiiglit. Then begins the cold ; it has been bitterly eold all day, v.itli tlarkness; the wind has lulled, and the frost has eonie out of the cold, gre}^ sky with still, silent rigour. If you have a thermometer placed in the snow at your head the spirit will have shrunken back into the twenties and thirties below zero; and just when the dawn is steal- ing over the eastern pine tops it will not un- frequently he into the forties. "Well then, that is cold if you like ! You are tired by a thirty-mile march on snow-shoes. You have lain down with stiffened limbs and blistered feet, and sleep comes to you by the mere force of your fatigue ; but never goes the con- sciousness of the cold from your waking brain ; and as you lie with crossed arms and up-gathered knees beneath your buffalo robe, you welcome as a benefactor any short-haired^ shivering dog who may be forced from his lair in the snow to seek a few hours' sleep upon the outside of your blankets. Yet do not imagine, reader, that all this is next to an impossibility, that men will perish under many nights of it. Men do not perish thus easily. Nay even, when before daAvn the fire has been set alight, and the tea swal- lowed hot and strong, the whole thing is nigh forgotten, not unfrequently forgotten in the anticipations of a cold still more try- 7 97 THE WILD NORTH LAXD. ing ill tlie day's jouiiicy which is before you. Such was the case now. We had slept coldly, and ere daylight the thermometer showed 32 degrees below zero. A strong wind swept through the fir-trees from the north ; at daylight the wind lulled, but every one seemed to anticipate a bad day, and leather coats and capotes were all in use. We set oif at six o'clock. For a time calmness reigned, but at sunrise the north wind sprang up again, and the cold soon be- came more than one could bear. Before mid-day we reached the southern end of Lac He a la Crosse ; before us to the north lay nearly thirty miles of shelterless lake, and down this great stretch of ice the wind came with merciless severity. We made a fire, drank a great deal of hot tea, muffled up as best we could and put out into the lake. All that day I had been ill, and with no little difficulty had managed to keep up with the party. I do not think that I had, in the experience of many bitter days of travel, ever felt such cold ; but I attrib- uted this to illness more than to the day's severity. We held on ; right in our teeth blew the bitter blast, the dogs Avith low-bent heads tugged steadily onward, the half-breeds and Indians wrapped their blankets round their 98 THE WILD NORTH LAND. heads, ami l)i'iKliiigl'(jr\v;ir(l as tlicy ran made their way against the Avind. To run was in- stantly to freeze one's face; to lie on the sled was to chill through the body to the very marrow. It was impossible to face it long, and again we put in to shore, made a lire, and boiled some tea. At mid-day the sun shone, and the ther- mometer stood at 26° below zero; the sun was utterly powerless to make itself felt in the slightest degree ; a drift of dry snow flew before the bitter Avind. Was this really great cold? I often asked myself. I had not long to wait for an answer. My two fel- low-travellers were perhaps of all men in those regions best able to settle a question of cold. One had spent nigh thirty years in many parts of the Continent ; the other had dwelt for years within the Arctic Circle, and had travelled the shores of the Arctic Ocean at a time when the Esquimaux keep close within their greasy snow huts. Both were renowned travellers in a land where bad trav- ellers were unknown : tlie testimony of such men was conclusive, and for years they had not known so cold a day. " I doubt if I have ever felt greater cold than this, even on the Anderson or the Mackenzie," said the man who was so well acquainted with winter hardship. After that 1 did not care so much ; if they felt it cold, if 99 THE WILD NORTH LAND. tlieii' cheeks grew white and hard in tlie bitter blast, surely 1 could afford to freeze half my face and all my fingers to boot. Yet at the time it was no laughing matter; to look forward to an hour seemed an infinity of pain. One rubbed and rubbed away at solid nose and white cheek, but that only added one's fingers to the list of iced things one had to carry. At last the sun began to decline to the west, the wind fell with it, the thick, low- lying drift disappeared, and it was possible by running hard to restore the circulation. With dusk came a magnificent Aurora; the sheeted light quivered over the frozen lake like fleecy clouds of many colours blown across the stars. Night had long closed when we reached the warm shelter of the shore, and saw the welcome lights of houses in the gloom. Dogs barked, bolts rattled, men and children issued from the snow-cov- ered huts ; and at the door of his house stood my kind fellow-traveller, the chief factor of the district, waiting to welcome me to his fort of He a la Crosse. The fort of He a la Crosse is a solitary spot. Behind it spreads a land of worthless forest, a region abounding in swamps and muskegs, in front the long arms of the Cruci- form Lake. It is not from its shape that the lake bears its name ; in the centre, where the 100 THE WILD NORTH LAND. four long arms meet, stands an island, on tlie open shore of which the Indians in bygone times Avere wont to play their favourite game of la Crosse. The game named the island, and the island in turn gave its name to the lake. The Beaver River enters the lake at the south-east, and leaves it again on the north-west side. The elevation of the lake above the level of Hudson's Bay cainiot be less than 1,300 feet, so it is little Avonder if the wild winds of the north should have full sweep across its frozen surface. The lake is well stocked with excellent white fish, and by the produce of the net the garrison of the fort is kept wholly in food, about 130 large fish being daily consumed in it. At a short distance from the fort stands the French Mission. One of the earliest established in the north, it has thrown out many branches into more remote solitudes. Four ladies of the order of Grey Nuns have made their home here, and their school al- ready contains some thirty cliildren. If one wants to see what can be made of a very limited space, one should visit this convent at He a la Crosse ; the entire building is a small wooden structure, yet school, dormitory, oratory, kitchen, and dining-room are all contained therein. The sisters seemed happy and contented, chatted gaily of the outside world, or of tlieir m THE WILD NORTH LAND. far-away liomes iu Lower Canada. Their present house was only a temporary erection. In one fell night fire had destroyed a larger building, and consumed their library, oratory, everything ; and now its ravages were being slowly repaired. Of course it was an event to be long remembered, and the lady who de- scribed to us the calamity seemed still to feel the terror of the moment. My long journey left me no time for de- lay, and after one day's rest it became neces- sary to resume the march. The morning of the 21st February found us again in motion. We now numbered some five sleds; the officer in charge of the Athabasca district, the next to the north, was still to be my fellow-traveller for nearly 400 miles to his post of Fort Chipewyan. All dogs save mine were fresh ones, but Cerf-vola showed not one sign of fatigue, and Spanker was still strong and hearty. Pony was, however, betraying every indication of giving out, and had long proved himself an arrant scoundrel. Dogs were scarce in the north this year. A distemper had swept over all the forts, and many a trusty hauler had gone to the land where harness is unknown. Here, at He a la Crosse, I obtained an eighth dog. This dog Avas Major; he was an Esquimau from Deer's Lake, the birth- place of Cerf-vola, and he bore a very strong 10? THE WILD NORTH LAND. resemblance to my leader. It is not unlikely that they were closely related, perhaps brothers, who had thus, after many wander- ings, come together ; but, be that as it may, Cerf-vola treated his long-lost brother with evident suspicion, and continued to maintain towards all outsiders a dogged demeanour. Major's resemblance to the Untiring led to a grievous error on the morning of my de- parture from the fort. It was two hours before daylight when the dogs were put into harness ; it was a morning of bitter cold ; a faint old moon hung in the east ; over the dim lake, a shadowy Aurora flickered across the stars ; it was as wild and cheerless a sight as eye of mortal could look upon; and the work of getting the poor un- willing dogs into their harness was done by the Indians and half-breeds in no amiable mood. In the haste and darkness the Untiring was placed last in the train which he had so long led, the new-comer, IVIajor, getting the foremost place. Upon my assuming charge of the train, an ominous tendency to growl and fight on the part of my steer-dog told me something was wrong; it was too dark to see plainly, but a touch of the Un- tiring' s nose told me that the right dog was in the wrong ])lace. The mistake Avas quickly rectified, but, 103 THE WILD NORTH LAND. nevertheless, I fear its memory long rankled in the mind of Cerf-vola, for all that day, and for some days after, he never missed an opportunity of counter-marching suddenly in his harness and prostrating the unoffend- ing Majorat his post of steer-dog; the attack was generally made with so much sudden- ness and vigour that jNIajor instantly capitu- lated, " turning a turtle" in his traces. This unlooked-for assault was usually accompanied by a flank movement on the part of Spanker, who, whenever there was anything in the shape of fighting lying around, was sure to have a tooth in it on his own account, being never very particular as to whether he at- tacked the head of the rear dog or the tail of his friend in front. All this led at times to fearful confusion in my train ; they jumped on one another; they tangled traces, and back-bands, and collar- straps into sad knots and interlacings, which baffled my poor frozen fingers to unravel. Often have I seen them in a huge ball loll- ing over each other in the snow, while the rapid api)lication of my whip only appeared to make matters worse, conveying the idea to Sjjanker or the Untiring that they were being ])adly bitten by an unknown belligerent. Like the lady in Tennyson's "Princess," they "mouthed and muml)led" each other in a very perplexing manner, but, of course, 104 THE WILD XORTir LAND. from a cause totally at variance from that which influenced the matron in the poem. These events only occurred, however, when a new dog was added to the train ; and, after a day or so, things got smoothed down, and all tugged at the moose-skin collars in peace- ful unanmiity. But to return. We started from He a la Crosse, and held our way over a chain of lakes and rivers. Eiviere Cruise was passed, Lac Clair lay at sundown far stretching to our right into the blue cold north, and when dusk had come, we were halted for the night in a lonely Indian hut which stood on the shores of the Detroit, fully forty miles from our starting-place of the morning. " A long, hard, cold day ; storm, drift, and desolation. We are lost upon the lake." Such is the entry which meets my eye as I turn to the page of a scanty note-book which records the 22nd of February; and now looking back upon this day, it does not seem to me that the entry exaggerates in its pithy summing up the misery of the day's travel. To i-ecount the events of each day's journey, to give minutely, starting-point, date, dis- tance, and resting-place, is too frequently an error into which travellers are wont to fall. I have read somewhere in a review of a work on African travel, that no literary skill has hitherto been able to enliven the description 105 THE WILD NORTH LAND. of how the traveller left a village o£ dirty negroes in the morning, and struggled through swamps all day, and crossed a river swarming with hippopotami, and approached a Avood where there were elephants, and finally got to another village of dirty negroes in the evening. The reviewer is right; the reiter- ated recital of Arctic cold and hardship, or of African heat and misery, must be as wearisome to the reader as its realization was painful to the writer; but the traveller has one advantage over the reader, the reality of the " storm, drift, and desolation " had the excitement of the very pain which they pro- duced. To be lost in a haze of blinding snow, to have a spur of icy keenness urging one to fresh exertion, to seek with dazed eyes hour after hour for a faint print of snow-shoes or moccasin on the solid surface of a large lake, to see the night approaching and to urge the dogs with whip and voice to fresh exertions, to greater efforts to gain some dis- tant land-point ere night has wrapped the dreary scene in darkness ; all this doled out hour by hour in narrative would be dull indeed. To me the chief excitement lay in the question. Will this trail lead to aught? Will we save daylight to the shore? But to the reader tlie fact is already patent that the trail did lead to something, and that tlie 106 THE WILD XOKTII LAND. night did not iind the travellers still lost on the frozen lake. Neither could the reader enter into the joy with which, after such a day of toil and hard- ships, the traveller sees in the gloom the haven he has sought so long; it may be only a rude cabin with windows cut from the snow-drift or the moose-skin, it may be only a camp-fire in a pine clump, but never- theless the lost wanderer hails Avith a feeling of intense joy the gleam which tells him of a resting place ; and as he stretches his weary limbs on the hut floor or the pine-bush, he laughs and jests over the misfortunes, fatigues, and fears, which but a short hour before were heartsickening enough. It was with feelings such as this that I be- held the lights of Eiviere la Loche station on the night of the 22nd of February; for, through an afternoon of intense cold and blinding drift, we had struggled in vain to keep the track across the Buffalo Lake. The guide had vanished in the drift, and it was only through the exertions of my companion after hours of toil that we were able to regain the track, and reach, late on Saturday even- ing, the warm shelter of the little post; a small, clean room, a bright fire, a good sup- per, an entire twenty-four hours of sleep, and rest in prospect. Is it any woudei- that with 107 THE WILD NORTH LAND. such surroundings the hut at Riviere la Loche seemed a palace? And now each succeeding day carried us further into the great wilderness of the north, over lakes whose dim. shores loomed through the driving snow, and the ragged pines tossed wildly in the wind ; through marsh and muskeg and tangled Avood, and all the'long monotony of dreary savagery which lies on that dim ridge, from whose sides waters roll east to the Bay of Hudson, north to the Frozen Ocean. We reached the Methy Portage, and turned north-west through a long region of worth- less forest. Now and again a wood Cariboo crossed the track ; a marten showed upon a frozen lake ; but no other sign of life Avas visible. The Avhole earth seemed to sleep in savage desolation ; the snow lay deep upon the ground, and slowly we plodded on. To rise at half-past two o'clock a.m., start at four, and plod on until sunset, halting twice for an hour during the day, this was the history of each day's toil. Yet, Avith this long day of Avork, Ave could only travel about tAventy-live miles. In front, along the track, Avent a young Chipewyan Indian ; then came a train of dogs floundering deep in the soft snow ; then the other trains Avound along upon lirmer footing. Cam})-making in the evening in this deej) suow Avas tedious 108 THE WILD NOT{TIT LAND. work. It was hard, too, to hunt up tlu; va- rious dogs iu the small hours of theuiorniug, from their lairs in snow-drift or beneath root of tree ; but some dogs kept uncomfortably close to camp, and I well remember waking one night out of a deep sleep, to find two huge beasts tearing each other to pieces on the top of the buffalo bag in which I lay. After three days of wearisome labour on this summit ridge of the northern continent we reached the edge of a deep glen, 700 feet below the plateau. At the bottom of this valley a small river ran in many curves be- tween high-wooded shores. The sleds bounded rapidly down the steep descent, dogs and loads rolling frequently in a con- fused heap together. Night had fallen when we gained the lower valley, and made a camp in the darkness near the winding river ; the height of land was passed, and the river in the glen was the Clearwater of the Atha- basca. I have before spoken of the life of hard- ship to which the wintering agents of the Hudson's Bay Company are habituated, nor Avas I without some prat^tical knowledge of the subject to which I have alluded. I had now, however, full opportunity of judging the measure of toil contained in the simi)le encomium one often litters in the north, " He is a good traveller. " 109 THE WILD NORTH LAND. Few men have led, even in the liard regions of the north, a life of greater toil than Mr. Roderick Macfarlane. He had left his island home when almost a boy, and in earliest manhood had entered the remote Avilds of the Mackenzie River. For seventeen years he had remained cut off from the outer world ; yet his mind had nev^er permitted itself to sink amidst the oppressive solitudes by which he was surrounded : it rose rather to the level of the vastness and grandeur which Nature wears even in her extreme of desolation. He entered with vigour into the life of toil before him. By no means of a strong con- stitution or frame of body, he nevertheless fought his way to hardiness ; midst cold and darkness and scant living, the natural accom- paniments of remote travel, he traversed the country between the Peel, Mackenzie, and Liard rivers, and pushed his explorations to the hitherto unknown River Anderson. Here, on the borders of the Barren Ground, and far within the Arctic Circle, he founded the most northern and remote of all the trad- ing stations of the Fur Comijany. In mid- winter he visited the shores of the Frozen Ocean, and dwelt with the Esquimaux along the desolate coasts of that bay which bears the name of England's most hapless ex- plorer. Nor was it all a land of desolation to him. 110 THE WILD NOIJTII LAND. Directed by a mind as sanguine as liis own,' he entered warmly into the ])ursuits of nat- ural history, and classed and catalogued the numerous birds Avhich seek in summer these friendless regions, proving in some instances the range of several of the tiniest of the feathered wanderers to reach from Texas to the Arctic shores. All his travels were performed on snow shoes, driving his train of dogs, or beating the track for them in the snow. In a single winter, as I have before mentioned, he passed from the Mackenzie River to the Mississippi, driving the same train of dogs to Fort Garry fully 2,000 miles from his starting-point; and it was early in the following summer, on his return from England after a hasty visit, the first during twenty years, that I made his acquaintance in the American State of Minnesota. He was not only acquainted with all the vicissitudes of northern travel, but his mind was well stored with the his- tory of previous exploration. Chance and the energy of the old North- West Company had accumulated a large store of valuable books in the principal fort on the Mackenzie. These had been carefully studied during periods of inaction, and arctic exploration in 'Tlie late Major Kennicot, U. S. A., who, in charge of tlie United States telegraph exploration, died at Fort Yukon, Alaska. Ill THE WILD NORTH LAND. reality or in narrative was equally familiar to liiiu. '*! would have given my riglit arm to have been allowed to go on one of these search ex- peditions," he often said to me; and per- haps, if those wise and sapient men, who, acting in a corporate or individual capacity, have the power of selection for the Avork of relief or exploration, would only accustom themselves to make choice of such materials, the bones that now dot the sands of King \Yilliam's Land or the estuary of the Great Fish River, might in the flesh yet move amongst us. One night we were camped on a solitary island in the Swan Lake. The camp had been made after sunset, and as the morning's path lay across the lake, over hard snow where no track was necessarj-, it was our in- tention to start on our way long before day- break. In this matter of early starting it is almost always impossible to rely on the In- dian or the half-breed i-oydijenr. They will lie close hid beneath their blankets unless, indeed, the cold should become so intense as to force them to arise and light a fire ; but generally speaking, they will lie huddled so closely together that they can defy the ele- ments, and it becomes no easy matter to arouse them from their pretended slumbers at two or three o'clock of a dead-cold morn- 112 k THE WILD NORTH LAND. ing. My coiupanion, liowever, seemed to be able to live Avithout sleep. At two o'clock he would arise from his deer-skm robe and set the camp astir. I generally got an hour's law until the lire Avas fairly agoing and the tea-kettle had been boiled. No matter Avhat the morning Avas, he never complained. This morning on Swan Lake was bitterly cold — 30° below zero at my head. " Beautiful morning ! " he exclaimed, as I emerged from my buffalo robe at three o'clock ; and he really meant it. I Avas not to be done. " Oh, delightful ! " I managed to chatter forth, Avith a tolerable degree of acquiescence in my voice, a fcAv mental reservations and many bodily ones all over me. But 30° beloAv zero, unaccompanied by wind, is not so bad after all when one is fairly under Aveigh and has rubbed one's nose for a time, and struck the huge "mittained " hands violently together, and run a mile or so ; but let the faintest possible breath of wind arise — a " zephyr " the poets Avould call it, a thing just strong enough to turn smoke or twist the feather Avhich a Avild duck might detach from beneath his Aving as he cleft the air above — then look out, or rather look down, cast the eye so much askant that it can catch a glimpse of the top of the nose, and you Avill see a ghostly sight. 8 113 TFIE WILD NORTH lAND. "We have all heard of hard hearts, and stony eyes, and marble foreheads, alabaster shoulders, snowy nedks, and tirni-set lip, and all the long array of silicious similitudes used to express the various qualities of the human form divine ; but firmer, and colder, and whiter, and harder than all stands forth prominently a frozen nose. A study of frozen noses would be interest- ing; one could work out from it an essay on the admirable fitness of things, and even his- tory read by the light of frozen noses might teach us new theories. The Iloman nose could not have stood an arctic winter, hence the limits of the Eomau empire. The Es- (juimau nose is admirably fitted for the cli- mate in which it breathes, hence the limited nature it assumes. 114 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER XII. The Clearwater — A Bygone Ocean— A Land of Lakes — The Athabasca River — Who is He? — Chipe- wyau Indians — Echo — Major Succumbs at Last — Mai de Raquette. The Clearwater, a river small in a land Avhere rivers are often a mile in width, mean- ders between its lofty wooded hills ; or rather one should say, meanders in the deep valley which it has worn for itself through count- less ages. Ever since the beginning of the fur trade it has been the sole route followed into the North. More practicable routes undoubtedly exist, but hitherto the Long Portage (a ridge dividing the waters of the chain of lakes and rivers we have lately passed from those streams which seek the Arctic Ocean) and the Clearwater River have formed as it were the gateway of the North. This Long Portage, under its various names of La Loche and Methy, is not a bad position from whence to take a bird's-eye view of the Great North. Once upon a time, how long ago one is afraid to say, a great sea rolled over what is U5 THE WILD NORTH LAND. now the central continent. From the Gulf of jMexico to the Arctic Ocean, from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the base of the Rocky Mountains, this ocean has left its trace. It had its shores, and to-day these shores still show the trace of where the restless waves threw their surge upon the earlier earth. To the eye of the geologist the sea-shell, high cast upon some mountain ridge, tells its story of the sea as plainly as the tropic sea-shell, held to the dreamer's ear, whispers its low melody of sounding billow. To the east of this ocean the old earth reared its iron head in those grim masses which we name Laurentian, and which, as though conscious of their hoary age, seem to laugh at the labour of the new comer, man. The waters went down, or the earth went up, it little matters Avhich ; and the river systems of the continent worked their ways into Mother Ocean : the Mississippi south, the St. Lawrence east, the Mackenzie north. But the old Laurentian still remained, and to-day, grim, filled with wild lakes, pine- clad, rugged, almost impassable it lies, spread in savage sleep from Labrador to the Arctic Ocean. At the Methy Portage we are on the west- ern boundary of this Laurentian rock ; from here it runs south-east to Canada, north to the Frozen Ocean. 116 THE WILD NORTH LAND. It is of the region lying between this pri- mary formation and the Rocky Mountains, the region once an ocean, of which we would speak. I have said in an earlier chapter that the continent of British America, from the United States' boundary, slopes to the north-east, the eastern slope terminates at this Portage la Loche, and henceforth the only slope is to the north ; from here to the Frozen Sea, one thousand miles, as wild swan flies, is one long and gradual descent. Three rivers carry the waters of this slope into the Arctic Ocean ; the great Fish River of Sir George Back, at the estuary of which the last of Franklin's gallant crew lay down to die; the Coppermine of Samuel Hearne ; and the Mac- kenzie which tells its discoverer's name. The first two flow through the Barren Grounds, the last drains by numerous tributaries, sev- enteen hundred miles of the Rocky Moun- tains upon both sides of that snow-capped range. All its principal feeders rise beyond the mountains, cutting through the range at riglit angles, through tremendous valleys, the sides of which overhang the gloomy waters. The Liard, the Peel, the Peace rivers, all have their sources to the west of the Rocky Mountains. Even the parent rill of the Great Athabasca is on the Pacific side also. Nov U7 THE WILD NORTH LAND. is this mountain, thus curiously rent in twain by large rivers, a mere ridge, or lofty table- land ; but huge and vast, capped by eternal snow, it lifts its peaks full fifteen thousand feet above the sea level. Many large lakes lie spread over this an- cient sea bottom ; Lake Athabasca, Great Slave, and Great Bear Lake continue across the continent, that great Lacustrine line, which, with Winnipeg, Superior, Huron, and Ontario, forms an aggregate of water surface half as large as Europe. Of other lakes, the country is simply a vast network, beyond all attempt at name or number; of every size, from a hundred yards to a hundred miles in length, they lie midst prairie, or midst forest, lonely and silent, scarce known even to the wild man's ken. And now, having thus imperfectly tried to bring to the reader's mind a vision of this vast North, let us descend from the height of land into the deej) valley of the Clear- water, and like it, hurry onward to the Athabasca. Descending the many-curving Clearwater for one day, we reached, on the last day of February, its junction with the Athabasca, a spot known as the Forks of the Athabasca. The aspect of the country had undergone a complete change ; the dwarf and ragged foi- ua THE WILD NOKTII LAXD. est had given place to loft}- trees, and the white spruce froui a trunk of eight feet in circumference lifted its head fully one hun- dred and fifty feet above the ground. Nor was it only the aspect of the trees that might have induced one to imagine himself in a land of plenty. In the small fort at the Forks, luxuries unseen during many a da}- met the eye ; choice vegetables, the produce of the garden; moose venison, and better than all, the tender steak of the wood buffalo, an animal now growing rare in the North. There was salmon too, and pears and peaches; but these latter luxuries I need hai'dly say were not home ])rodm'e ; they (ame from the ojiposite extremes of Quebec and California. Here, then, in the midst of the wilderness was a veritable Eden. Here was a })lace to cry Halt, to build a hut, and jjass the remainder of one's life. Xo more dog-driving, no more snow-shoes, no smoky camp, no aching feet, no call in midnight; nothing but endless wood buffalo steaks, fried onions, moose moofle, parsnips, fresh buttei-, rest and sleep : alas ! it might not be ; nine hundred miles yet lay between me and the Rocky Mountains; nine hundred miles had still to be travelled, ere the snow had left bare the brown banks of the Peace Iliver. And now our course led straight to the north, down the broad bed of the Athabasca. iiy THE WILD NORTH LAXD. A. river high shored, and many islanded, with long reaches, leagues in length, and lower banks thick Avooded with large forest trees. From bank to bank fully six hundred yards of snoAv lay spread over the rough frozen surface ; and at times, Avhere the prairie plateau approached the river's edge, black bitumen oozed out of the clayey bank, and the scent of tar was strong upon the frosty air. On Sunday, the 2nd of March, we remained for the day in a wood of large pines and pop- lars. Dogs and men enjoyed that day's rest. Many were footsore, some were sick, all were tired. "The Bheel is a black man, and much more hairy; he carries archers in his hand, Avith these he shoots you when he meets you ; he throws your body into a ditch : by this 3'ou will know the Bheel." Such, word for Avord, Avas the written reply of a young Hin- doo at an examuiation of candidates for a Government Office in Bombay a fcAv years ago. The examiners had asked for a de- scription of the hill-tribe known as Bheels, and this Avas the ansAver. It is not on record Avhat number of marks the youtlif ul Brahmin receiA'ed for the information thus lucidly con- veyed, or Avhetlier the examiners Avere desir- ous of making further acquaintance Avitli the Bheel, upon the terms indicated in the cou- 130 THE WILD NOItTII LAND. eluding sentence; but, for some reason or other, the first sight of a veritable Chipewyan Indian brought to my mind the foregoing outline of the Bheel, and I found myself in- sensibly repeating, "The Chipewyan is a red man, and much more hairy." There I stopped, for he did not carry archers in his hand, nor proceed in the somewhat abrupt and discourteous manner which characterized the conduct of the Bheel. And here, per- haps, it will be necessary to say a few words about the wild man who dwells in this North- ern Land. A great deal has been said and written about the wild man of America. The white man during many years has lectured upon him, written learned essays upon him, pliien- ologically i)roved him tliis, chronologically demonstrated him that, ethnologically as- serted him to be the tother! I am not sure that the conchologists even have not thrown a shell at him, and most clearly shown tliat he was a conglomerate of this, that, and tother all combined. They began to dissect him very early. One Hugh Grotius had much to say about him a long time ago. Another Jean de Lent also descanted upon him, and so far back as the year of grace 1050, one Thorogood (what a glimpse the date gives of the name and the ih'une of the date I) composed a godly treatise' entitled " Jewa 121 THE WILD NORTH LAXD. ill America, or a probability that Americans are of that race." Perhaps, if good jVIaster Thorogood was in the flesh to-day he might, arguing from certain little dealings in bound- ary cases, consequential claims and so forth, prove incontestably that modern American statesmen were of that race too. But to pro- ceed. This question of the red man's origin has not yet been solved ; the doctors are still disputing about him. One professor has gotten hold of a skull delved from the pre- sumed site of ancient Atazlan, and by the most careful measurements of the said skull has proceeded to show that because one skull measures in circumference the hundredth and seventy-seventh decimal of an inch more than it ought, it must of necessity be of the black- amoor type of headpiece. Another equally learned professor, pos- sessed of another equally curious skull (of course on shelf not on shoulders), has unfor- tunately come to conclusions directly oppo- site, and incontestably proven from careful occii)ital measurements that the tpye is Mon- golian. ^Yhile thus the doctors differ as to what he is, or who he is, or Avhence he came, the farce of theory changes to the stern tragedy of fact ; and over the broad prairie, and ui)on the cloud-capped mountain, and northwards in t,\\e gloomy pijie-forest, the red man 133 THE "WILD NOirni LAND. withers and dies out before our gaze ; soon they will have nothing but the skulls to lec- ture upon. From the Long Portage which we have but lately crossed, to the barren shores where dwell the Esquimaux of the coasts, a family of cognate tribes inhabit the continent ; from east to west the limits of this race are even more extensive. They are found at Churchill, on Hudson's Bay, and 9t Fort Simpson, on the rugged coast of New Caledonia. But stranger still, far down in Arizona and Mex- ico, even as far south as Nicaragua, the gut- tural language of the Chipewyan race is still heard, and the wild Navajo ami fierce Apache horseman of the Mexican i)lains are kindred races with the distant fur-hunters of the North. Of all the many ramifications of In- dian race, this is perhaps the most extraordi- nary. Through what vicissitudes of war and time, an offshoot from the shores of Atha- basca wandered down into Mexico, while a hundred fierce, foreign. Avarlike tribes occu- pied the immense intervening distance, is more than human conjecture can determine. To the east of the Eocky Mountains these races call themselves **Tinneh," a name which signifies "People," with that sublim- ity of ignorance which makes most savage people imagine themselves the sole proprie- tors of the earth. Many subdivisions exist 12ii THE WILD NORTH LAN^D. among them ; these are the Copper Indians, and the Dog Eibs of the Barren Grounds; the Loucheux or Kutchins, a fierce tribe on the Upper Yukon ; the Yellow Knives, Hares, Nehanies, Sickanies, and Dahas of the IMountains and the IMackenzie River ; the Slaves of the Great Slave Lake ; the Chip- ewyans of Lake Athabasca and Portage la Loche, the Beavers of the Peace River. \yest of the Rocky Mountains, the Car- riers, still a branch of the Chipewyan stock, intermingle with the numerous Atnah races of the coast. On the North Saskatchewan, a small wild tribe called the Surcees also springs from this great family, and as we have already said, nearly three thousand miles far down in the tropic plains of Old ]\Iexico, the harsh, stuttering " tch " accent grates upon the ear. Spread over such a vast extent of country it may be supposed they vary much in physiognomy. Bravery in men and l^eauty in women are said to go hand in hand. Of the courage of the Chi[)ewyan men I shall say nothhig; of the beauty of the women I shall say something. To assert that they are very plain would not be true ; they are undeniably uglv. Some of the young ones are very fat ; all of the old ones are very thin. INIany of the faces are pear-shaped ; narrow foreheads, wide cheeks, snuill deep-set fat eyes. Xhe type is said to be Mongolian, and 124 THE AVILF) NORTH LAND. if so, the Mongolians sliould change tlieir type as soon as i)ossible. Several of the men wear sickly-looking monstaches, and short, pointed chin tufts; the hair, coarse and matted, is worn long. The children look like rolls of fat, half melted on the outside. Their general employment seems to be eating moose meat, when they are not engaged in deriving nourishment from the maternal bosom. This last occupation is protracted to an ad- vanced age of childhood, a circumstance which probably arises from the fact that the new-born infant receives no nourishment from its mother for four days after its birth, in order that it shall in after life be able to stand the pangs of hunger; but the infant mind is no doubt conscious itself that it is being robbed of its just rights, and endeav- ours to make up for lost time by this post- ponement of the age of weaning. This description does not hold good of the Beaver Indians of Peace River; many of them, men and women, are good-looking enough, but of them more anon. All these tribes are excellent hunters. The moose in the south and Avooded country, the reindeer in the barren lands, ducks and geese in vast numbers during the summer, and, generally speaking, inexhaustible fish in the lakes yield them their means of living. 125 THE WILD NORTH LAND. At times, one prodigious feast; again, a period of starvation. For a time living on moose nose, or buffalo tongue, or daintiest tit-bit of lake and for- est ; and then glad to get a scrap of dry meat, or a putrid fish to satisfy the cravings of their hunger. While the meat lasts, life is a long dinner. The child just able to crawl is seen Avith one hand holding the end of a piece of meat, the other of which is held between the teeth ; while the right hand Avields a knife a foot in length, with which it saws steadily, between lips and fingers, until the mouthful is detached. How the nose escapes amputation is a mystery I have never heard explained. A few tents of Chipewyans were pitched along the shores of the Athabasca River, when we descended that stream. They had long been expecting the return of my com- panion, to whose arrival they looked as the means of supplying them with percussion gun-caps, that article having been almost ex- hausted among them. Knowing the hours at which he was wont to travel they had marked their camping- places on the wooded shores, by planting a line of branches in the snow across the river from one side to the other. Thus even at night it would have been impossible to pass their tents Avithout noticing the line of marks. The tents inside or out always pre- 136 THE WILD NORTH LAND. sented the same spoetacle. l^atte red-looking dogs of all ages sunouiided the dwelling- place. In the trees or on a stage, meat, snow-shoes, and dog sleds, lay sale from canine ravage. Inside, some ten or twelve people congregated around a bright lire burn- ing in the centre. The lodge was usually large, requiring a dozen moose skins in its construction. Quantities of moose or buffalo meat, cut into slices, hung to dry in the upper smoke. The inevitable puppy dog playing with a stick ; the fat, greasy child pinching the puppy dog, drinking on all fours out of a tin pan, or sawing away at a bit of meat; and the women, old or young, cooking or nursing with a naivete which Rubens w^ould have delighted in. All these made up a Chipewyan "Interior," such as it appeared wherever we halted in our march, and leaving our dogs upon the river, went up into the tree-covered shore to where the tents stood pitched. Anxious to learn the amount of game de- stroyed by a good hunter in a season, I caused one of the men to ask Chripo what he had killed. Chripo counted for a time on his fin- gers, and then informed us that since the snow fell he had killed ten Avood buffalo and twenty-five moose ; in other Avords, about seventeen thousand pounds of meat, dui-ing four months. But of this a large quantity 137 THE WILD NORTH LAND. went to tlie Hudson's Bay Fort, at the Forks of the Athaljasea. The night of the 4th of March found us camped in a higli wood, at a point where a " cache " of provisions had been made for ourselves and our dogs. More than a fort- night earlier these provisions had been sent from Fort Chipewyan, on Lake Athabasca, and had been deposited in tlie " cache " to await my companion's arrival. A bag of fish for the dogs, a small i^acket of letters, and a bag of good things for the master swung from a large tripod close to the shore. Some of these things were very necessary, all were welcome, and after a choice supper we turned in for the night. At four o'clock next morning we were off. My friend led the march, and the day Avas to be a long one. For four hours we held on, and by an hour after sunrise we had reached a hut, where dwelt a Chipewyan named Echo. The house was deserted, and if anybody had felt inclined to ask. Where had Echo gone to? Echo was not there to answer where. Nobody, however, felt dis- posed to ask the question, but in lieu thereof dinner Avas being liastily got ready in Echo's abandoned fireplace. Dinner? Yes, onr first dinner took place usually between seven and eight o'clock a.m. Nor were appetites ever wanting at that hour either. 128 THE WILD NOIJTIT [.AND. Various iuisl)aiis, of l)vok(Mi sjiow-slioo.s and broken-down dog, had retarded my i)rogress on this morning, and l)y the time the leading train had reached Echo's I was far behind. One of my dogs had totally given out, not Cerf-vola, but the He a la Crosse dog " Major." Poor brute ! he had suddenly lain down, and refused to move. He was a willing, good hauler, generally barking vociferously when- ever any impediment in front detained the trains. I saw at once it was useless to coerce him after his first break-down, so there was nothing for it but to take him from the har- ness and hurry on with the other three dogs as best I could. Of the old train which had shared my fortunes ever since that now dis- tant day in the storm, on the Red River steam-boat, two yet remained to me. Pony had succumbed at the Riviere la Loche, and had been left behind at that sta- tion, to revel in an abundance of white fish. The last sight I got of him was suggestive of his character. He v/as careering Avildly across the river with a huge stolen white fish in his Jiiouth, pursued by two men and half- a-dozen dogs, vainly attempting to recapture the purloined property. Another dog, named " Sans Pareil," had taken his place, and thus far we had " marched on in the bowels of the land without impediment." From the day after my departure from He 9 129 THE WILD NORTH LAND. a la Crosse I had regularly used snow-shoes, and now I seldom sought the respite of the sled, but trudged along behind the dogs. For I well knew that it was only by sparing my dogs thus that I could hope to carry them the immense distance I purposed to travel; and I was also aware that a time might come when, in the many vicissitudes of snow travel, I would be unable to walk, and have to depend altogether on my train for means of movement. So, as day by day the snow-shoe became easier, I had tramped along, until now, on this 5th of March, I could look back at night three hundred miles of steady walking. Our meal at Echo's over we set out again. Another four hours passed without a halt, and another sixteen or seventeen miles lay behind us. Then came the second dinner — cakes, tea, and sweet pemmican ; and away we went once more upon the river. The day was cold, but line ; the dogs trotted well, and the pace was faster than before. Two In- dians had started ahead to hurry on to a spot, indicated by my companion, where they Avere to make ready the cam}), and await our arrival. Night fell, and found us still upon the river. A bright moon silvered the snow ; we pushed along, but the dogs were now tired, all, save my train, which having only blankets, guns, 1:50 THE WILD NORTH LAND. and a few articles to carry, went still as gamely as ever. At sundown our baggage sleds were far to the rear. My companion driving a Avell-loaded sled led the way, while I kept close behind him. For four hours after dark we held steadily on; the night was still, but very cold; the moon showed us the track ; dogs and men seemed to go forward from the mere impulse of progression. I had been tired hours be- fore, and had got over it ; not half-tired, but regularly weary ; and yet somehow or other the feeling of weariness had passed away, and one stepped forward upon the snow-shoe by a mechanical effort that seemed destitute of sense or feeling. At last we left the river, and ascended a steep bank to the left, passing iiito the shadow of gigantic pines. Between their giant trunks the moon-light slanted ; and the snow, piled liigh on forest wreck, glowed lustrous in the fretted light. A couple of miles more brought us suddenly to the welcome glare of firelight, and at ten o'clock at night we reached the blazing camp. Eighteen hours earlier Ave had started for the day's march, and only during two hours had we halted on the road. We had, in fact, marched steadily during sixteen hours, twelve of Avhich had been at rapid pace. The distance run that day is unmeasured, and is likely to remain so for 131 THE WILD NORTH LAND. many a da}' ; but at the most moderate esti- mate it would not have been less than lifty- six miles. It was the longest day's march I ever made, and I had cause long to remember it, for on arising at daybreak next morning I was stiff with IVIal de Raquette. In the North, ]\tal de Eaquette or no Mai de Raquette, one must march ; sick or sore, or blistered, the traveller must frequently still push on. Where all is a wilderness, progression frequently means preservation ; and delay is tantamount to death. In our case, however, no such necessity existed ; but as we were only some twenty- five miles distant from the great central dis- tributing point of the Northern Fur Trade, it was advisable to reach it without delay. Once again we set out : debouching from the forest we entered a large marsh. Soon a lake, with low-lying shores, spread before us. Another marsh, another frozen river, and at last, avast lake opened out upon our gaze. Islands, rocky, and clothed with pine-trees, rose from the snowy surface. To the east, nothing but a vast expanse of ice-covered sea, with a blue, cold sky-line; to the north, a shore of rocks and hills, wind-swept, and part covered with dwarf firs, and on the ris- ing shore, the clustered buildings of a large fort, with a red flag flying above them in the cold n(jrth l^last. 133 THE WILD NORTH LAND. The "lake " was Athabasca, the " clustered buildnigs " Fort Chipewyan, and the Flag — well; we all know it; but it is only when the wanderer's eye meets it in some lone spot like this that he turns to it, as the emblem of a Home Avhich distance has shrined deeper in his heart. 183 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER XIII. Lake Athabasca — Northern Lights — Chipewyan — The Real Workers of the World. Athabasca, or more correctly "Arabas- cow," "The Meeting-place of many Waters," is a large lake. At this fort of Chipewyan we stand near its western end. Two hundred miles away to the east, its lonely waters still lave against the granite rocks. Whatever may be the work to which he turns hand or brain, an Indian seldom errs. If he names a lake or fashions a piece of bark to sail its waters, both Avill fit the work for which they were intended. " The meeting-place of many waters " tells the story of Athabasca. In its bosom many rivers unite their currents; and from its north-western rim pours the Slave River, the true Mackenzie. Its first English dis- coverer called it the " Lake of the Hills ; " a more appropriate title would have been " The Lake of the \Vinds, " for fierce and wild the storms sweep over its waves. Over the Lake Athabasca the Northern Lights hold their highest revels. They flash, and dance, and stream, and intermingle, and 134 THE WILD N()Kt:i land. wave together their many colours like the shapes and hues of a kaleidoscope. Some- times the long columns of light seem to rest upon the silent, frozen shores, stretching out their rose-tipped tops to toucli the zenith; again the lines of liglit traverse the sky from east to west as a hand might sweep the chords of some vast harp, and from its touch would flow liglit instead of music. So quickly run the colours along these shafts, that the ear listens instinctively for sound in the deep stillness of the frozen solitude ; but sound I have never heard. Many a time I have listened breathless to catch the faint- est whisper of these wondrous lightnings ; they were mute as the waste that lay around me. Figures convey but a poor idea of cold, yet they are the only means we have, and by a comparison of figures some persons, at least, will understand the cold of an Atha- bascan winter. The citadel of Quebec has the reputation of being a cold winter resi- dence ; its mean temperature for the month of January is 11° 7' Fahr. The mean tem- perature of the month of January, 1844, at Fort Chipewyan, was 22° 74', or nearly .30° colder, and during the preceding month of December the wind blew with a total pressure of one thousand one hundred and sixty pounds to the square foot. 135 THE WILD NORTH LAND. It is perhaps needless to say more about the rigour of an Athabascan winter. As it is the "meeting-place of many- waters " so also is it the meeting-place of many systems. Silurian and Devonian ap- proach it from the west. Laurentian still holds five-sixths of its waters in the same gras]) as when what is now Athabasca lay a deep fiord along the ancient ocean shore. The old rock caught it to his rough heart then, and when in later ages the fickle waves which so long had kissed his lijis left him stern and lonely, he still held the clear, cold lake to his iron bosom. Athabasca may be said to mark also the limits of some great divisions of the animal kingdom. The reindeer and that most cu- rious relic of an older time, the musk ox, come down near its north-eastern shores, for there that bleak region known as the " Bar- ren Grounds" is but a few miles distant. These animals never pass to the southern end of the lake ; the Cariboo, or reindeer of the woods, being a distinct species from that which inhabits the treeless waste. The wood buffalo and the moose are yet numerous on the north-west and south-west shores: but of these we shall have more to say anon. All through the summer, from early ^Lay to mid-October, the shores of the lake swarm with wild geese, and the twilight midsummer 136 THE WILD NORTH LAND. miduiglit is filled with the harsh sounds of the cries of the snow goose, or the " wavy " flying low over their favourite waters. In early days Chipewyan was an important centre of the fur trade, and in later times it has been made the starting-point of many of the exploratory i)arties to the northern coast. From Old Fort Chii)ewyan Mackenzie set forth to explore the great northern river, and to the same place he returned when first of all men north of the 40th parallel he had crossed in the summers of 1792-93 the con- tinent to the Pacific Ocean. It was from New Fort Chipewyan that Simpson set out to trace the coast-line of the Arctic Ocean ; and earlier than either, it was from Fond du Lac, at the eastern end of Fort Athabasca, that Samuel Hearne wan- dered forth to reach the Arctic Sea. To-day it is useful to recall these stray items of adventure from the past in which they lie buried. It has been said by some one that a " nation can not be saved by a cal- culation ; " neither can she be made by one. If to-day we are what we are, it is because a thousand men in bygone times did not stop to count the cost. The decline of a nation differs from that of an individual in the first symptoms of its decay. The heart of the nation goes first, the extremities still remain vigorous. France, with many a gallant soul 137 THE WILD NORTH LAND. striking hard for her in the Carnatic or in Canada, sickens in the pomp and luxury of Versailles, and as nothing to offer to her heroes but forgetfulness, debt, or the rack. Her colonial history was one long tissue of ingratitude. ]^>iencourt, De Chastes, Varrene de la Yer- endrie, or Lally might fight and toil and die, what cared the selfish heart of old France? The order of St. Louis long denied, and 40,000 livres of debt rewarded the discovery of the Rocky Mountains. Frenchmen gave to France a continent. France thought little of the gift, and fate took it back again. History sometimes repeats itself. There is a younger if not a greater Britain waiting quietly to reap the harvest of her mother's mistakes. But to Chipewyan. It is emphatically a lonely spot; in summer the cry of the wild bird keeps time to the lajjping of the wave on the rocky shore, or the pine islands rustle in the western breeze ; nothing else moves over these 8,000 square miles of crystal water. Now and again at long intervals the beautiful canoe of a Chij^ewyan glides along the bay-indented shores, or crosses some traverse in the open lake. AYhen Samuel Hearne first looked upon the "Arabascow," buffalo were very numerous along its southern shore, to-day they are 138 THE WILD NORTH LAND. scarce; all else rests as then in untamed di'so- lation. At times this west end of the lake has been the scene of strange excitements. Men came from afar and pitched their tents awhile on these granite shores, ere they struck deeper into the heart of the great north. Mackenzie, Franklin, Back, Richardson, Simpson, Rae, rested here; ere piercing further into unknown wilds, they flew the red-cross flag o'er seas and isles upon whose shores no human foot had pressed a sand- print. Eight hundred thousand pounds sunk in the Arctic Sea! will exclaim my calculating friend behind the national counter; nearly a million gone for ever! Ko, head cash- keeper, you are wrong. That million of money will bear interest higher than all your little speculations in times not far remote, and in times lying deep in the misty future. In hours when life and honour lie at differ- ent sides of the "to do " or "'not to do," men will go back to times when other men bat- tling Avith nature or with man, cast their vote on the side of honour, and by the white light thrown into the future from the great dead Past, they will read their roads where many paths commingle. 139 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER XIV. A Hudson's Baj' Fort — It Comes at Last — News from the Outside World — Tame and Wild Savages — Lac Clair — A Treacherous Deed— Harper. The term " Fort " which so frequently oc- curs in these pages may perhaps convey an erroneous impression to the reader's mind. An imjjosing array of rampart and bastion, a loop-holed wall or formidable fortalice may arise before his mind's eye as he reads the oft-recurring word. Built generally upon the lower bank of a large river or lake, but sometimes perched upon the loftier outer bank, stands the Hudson's Bay Fort. A square palisade, ten to twenty feet high, sur- rounds the buildings ; in the prairie region this defence is stout and lofty, but in the wooded country it is frequently dispensed with altogether. Inside the stockade some half-dozen houses are grouped together in square or oblong form. The house of the Bourgeois and Clerks, the store wherein are kept the blank- ets, coloured cloths, guns, ammunition, bright handkerchiefs, ribbons, beads, &c., the sta- X40 TITE WILD NORTH LAND. l)le cominoditit's of tlio Indian trade; another store for furs and peltries, a building from the beams of wliicli hang mj'riads of skins worth many a gold piece in the marts of far-away London city ; — martens and minks, and dark otters, fishes and black foxes, to say nothing of bears and beavers, and a host of less valuable furs. Then came the houses of the men. Lounging at the gate, or on the shore in front, one sees a half-breed in tasselated cap, or a group of Indians in blanket robes or dirty white capotes; everybody is smoking; the pointed poles of a wigwam or two rise on either side of the outer palisades, and over all there is the tapering flag-staff. A horse is in the distant river meadow. Around the great silent hills stand bare, or fringed with jagged pine tops, and some few hundred yards away on either side, a rude cross or wooden railing blown over by the tempest, discoloured by rain or snow-drift, marks the lonely resting-place of the dead. Wild, desolate and remote are these iso- lated trading spots, yet it is diflicult to de- scribe the feelings Avith which one beholds them across some ice-bound lake, or silent river as the dog trains wind slowly amidst the snow. Coming in from the wilderness, from the wrack of tempest, and the bitter cold, wearied with long marches, foot-sore or 141 THE WILD NORTH LAND. frozen^ one looks upon the wooden liou.se as some palace of rest and contentment. I doubt if it be possible to know more acute comfort, for its measure is exactly the measure of that other extremity of discomfort which excessive cold and hardship have car- ried with them. Nor does that feeling of home and contentment lose aught for want of a welcome at the threshold of the lonely rest- ing-place. Nothing is held too good for the wayfarer ; the best bed and the best supper are his. He has, perhaps, brought letters or messages irona long absent friends, or he comes with news of the outside world; but be he the bearer of such things, or only the chance carrier of his own fortunes, he is still a welcome visitor to the Hudson's Bay Fort. Three days passed away in rest, peace, and plenty. It was nearing the time when another start would be necessary, for after all, this Athabascan Fort was scarce a half- way house in my winter journey. The ques- tion of departure was not of itself of conse- quence, but the prospect of leaving for a long sojourn in deep solitudes, without one word of news from the outside world, with- out that winter packet to which we had all looked so long, was something more than a mere disap])ointment. All this time we had been travelling in ad- vance of the winter packet, and as our track 142 THE WILD NOHTII LAND. left a sinootli road for wliatevcr niiglit suf- ceed us, wc reckoned U}»oii being overtaken at some i)oint of the journey by the faster travelling express. Such had not been the case, and now three days had passed since our arrival without a sign of an in-coming dog-train darkening the expanse of the frozen lake. The morning of the 9th of March, however, brought a change. Far away in the hazy drift and "poudre " which hung low upon the surface of the lake, the figures of two men and one sled of dogs became faintly visi- ble. "Was it only Antoine Tarungeau, a soli- tary " Freeman " from the Quatre Fourche, going like a good Christian to his prayers at the French Mission? Or was it the much- wished-for packet? It soon declared itself; the dogs were steer- ing for the fort, and not for the mission. Tarungeau might be an indifferent church member, Ijut had the whole college of cardi- nals been lodged at Chipcwyan they must have rejoiced that it was not Tarungeau going to mass, and that it was the winter packet coming to the fort. What reading we had on that Sunday afternoon! News from the far-off busy world ; letters from the far-off quiet home ; tidings of great men passed away from the earth ; glad news and sorry news, borne 143 THE WILD NORTH LAND. through months of toil 1,500 miles over the winter waste. And now came a short busy time at the fort. A redistribution of the packet had to be made. On to the north went a train of dogs for the distant Yukon ; on to the west went a train of dogs for the head of the Peace River. In three days more I made ready to resume my journey up the Peace River. Once more the sleds were packed, once more the Untiring Cerf-vola took his place in the leading harness, and the word " march " was given. This time I was to be alone. My good friend, whose unvarying kindness had made an acquaintanceship of a few weeks ripen into a friendship destined I trust to endure for many years, was no longer to be my com- panion. He came, in company with another officer, some miles of the way, to see me off; and then at the Quatre Fourche we parted, he to return to his lonely fort, I to follow across the wide-spreading Lake Mamoway the long trail to the setting sun. If the life of the wanderer possesses many moments of keen enjoyment, so also has it its times of intense loneliness; times when no excitement is near to raise tlie spirits, no toil to render thought impossible ; nothing but a dreary, hopeless prospect of lal our, 144 THE WILD NOIJTFI LAND. Avhioh takes day aftor day some little ]iovtioii f'foiii that realm of space lying l)efoie liiiii, only to cast it to augment tiiat other dim laud of separation which lies behind him. Honest Joe Gargery never with his black- smith hand nailed a sadder truth upon the wheel of time, than when he defined life to be made up of " partings welded together." But in civilization generally when we part we either look forward to meeting again at some not remote period, or we have so many varied occupations, or so many friends around us, that if the partings are welded together, so also are the meetings. In the lone spaces it is different. The end- less landscape, the monotony of slow travel, the dim vision of what lies before, seen only in the light of that other dim prospect lying behind ; lakes, rivers, plains, forests, all hushed in the savage sleep of winter ; — these things bring to the wanderer's mind a sense of loneliness almost as vast as the waste which lies around him. On the evening of the 12th of March I camped alone in the wilderness. Far as eye could reach, on every side, there lay nothing but hard, drifted snow, and from its surface a few scant willows raised their dry leafless saplings. True, three or four men were busy scraping the deep snow from the lee side of some low willow buslies, but they were alien 10 145 THE WILD NORTH LAND. in every thought and feeling; and we were separated l^y a gulf iinpo.ssil)le to bridge: so that I was virtually alone. I will not say on whose side the fault la}-, and possibly the admission may only prove a congeniality of feeling between myself and my train ; but, for all that, I felt a far stronger tie of com- panionship with the dogs that drew my load, than for the men with whom I now found myself in company. They were by no means wild; far from it, they Avere eminently tame. One of them was a scoundrel of a very low type, as some of his actions will hereafter show. In him the wild animal had been long since destroyed, the tame brute had taken its place. The man who had been my servant from the Saskatchewan was a French half-breed ; strong, active, and handsome, he was still a sulky, good-for-nothhig fellow. One might as well have tried to make friends Avith a tish to which one cast a worm, as with this good- looking, good-for-nothing man. He had depth sufficient to tell a lie which might wear the semblance of truth for a day ; and cunning enough to cheat without being caught in the actual fact. I think he was the most impudent liar I have ever met. The motive Avhich had induced him to accept service in this long journey was, I believe, a domestic one. He had run away with a young English 146 THE WILD NORTH LAND. half-breed girl, and tlien ran away from her. If she had only known the object of her affections as well as I did, she wonld have regarded the last feat of activity as a far less serious evil than the first. The third man was a Swampy Indian of the class one frequently meets in the English- speaking settlement on Red River. Taken by himself, he was negatively good; but placed with others worse than himself, he was positively bad. He was, however, a fair traveller, and used his dogs with a degree of care and attention seldom seen amongst the half-breeds. Small wonder, then, that with these three worthies who, though strangers, now met upon a base of common rascality, that I should feel myself more completely alone than if nothing but tlie waste had spread around me. Full thirty days of travel must elapse ere the mountains, that great break to which I looked so long, should raise their snowy peaks across my pathway. The lameness of the last day's travel al- ready gave ominous symptoms of its presence. The snow was deeper than I had yet seen it ; heretofore, at the longest, the forts lay within five days' journey of each other; now there was one gap in which, from one post to the next, must, at the shortest, be a twelve days' journey. 147 THE WILD NORTH LAND. At dawn, on the 13th of jNIareh, we quitted our burrow in the deej) drift of the willow bushes, and held our Avay across what was seemingly a shoreless sea. The last sand ridge or island top of Lake Athabasca had sunk beneath the horizon, and as the sun came up, flashing coldly upon the level desert of snow, there lay around us nought but the dazzling surface of the frozen lake. Lac Clair, the scene of our present day's journey, is in reality an arm of the Atha- basca. Nothing but a formation of mud and drift, submerged at high summer water, sepa- rated it from the larger lake ; but its shores vary much from those of its neighbour, being everywhere low and marshy, lined with scant willows and destitute of larger timber. Of its south-western termination but little is known, but it is said to extend in that direc- tion from the Athabasca for fully seventy miles into the Birch Hills. Its breadth from north to south would be about half that distance. It is subject to violent winter storms, accompanied by dense drift; and from the scarcity of wood along its shores, and the absence of distinguishing landmarks, it is much dreaded by the winter voyagnur. The prevailing north-east wind of the Lake Athabasca has in fact the full sweep of 250 miles across Lac Clair. To lose one's way 148 THE WILD NORTH LAND. upon it would appear to be the first rule of travel amongst the trip-men of Fort Chipe- wyan. The last adventure of this kind wliich had taken place on its dim expanse had nearly a tragic end. On the southern shore of the lake three moose had been killed. When the tidings reached the fort, two men and two sleds of dogs set off for the " cache ; " it was safely found, the meat packed upon the sleds, and all made ready for the return. Then came the usual storm: dense and dark the line snow (dry as dust under the biting cold) swept the surface of the lake. The sun, which on one of these " poudre " days in the North seems to exert as much influence upon the war of cold and storm as some good bishop in the ^Middle Ages was Avont to exer- cise over the belligerents at Cressy or Poic- tiers, when, as it is stated, " He withdrew to a neighbouring eminence, and there remained during the combat;" — the sun, I say, for a time, seemed to protest, by his presence, against the whole thing, but then finding all protests ecpially disregarded by the wind and cold, he muffled himself up in the nearest cloud and went fast asleep until the fight was over. For a time the men held their Avay across the lake ; then the dogs became bewildered ; the leading driver turned to his companion. THE WILD NORTH LAN'D. and telling him to drive both trains, he strode on. in front of his dogs to give a " lead " in the storm. Driving two trains of loaded dogs is hard work; the second driver could not keep up, and the man in front deliberately increasing his pace walked steadily away, leaving his comrade to the mercies of cold and drift. He did this coward act Avith the knowledge that his com})anion had only three matches in his possession, he having induced him to give up the rest to Indians wliom they had fallen in with. The man thus abandoned on the dreaded lake was a young Hudson's Kay clerk, by no means habituated to the hardships of such a situation. But it requires little previous ex- perience to know when one is lost. The dogs soon began to wander, and finally headed for where their instinct told them lay the shore. When they reached the shore night had fallen, the wind liad gone down, but still the cold was intense ; it was the close of January, the coldest time of the year, when 80'^ of frost is no unusual (jccur- rence. At such a time it was no easy matter to light a fire ; the numbed, senseless hands cannot find strength to strike a match ; and many a time had I seen a hardy roydyi'iir fail in his first attempts w\i\\ the driest wood, and with full daylight to assist him. loO THE AVILT) ^'()I^TII LA^^D. , liut what cluuice liad tlu' iiicxjit'iicMirefl liaiid, witli scant willow sticks for fuel and darkness to deceive him? His wood was ])artly green, and one by one his three matches Hashed, flickered, and died out. No fire, no food — alone somewliere on Lac Clair in 40'^ to 50^ below zero ! It was an ugly prospect. "\Vrap])ing himself in a l)lan- ket, he got a dog at his feet and lay down. "With daylight he was np, and putting the dogs into harness set out; but he knew not the landmarks, and he steered heedless of direction. He came at last to a spring of open water; it was highly charged with sul- phur, and hence its resistance to the cold f)f winter. Though it was nauseous to the taste he drank deeply of it; no other spring of water existed in all the wide circle of the lake. For four days the wretched man remained at this place ; his sole hope lay in the chance tliat men would come to look for liim from the fort, but ere that would come about a single night might suffice to terminate his existence. These bad nights are bad enough when we have all that food and fuel can do. Men lose their fingers or their toes sometimes in the hours of wintry daylight, but here fire there was none, and food without fire was not t-o be liad. The meat upon the sled had 151 THE WILD NORTH LAND. frozen almost as solid as the stoue of a quarry. He still hoped for relief, but had he known of the conduct of the ruffian whose desertion had thus brought him to his misery his hope would have been a faint one. On the day following his desertion, the deserter appeared at the Quatre Fourche ; he pretended to be astounded that his comrade had not turned up. On the same evening he reached Fort Chipewyau : he told a plausible story of having left his companion smoking near a certain spot on the north side of the lake ; on his return to the spot the sleds were gone, and. he at once concluded they had headed for home. Such was his tale< A search expedition was at once despatched, but acting under the direction of the scoundrel Harper no trace of the lost man could be found. No wonder! for the scene of his desertion lay many miles away to the south, but the villain wished to give time for cold and hun- ger to do their work ; not for any gratification of hatred or revenge towards his late com- rade, but simply because " dead men tell no tales." Upon the return of this unsuccessful expedition suspicions were aroused ; the man was besought to tell the truth, all would be forgiven him if he now confessed where it was he had left his companion. lie gtill 15» THE WILD NORTH LAND. however asserted that he had left him on the shore of the lake at a spot marked by a single willow. Again a search party goes out, but this time under experienced leadership, and totally disregarding the story of the deserter. Far down, near the south shore of the lake, tlie quick eye of a French half-breed cauglit tlie faint print of a snow-shoe edge on the liard drifted surface ; he followed the clue — another print — and then another; — soon the shore was reached, and the impress of a hu- man form found among the willows. Never doubting for an instant that the next sight would be the frozen body of the man they sought for (since the fireless camp- ing-place showed that he was without tlie means of making a fire), the searchers went along. They reached the Sulphur Sj)ring, and tliere, cold, hungry, but safe, sat the ob- ject of their search. Five days had passed, yet he had not frozen ! If I wished to learn more of the deserter Harper, I had ample opportuntiy of doiug so. His villainous face formed a prominent object at my camp fire. He was now tlie packet bearer to Fort Vermilion on the Peace River ; he was one of the Avorthies I have al- ready sjioken of. We crossed Lac Clair at a rapid pace, and reached at dusk the nortli-western shore; of course we had lost ourselves; but tlie evening 153 THE WILD NORTH LAND was calm and clear, and the error was set right by a two-hours' additional march. It was piercingly cold when, some time after dark, the shore was gained ; but wood was found by the yellow light of a full moon, and a good camp made on a swampy island. From here our path lay through the woods and ridges nearly due Avest again. On the fourth day after leaving Fort Chip- ewyau we gained a sandy ridge covered Avitli cypress, and saw beneath us a far-stretching valley ; beyond, in the distance to north and west, the blue ridges of the Cariboo Moun- tains closed the prospect. In the valley a broad river lay in long sweeping curves from west to east. We were on the banks of the I'eace Eiver. 154 THE AVILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER XV. The Peace River — Volcanos — M. J(!an Batiste 8t. Cyr — Half a Ijoaf is Better tiiaii No ]5rea(l — An Oasis iu the Desert — Tecumseh and Black Hawk. It is possible that the majority of my readers have never heard of the Peace River. The British empire is a large one, and Brit- ons can get on very well without knowing much of any river, excepting perhaps the Thames, a knowledge of which, until lately, Londoners easily obtained by the simple pro- cess of smelling. Britannia it is well known rules the waves, and it would be ridiculous to expect rulers to bother themselves much about the things which they rule. Per- chance, in a score of years or so, Avhen our lively cousins bring forth their little Alaska Boundary question, as they have already brought forth their Oregon, Maine, and Sau Juan boundary questions, Ave may jiay the Emperor of Morocco, or some equally enlight- ened potentate, the compliment of asking him to tell us whether the Peace River has always been a portion of the British em})ire? ov whether we knew the meaning of our own language when we framed the treaty of 1825'(' 105 THE ^YILD NORTH LAND. Until then, the Peace River may rest in the limbo of obscurity; and in any case, no mat- ter who should claim it, its very name must indicate that it was never considered worth fighting about. Nevertheless the Peace Eiver is a large stream of water, and some time or other may be worth fighting for too. Meantime we will have something to say about it. Like most of the streams which form the headwaters of the great Mackenzie Eiver sys- tem, the Peace River has its sources west of the Chipewyan or Rocky Mountains. Its principal branch springs from a wild region called the Stickeen, an alpine land almost wholly unknown. There at a presumed ele- vation of 6,000 feet above the sea level, amidst a vast variety of mountain peaks, the infant river issues from a lake to begin its long voy- age of 2,500 miles to the Arctic Sea. This region is the birthplace of many rivers, the Yukon, the Liard, the Peace River, and countless streams issue from this impenetrable fastness. Situated close to the Pacific shore, at their source, these rivers nevertheless seek far distant oceans. A huge barrier rises between them and the nearest coast. The loftiest range of mountains in North America here finds its culminating point ; the coast or cascade range shoots up its volcanic peaks to nigh 18,000 feet above 156 THE WILD NOHTir LAND. till' lu'ighbouring waves. Mounts Cri-Hon aiiil St Elias cast their criuison greeting far over the gloomy sea, and Ilyainnaand Island Corovin catch up the flames to fling them further to Kamchatka's flre-boiuid coast. The Old World and the New clasp hands of fire across the gloomy Northern Sea; and amidst ice and flame Asia and America look upon each other. Through 300 miles of mountain the Peace Elver takes its course, countless creeks and rivers seek its waters; 200 miles from its source it cleaves the main Rocky Mountain chain through a chasm whose straight, steep cliffs frown down on the black water through 0,000 feet of dizzy verge. Then it curves into the old ocean bed, of which we have already spoken, and for 500 miles it flows in a deep, narrow valley, from 700 to 800 feet beloAv the level of the surrounding plateau. Then it reaches a lower level, the banks be- come of moderate elevation, the country is densely wooded, the large river winds in ser- pentine bends through an alluvial valley ; the current once so strong becomes sluggish, until at last it pours itself through a delta of low- lying drift into the Slave River, and its long course of 1,100 miles is ended. For 900 miles only two interruptions break the even flow of its waters. A ridge of lime- stone underlies the whole bed of the river at 157 THE WILD NORTH LAND. a point some 250 miles from its mouth, caus- ing a fall of eiglit feet with a short rapid above it. The other obstacle is the mountain eaiion on tlie outer and lower range of the Rocky Mountains, where a portage of twelve miles is necessary. In its course through the main chain of the Rocky INIountains no break occurs, the cur- rent runs silently under the immense preci- pice as though it fears to awaken even by a ripple the sleeping giant at whose feet it creeps. Still keeping Avest, we began to ascend the Peace River; we had struck its banks more than 100 miles above its delta, by making this direct line across Lac Clair and the in- tervening ridges. Peace River does not debouch into Lake Athabasca, but as we have said into the Slave River some twenty miles below the lake ; at high water, however, it communicates Avith Athabasca through the canal-like channel of the Quatre Fourche, and when water is low in Peace River, Athabasca repays the gift by sending back through the same channel a portion of her surplus tide. Since leaving Lac Clair I had endured no little misery ; the effects of that long day's travel from the river Athabasca had from the outset been apparent, and each da}^ now further increased them. The muscles of 158 THE WILD NORTH LAND. ancles and instep liati become painfull}' in- Haiued, to raise the snow-shoe from the ground was frequently no easy matter, and at last every step was taken in pain. I eould not lie upon my sled because the ground was rough and broken, and the sled lApset at every hill side into the soft snow; besides there was the fact that the hills were short and stee}), and the dogs could not easily have dragged me to the summit. There was nothing for me but to tramp on in spite of aching ancles. At the camp I tried my remedies, but all were useless. From pain-killer, moose fat, laudanum and porpoise oil I concocted a mix- ture, which I feel convinced contains a vast fortune for any enterprising professor in the next century, and which even in these infant ages of " puffing " might still be made to real- ize some few millions of dollars; but never- theless, my poor puffed foot resisted every attempt to reduce it to symmetry, or what was more important, to induce it to resume work. That sixteen-liour day had inflamed its worst passions, and it had struck for an "eight-hour movement." One can afford to laugh over it all now, but then it was gloomy work enough; to make one step off the old hidden dog-track of the early winter was to sink instantly into the soft snow to the depth 159 THE WILD ^'()1{TII LAND. of three or four feet, and Avlien we camped at night on tlie wooded shore, our blankets Avere laul in a deep furrow between lofty snoAv Avails, Avhich it had taken us a full hour to scoop out. At last, after six days of Aveary traA-el through ridge and along river reach, Ave dreAV near a house. Where tlie little stream called the Red EiA^er enters from the south the Avide channel of the Peace River, there stands a small Hudson's Bay post. Here, on the e\'ening of the 17th of March, Ave put in for the night. At this solitary post dAvelt M.Jean Batiste St. Cyr; an old and faithful follower of the Hudson's Bay Company. When the power- ful North-West Fur Company became merged into the Avealthier but less enterprising cor- poration of the Hudson's Bay, they left be- hind them in the North a race of faithful serAdtors — men draAvn in early life from the best rural Jtabitans of LoAver Canada — men worthy of that old France from Avliich they sprung, a race noAv almost extinct in the north, as indeed it is almost all the Avorld over. What Ave call " the spirit of the age " is against it; faithful service to poAvers of earth, or even to those of HeaA^en, not being included in the catalogue of A'irtues taught in the big school of modern democ- racy. From one of this old class of French 160 THE WILD NOKTII LAND. Canadians, jM. Jean Batiste St. C'yr Avas de- scended. Weary limbs and aching ancles pleaded for delay at this little post, but advancing spring, and still more the repeated assaults of my servant and his comrades upon my stock of luxuries, urged movement as the only means of saving some little portion of those good things put away for me by my kind host at Chipewyan. It seems positively ridiculous now, how one could regard the possession of flour and sugar, of sweet cake and sweet pemmican, as some of the most essential requisites of life. And yet so it was. With the grocer in the neighbouring street, and the baker round the corner, we can afford to look upon flour and sugar as very common- place articles indeed ; but if any person wishes to arrive at a correct notion of their true value in the philosophy of life let him elimi- nate them from his daily bill of fare, and re- strict himself solely to moose meat, grease, and milkless tea. For a day or two he will get on well enough, then he will begin to ponder long upon bread, cakes, and other kindred subjects ; until day by day he learns to long for bread, then the Bath buns of his earlier years will float in enchanting visions before him; and like Clive at the recollection of that treasure-chamber in the Moorsheda- bad Palace, he will marvel at the moderation 11 161 THE WILD XORTH LAND. which left untouched a single cake upon that wondrous counter. It is not difficult to understand the feelings which influenced a distant northern Mission- ary, when upon his return to semi-civiliza- tion, his friends having prepared a feast to bid him welcome, he asked them to give him bread and nothing else. He had been with- out it for years, and his mind had learned to hunger for it more than the body. My servitor, not content with living as his master lived, was helping the other rascals to the precious fare. English half-breed, French ditto, and full Christian Swampy had appar- ently formed an offensive and defensive alli- ance upon the basis of a common rascality, Article I. of the treaty having reference to the furtive partition of my best white sugar, flour, and Souchong tea; things which, when they have to be ''portaged" far on men's shoulders in a savage land, are not usually deemed fitted for savage stomachs too. One night's delay, and again we were on the endless trail ; on along the great silent river, between the rigid bordering pines, amidst the diamond-shaped islands where the snow lay deep and soft in " shnay " and " batture," on out into the long reaches where the wild INIarch winds swept the river bed, and wrapt isle and shore in clouds of drift. 162 THE WILD NORTH LAXD. Ou the evening of the 19th of jNIareli our party drew near a lonely post, which, from the colour of the waters in the neighouring stream, bears the name of Fort Vermilion. The stormy weather had sunk to calm ; the blue sky lay over mingled forest and prairie; far off to the north and soutli rose the dark outlines of the Eeindeer and Buffalo Moun- tains ; Avhile coming from the sunset and van- ishing into the east, the great silent river lay prone amidst the wilderness of snow. A gladsome sight was the little fort, with smoke curling from its snow-laden roof, its cattle standing deep in comfortable straw- yard, and its master at the open gateway, waiting to welcome me to his home : pleasant to any traveller in the wilderness, but doubly so to me, whose every step was now taken in the dull toil of unremitting pain. Physicians have termed that fellow-feeling which the hand sometimes evinces for the hand, and the eye for the eye, by the name of " sympathy." It is unfortunate that these ebullitions of affection which the dual mem- bers of our bodies manifest towards each other, should always result in doubling the amount of pain and inconvenience suffered by the remainder of the human frame. For a day or two past my right foot had shown symptoms of sharing the sorrows of its fel- low-labourer ; and however gratifying this 163 THE WILD NORTH LAND. proof of good feeling sliould liave been, it Avas nevertheless accompanied by such an in- crease of torture that one could not help wishing for more callous conduct in the pres- ence of Mai de Kaquette. A day's journey north of the Peace River at Fort Vermilion, a long line of hills ap- proaching the altitude of a mountain range stretches from east to west. At the same distance south lies another range of similar elevation. The northern range bears the name of the Eeindeer; the southern one that of the Buffalo Mountains. These names nearly mark the two great divisions of the animal kingdom of Northern America. It is singular how closely the habits of those two widely differing animals, the rein- deer and the buffalo, approximate to each other. Each have their treeless prairie, but seek the woods in winter; each have their woodland species; each separate when the time comes to bring forth their young ; each mass together in their annual migrations. Upon both the wild man preys in unending hostility. When the long days of the Arc- tic summer begin to shine over the wild re- gion of the Barren Grounds, the reindeer set forth for the low shores of the Northern Ocean ; in the lonely wilds whose shores look out on the Archipelago where once the ships of England's explorers struggled midst floe 164 THE WILD NORTH LAND. and pack, and hopeless iceberg, the herds spend the fleeting summer season, subsisting on the short grass, which for a few weeks changes these cold, grey shores to softer green. With the approach of autumn the bands turn south again, and uniting upon the bor- ders of the barren grounds, spend the winter in the forests which fringe the shores of the Bear, Great Slave, and Athabascan Lakes. Thousands are killed by the Indians on this homeward journey; waylaid in the passes which they usually follow, they fall easy prey to Dog-rib and Yellow-knife and Chi- pewyan hunter ; and in years of plenty the forts of the extreme north count by thou- sands the fat sides of Cariboo, piled high in their provision stores. But although the hills to the north and south of Vermilion bore the names of Rein- deer and Buffalo, upon neither of these ani- mals did the fort depend for its subsistence. The Peace River is the land of the moose ; here this ungainly and most wary animal has made his home, and winter and summer, hunter and trader, along the Avhole length of 900 miles, between the Peace and Athabasca, live upon his delicious venison. Two days passed away at Fort Vermilion; outside the March wind blew in bitter storm, and drift piled high around wall and pali- 165 THE "WILD NORTH LAND. sade. But within there was rest and quiet, and many an anecdote of time long passed in the Wild North Land. Here, at this post of Vermilion, an old vet- eran spent the winter of his life ; and from his memory the scenes of earlier days came forth to interest the chance wanderer, Avhose footsteps had led him to this lonely post. Few could tell the story of these solitudes better than this veteran pensioner. He had come to these wilds while the century was yet in its teens. He had seen Tecumseh iu his glory, and Black Hawk marshal his Sauk warriors, Avliere now the river shores of Illi- nois wave in long lines of yellow corn. He had spoken with men who had seen the gal- lant La Perouse in Hudson's Bay, when, for the last time in History, France flew the fleur-de-lis above the ramparts of an English fort in this northern land. The veteran explorers of the Great North had been familiar to his earlier days, and he could speak of Mackenzie and Frazer and Thompson, Harmon and Henry, as men whom he had looked on in his boyhood. For me these glimpses of the bygone time had a strange charm . This mighty solitude, whose vastness had worn its way into my mind ; these leagues and leagues of straight, tall pines, whose gloomy moan seemed the voice of oOO miles of wilderness ; these rivers 166 THE WILD NORTH LAND. so hushed and silent, save when tlie night owl hooted through the twilight; all this sense of immensity was so impressed on the imagination by recent travel, that it height- ened the rough colouring of the tale which linked this sliadowy land of the present with the still more shadowy region of the past. Perhaps at another time, when I too shall rest from travel, it Avill be my task to tell the story of these dauntless men ; but noAV, when many a weary mile lies before me, it is time to hold westward still along the great XJnchagah. The untiring train was once again put into the moose-skin liarness, after another night of wild storm and blinding drift; and with crack of whip and call to dog, Vermilion soon lay in the waste behind me. 167 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER XVI. The Buffalo Hills— A Fatal Quarrel— The Exiled Beavers — "At-tal-loo" Deplores his Wives — A Cree Interior — An Attractive Camp — I Camp Alone — Cerf-vola without a Supper — The Rec- reants Return — Duuvegan — A Wolf-hunt. A LONG distance, destitute of fort or post, had now to be passed. For fully 300 miles above Vermilion, no sign of life but the wild man and his prey (the former scant enough) are to be found along the shores of the Peace Eiver. The old fort known as Dunvegan lies twelve long Avinter days' travel to the south- west, and to reach it even in that time requires sustained and arduous exertion. For 200 miles above Vermilion the course of the Peace River is north-west; it winds in long, serpentine curves between banks which gradually become more lofty as the traveller ascends the stream. To cut the long curve to the south by an overland portage now became our work ; and for three days we fol- lowed a trail through mingled prairie and forest-land, all lying deep in snow. Four trains of dogs now formed our line. An Ojib- beway, named " AVhite l>ear," led the ad- 108 THE AVILD NORTH LAND. vance, and the trains took in turn tlie work of breaking the road after him. ^lal de Ra(iuette had at last proved more than a match for me, and Avalking had be- come impossible ; but the trains returning to Dunvegan were lightly loaded, and as the officer at Vermilion had arranged that the various dogs should take their turn in haul- ing my cariole, I had a fresh train each day, and thus Cerf-vola and his company obtained a two days' respite from their toil. The old dog was as game as when I had first started, but the temporary change of masters necessitated by our new arrangements seemed to puzzle him not a little ; and many a time his head would turn round to steal a furtive look at the new driver, who, "filled with strange oaths," now ran behind his cariole. Our trail led towards the foot of the Buffalo Hills. I was now in the country of the Beaver Indians, a branch of the great Chi])ewyan race, a tribe once numerous on the river which bears its present name of Peace from the stubborn resistance offered by them to the all-conquering Crees — a resist- ance which induced that Avarlike tribe to make peace on tlie banks of the river, and to leave at rest the beaver-hunters of the Unchagah. Since that time, though far removed from the white settler, lying remote from the 169 THE AVILD NORTH LAND. faintest echo of civilization, this tribe of Beaver Indians has steadily decreased; and to-day, in the whole length of 900 miles from beyond the mountains to the Lake Athabasca, scarce 200 families lie scattered over the high prairies and undulating forest belts of the Peace Eiver. Now they live in peace with all men, but once it was a different matter ; the Cree were not their only enemies, their Chipewyau cousins warred upon them ; and once upon a time a fierce commotion raged amongst their own tribe. One day a young chief shot his arrow through a dog belonging to another brave. The brave revenged the death of his dog, and instantly a hundred bows were drawn. Ere night had fallen some eighty Avarriors lay dead around the camp, tlie pine woods rang with the lamentations of the women, the tribe had lost its bravest men. There was a temporary truce — the friends of the chief whose arrow had killed the dog yet numbered some sixty people — it was agreed that they should separate from the tribe and seek their fortune in the vast wilderness lying to the south. In the night they commenced their march ; sullenly their brethren saw them depart never to return. They Avent their way by the shores of the Lesser Slave Lake, towards ^he great plains wliich were said to lie far 170 THE WILD NORTH LAND. southward by the banks of the swift-rolling Saskatchewan. The tribe of Beavers never saw again this exiled band, but a hundred years later a Beaver Indian, who followed the fortunes of a white fur-hunter, found himself in one of the forts of the Saskatchewan. Strange In- dians were canij)ed around the palisades, they were portions of the great Black-feet tribe whose hunting-grounds lay south of the Saskatchewan ; among them were a few braves who, when they conversed together, spoke a language different from the other Blackfeet; in this language the Beaver Indian recognized his own tongue. The fortunes of the exiled branch were then traced, they had reached the great plains, the Blackfeet had protected them, and they had joined the tribe as allies in war against Crees or Assineboines. To-day the Surcees still speak the guttural language of the Chipewyan. Notorious among the wild horse-raiders of the prairies, they outdo even the Blackfeet in audacious plundering; and although the parent stock on the Peace River are quiet and harmless, the offshoot race has long been a terror over the prairies of the south. No men in this land of hunters hunt better than the Beavers, It is not uncom- mon for a single Indian to render from his winter trapping 200 marten skins, and not ITJ THE WILD NORTH LAND. less than 20,000 beavers are annually killed by the tribe on the waters of the Peace River. On the morning of the third day after leav- ing Vermilion we fell in with a band of Bea- vers. Five wigwams stood pitched upon a pretty rising knoll, backed by pine woods, which skirted the banks of the stream, upon the channel of Avhich the lodges of the ani- mal beaver rose cone-like above the snow. When Ave reached the camp, " At-tal-loo, " the chief, came forth. A stranger was a rare sight ; and " At-tal-loo " was bound to make a speech; three of his warriors, half a dozen children, and a few women filled up the background. Leaning iij^on a long sin- gle-barrelled gun " At-tal-loo " began. The mayor and corporation of that thriving borough of Porkingham could not have been more solicitous to interrupt a royal progress to the north, than was this Beaver Indian anxious to address the traveller; but there was this difference between them, whereas Mayor Tomkins had chiefly in view the ex- cellent o^Dportunity of hearing his own voice, utterly unmindful of what a horrid bore he was making himself to his sovereign, "At- tal-loo " had in view more practical results : his frequent iteration of the word "tea," in his guttural harangue, told at once the story of his wants : — ■ " This winter had been a severe one ; death 173 THE WILD NORTH LAND. had struck lieavily into tlietril)e; in these three wigwams six women had died. It was true each biave still had three or four wives left, but moose were plenty, and a man with six helpmates could he rich in dry meat and moose leather. Tea was the pressing want. Without tea the meat of the moose was in- sipid; without tea and tobacco the loss of even the fifth or sixth rib became a serious affair." I endeavoured to find out the cause of this mortality among the poor hunters, and it was not far to seek. Constitutions enfeebled by close intermarriage, and by the hardships at- tending upon wild life in these northern regions, were fast wearing out. At the pres- ent rate of mortality the tribe of the Beavers will soon be extinct, and with them will have disappeared the best and the simplest of the nomad tribes of the north. " At-tal-loo " was made happy with tea and tobacco, and we went our way. Another doughty chief, named " Twa-i)00s, " probably also regarded tea as the elixir of life, and the true source of happiness ; but as my servitor still continued to regard my stock of the luxury as a very excellent medium for the accumulation of stray marten skins for his own benefit, it was perhaps as well that I should only know " Twa-poos " through the channel of hearsay. 173 THE WILD NORTH LAND. On the morning of tlie 25th of j\Iarch we emerged from the tortuous little I^utt'alo River upon the majestic channel of the Peace. Its banks Avere now deeply farrowed beneath the prairie level, its broad surface rolled away to the south-west, 500 yards from shore to shore. The afternoon came forth bright and warm ; from a high ridge on the left shore a far-stretching view lay rolled before us — the Eagle Hills, the glistening river, the wide expanse of dark forest and white prairie ; and above, a sky which had caught the hue and touch of spring, while winter still stood in- trenched on plain and river. Late that evening we reached the hut of a Cree Indian. A snow-storm closed the twilight, and all sought shelter in the house : it was eight feet by twelve, in superficial size, yet nineteen persons lay down to rest in it, a Cree and his wife, an Assineboine and his wife, eight or ten children, and any number of Swampy, Ojibbeway, and half-breeds. Whenever the creaky door opened, a dozen dogs found ingress, and dodgeci under and over the men, women, and children in hope- less confusion. The Assineboine squaw seemed to devote all her energies to the expulsion of the in- truders; the infants rolled over the puppy dogs, the puppy dogs scrambled over the in- fants, and outside in the snow and on the 174 THE WILD NORTH LAXD. low root' CeiT-vulii ;ui(l liis fiieiuls did Ijatilc with a liost of Iiuliau dogs. 80 the night passed away. Next moniing there was no track. We waded deep in the snow, and made but slow progress. Things had reached a climax with my crew ; they had apparently made up their minds to make a long, slow journey. They wanted to camp at any In- dian lodge they saw, to start late and to camp early, to eat, smoke, and talk, to do everything in fact but travel. I was still nearly 150 miles from Dunve- gan, and as much more from tliat mountain range whose defiles I hoped to reach ere the ice road on which I travelled had turned to a rushing stream. Already the sun shone strong in the early afternoon, and the surface snow grew moist under liis warm rays, and here were my men ready to seek any excuse for loitering on the way. About noon one day we reached a camp of Crees on the south shore of the river. Moose-meat was getting scarce, so I asked my yellow rascal to procure some tit-bits from the camp in exchange for tea. The whole party at once vanished into the tents, while I remained with the dogs upon the river. Presently my friend reappeared ; he " could only get a rib-piece or a tough leg. " " Then don't take them," I said. I saw the rascal was at his old work, so taking some tea and 175 THE WILD NOT^TII LAXD. tobacco, I went up myself to tlie tents; lueantiuie the men, women, and children had all come out to the shore. I held u}) the tea and pointed to the moose-meat; in an instant the scene changed — briskets, tongues, and moose-noses were brought out, and I could have loaded my dogs with tit-bits had I wished ; still I pretended to find another mo- tive for my henchman's conduct. "See," I said to him, " I make a better trader with Indians than you do. They would only give you the tough bits ; I can get noses enough to load my dogs Avith." But the camp possessed an attraction still more enticing ; early that morning I had ob- served the Indians and half-breeds arraying themselves in their gayest trappings. The half-breed usually in dressing himself devotes the largest share of attention to the decora- tion of his legs ; beads, buckles, and embroid- ered ribbons flutter from his leggings, and his garters are resplendent with coloured worsted or porcupine-quill work. These items of finery had all been donned this morning in camp, the long hair had been carefully smeared with bear's fat, and then I had not long to wait for an explanation of all this adornment. In one of the three Cree tents there dwelt two good-looking squaws ; we entered this tent, the mats were unrolled, the fire replenished, and the squaws set to 176 THE WILD NORTH LAND. work to cook a moose nose and tongue for nvy dinner. Dinner over, the difficulty be- gan ; the quarters were exceHent in the esti- mation of my men. It Avould be the wildest insanity to think of quitting such a paradise of love and food under at least a twenty-four hours' delay. So they suddenly announced their inten- tion of " bideing a wee. " I endeavoured to ex- postulate, I spoke of the lateness of the season, the distance I had yet to travel, the necessity of bringing to Dunvegan the train of dogs destined for that post at the earliest period; all was of no avail. Their snow- shoes were broken and they must wait. Very good ; put my four dogs into harness, and I will go on alone. ' So the dogs were put in harness, and taking with me my most loota- ble effects, I set out alone into the wilderness. It still wanted some four hours of sunset when I left the Indian lodges on the south shore, and held my way along the far-reach- ing river. My poor old dog, after a few glances back to see why he should be alone, settled him- self to work, and despite a lameness, the result of long travel, he led the advance so gamely that when night fell some dozen miles lay between us and the Cree lodges. At the foot of a high ridge whose summit still caught the glow from the low-set sun, 12 177 THE WILD NORTH LAND. while the river valley grew dark in the twi- light, I turned the dogs towards the south shore, and looked about for a camping-place. The lower bank sloped doAvn to the ice abruptly, but dogs going to camp will drag a load up, over, or through anything, and the prospect of rest above is even a greater in- centive to exertion than the fluent impreca- tions of the half-breed below. So by dint of hauling we reached the top, and then I made my camp in a pine-clump on the brink. When the dogs had been unharnessed, and the snow dug away, tlie pine brush laid upon the ground, and the wood cut, when the Are was made, the kettle filled with snow and boiled, the dogs fed with a good hearty meal of dry moose meat, and my own hunger sat- isfied ; then it was time to think, while the fire lit up the pine stems, and the last glint of daylight gleamed in the western sky, A jagged pine-top laid its black cone against what had been the sunset. An owl from the opposite shore sounded at intervals his lonely call; now and again a passing breeze bent the fir-trees until they whispered forth that mournful song which seems to echo from the abyss of the past. The fir-tree is the oldest of the trees of the earth, and its look and its voice tell the story of its age. If it were possible to have left my worthless half-breeds altogether and 178 THE WILD NOllTII LAND. to traverse the solitudes alone, how gladly would I have done so ! I felt at last at home. The i;-rfat silent river, the lofty ridge darkening against the twilight, yon star burning like a beaeon above the precipice — all these Avere friends, and midst them one could rest in peace. And now, as I run back in thought along that winter journey, and see again the many camp-fires glimmering through the waste of wilderness there comes not to my memory a calmer scene than that which closed around my lonely fire by the distant Unchagah. I was there almost in the centre of the vast wilderness of North America, around, stretched in silence, that mystery we term Nature, that thing which we see in pictures, in landscapes, in memory; which W'e hear in the voice of wind-swept forests and the long sob of seas against ocean rocks. This mother, ever present, ever mysterious, some- times terrible, often tender — always beautiful — stood there with nought to come between us save loneliness and twilight. I awoke with the dawn. Soft snow was falling on river and ridge, and the opposite shore lay hid in mist and gloom. A breakfast, which con- sists of pemmican, tea, and biscuit, takes but a short time to prepare or to discuss, and by sunrise I was on the river. Until mid-day I held on, but before that 179 THE WILD NORTH LAND. time tlie sun glowed l^rightly on the dazzling surface of the snow ; and the dogs panted as they liauled their loads, biting frequent mouthfuls of the soft snow through which they toiled. About noon I camped on the south shore. I had still two meals for myself, but none remained for the dogs; the men had, how- ever, assured me that they would not fail to make an early start, and I determined to await their coming in this camp. The day passed and night closed again, but no figure darkened the long stretch of river, and my poor dogs went supperless to sleep. Cerf- vola, it is true, had some scraps of sweet pemmican, but they were mere drops in the ocean of his appetite. The hauling-dog of the North is a queer animal about food; when it is there he likes to have it, but when it isn't there, like his Indian master, he can do without it. About supper-hour he looks wistfully at his master, and seeing no sign of pemmican- chopping or dry meat-slicing, he rolls himself up into a ball and goes quietly to sleep in his snow bed. Again the night came softly down, the grey owl hooted his lonely cry, the breeze stirred the forest tops, and the pine-tree mur- mured softly and low, singing its song of the past to the melody of its myriad years. At 180 THE WILD NORTH LAND. such times the mmcl of the wanderer sings its own song too. It is the song of home ; and as memory rings the cadence, time and distance disappear, and the okl land brightens forth amidst the embers of the forest-fire. These islands which we call "home "are far away; afar off we idealize them, in the forest depths we dream bright visions of their firesides of welcome; in the snow-sheeted lake, and the icy stretch of river, and the motionless muskeg, how sweetly sound the notes of brook and bird ; how brightly rise the glimpses of summer eves when the white mists float over the scented meadows, and the corn-craik sounds from his lair in the meadow-sweet ! It is there, away in the east, far off, where the moon is rising above the forked pines, or the up-coming stars edge the ice piles on the dim eastern shores of yon sheeted lake. Far away, a speck amidst the waves of distance, bright, happy, and peaceful; holding out its Avelcome, and following with its anxious thoughts the Avanderer who sails away over the ocean, and roams the expanses of the earth. Well, some fine day we come back again ; the great steam-ship touches the long ideal- ized shore. Gods, how the scene clianges! We feel bursting with joy to see it all again, to say, " Oh ! how glad I am to see you all ! " m THE WILD NORTH LAND. We say it with our eyes to the young lady behind the refreshment buffet at the railroad station. Alas! she mistakes our exuber- ance for impertinence, and endeavours to an- nihilate us with a glance, enough to freeze even her high-spirited sherry. We pass the bobby on his beat with a smile of recognition, but that ferocious functionary, not a whit softened, regards us as a " party " likely to afford him transient employment in the mat- ter of "running in." The railway porter alone seems to enter into our feelings of joy, but alas ! it is only with a view to that dona- tion with which we are sure to present him. We have enlisted his sympathies as her Maj- esty enlists her recruits, by the aid of a shil- ling. Ere an hour has passed, the vision seen so frequently through the mist of weary miles has vanished, and we have taken our place in the vast humming crowd of Eng- land's hive, to wish ourselves back into the dreamy solitudes again. I had been asleep some hours, and mid- night had come, when the sound of voices roused me, and my recreant band ai)proached the dying camp-lire. They had at length torn themselves away from the abode of bliss and moose meat, but either the memory of its vanished pleasures, or a stray feeling of shame, ke]jt them still sullen and morose. They, however, announced theiv readiness to' 183 THE WILD NORTJJ LAND. go on at once as the crust upon tlic snow was now hard. I rose from my robe, gave the dogs a late supper, and once more we set out. Daylight found us still upon the track; the men seemed disposed to make amends for former dilatoriness, the ice-crust was hard, and the dogs went well. When the sun had become warm enough to soften the surface we camped, had supper, and lay down to sleep for the day. With sunset came the hour of starting, and thus turning night into day, breakfasting at sunset, dining at midnight, supping at sunrise, travelling all night, and slee^iing all day, we held our way up the Unchagah. Three nights of travel passed, and the morning of the 1st of April broke upon the silent river. AVe had travelled well ; full one hundred miles of these lonely, lofty shores had vanished be- hind us in the grey dusky light of twilight, night, and early morning. As the dawn broke in the east, and gradu- ally grew into a broader band of light, the huge ramparts of the lofty shores wore strange, unearthly aspects. Six hundred feet above the ice, wind and sun had already swept the snow, and the bare hill-tops rose ■to view, free, at last, from winter's covering. Lower down full many a rugged ridge, and steej), scarped precipice, held its clinging growth of pine and poi)lar, or showed gigan- 183 THE WILD NORTH LAND. tic slides, upon whose gravelly surface the loosened stones rolled with sullen echo, into the river chasm beneath. Between these huge walls lay the river, broadly curving from the west, motionless and soundless, as we swept with rapid stride over its sleeping waters. Sometimes in the early morning, upon these steep ridges, the moose would emerge from his covert, and look down on the pass- ing dog trains, his huge, ungainly head out- stretched to "Sniff the tainted gale," his great ears lying forward to catch the faint jingle of our dog-bells. Nearly all else seemed to sleep in endless slumber, for, alone of summer denizens, the owl, the moose, the wolf, and the raven keep winter watch over the wilderness of the Peace River. At daybreak, on the 1st of April, we were at the mouth of the Smoking River. This stream enters the Peace River from the south- west. It has its source but a couple of days' journey north of the Athabasca River, at the spot Avherethat river emerges from the Rocky Mountains, And it drains the beautiful re- gion of varied prairie and forest-l^nd, which lies at the base of the mountains bet^y^en the J*eace and Athabasca rivers, 184 THE AVILD NORTH LAND. The men made a long march this day. Inspired by the offer of a gratuity, if they could make the fort by night-time, and anxious, perhaps, to atone for past shortcom- ings, they made up a train of five strong dogs. Setting out with this train at eight o'clock in the morning, three of them held the pace so gamely that when evening closed we were in sight of the lofty ridge which over- hangs at the north shore, the fort of Dun- vegan. As the twilight closed over the broad river we were steering between two huge walls of sandstone rock, which towered up 700 feet above the shore. The yellow light of the sunset still glowed in the west, lighting up the broad chasm through which the river flowed, and throwing many a weird shadow along the basaltic precipice. Right in our onward track stood a large dusky wolf. He watched us until we approached within 200 yards of him, then turning he held his course up the centre of the river. My five dogs caught sight of him, and in an instant they gave chase. The surface of the snow was now hard frozen, and urged by the strength of so many dogs the cariole flew along over the slippery sur- face. The driver was soon far behind. The 180 THE WILD NORTH LAND. wolf kept the centre of the river, and the cariole bounded from snow pack to snow pack, or shot along the level ice ; while the dusky twilight filled the deep chasm with its spectral light. But this wild chase was not long to last. The wolf sought refuge amidst the rocky shore, and the dogs turned along the trail again. Two hours later a few lights glimmered through the darkness, beneath the black shad- ow of an immense hill. The unusual sound of rushing water broke strangely on the ear after such a lapse of silence. But the hill streams had already broken their icy barriers, and their waters were even now hastening to the great river (still chained with the gyves of winter), to aid its hidden current in the work of deliverance. Here and there deep pools of water lay on the surface of the ice, through which the dogs waded, breast deep, and the cariole floated like a boat. Thus, alternately Avad- ing and sliding, we drew near the glimmering lights. We had reached Dun vegan ! If the men and dogs slept well that night it was little wonder. With the intermission only neces- sary for food, Ave had travelled incessantly during four-and-twenty hours. Yet was it the same that night at Dunvegan as it had been elsewhere at various times. Outside 18G THE WILD NORTH LAND. the dogs might rest as they ])lease(l, but Avithin, in the huts, Swampy and Half-breed and Ojibbeway danced and fiddled, laughed and capered until the small hours of the morning. 1«7 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER XVII. Alexander IMjickeiizie — The First Sign of Spring — Spanker the Suspicious — Cerf -vola Contemplates Cutlets — An Indian Hunter — "Encumbrances" —Furs and Finery— A " Dead Fall "—The Fur Trade at Botli Ends— An Old Fort— A Night Attack — Wife-lifting — Cerf-vola in Difficulties and Boots — The Rocky Mountains at Last. About eighty years ago a solitary canoe floated on the waters of the Peace River. Eight sturdy Iroquois or Canadians moved it with dexterous paddle ; in the centre sat the figure of a European, busy with field-book and compass. He was a daring Scotchman from the isles, by name Alexander JNIackenzie. He was pushing his Avay slowly to the West; before him all was vague conjecture. There was a mighty range of mountains the Indians said — a range through which the river flowed in a profound chasm — beyond that all was mys- tery ; but other wild men, who dwelt west- Avard of the chasm, in. a land of mountains, had told them tales of another big river flow- ing toward the mid-day sun into the lake that had no shore. This dariug explorer built himself a house 188 THE WILD NORTH I.AXD. not far below tlie spot where my recreant crew had found a i)aradi,se in tlu! wilderness; here he passed the winter. Early in the J'ol- lowing spring he continued his ascent ot the river. He was the first r]nglishnian that ever passed the Rocky Mountains. He was the first man who crossed the Northern Con- tinent. His footsteps were quickly followed by men almost as resolute. Findlay, Frazer, and Thompson soon carried tlie fortunes of the North- West Company through the defiles of the Peace River ; and long before Jacob Astor had dreamt his dream of Columbian fur trade, these men had planted on the wild shores of New Caledonia and Oregon the first germs of English domination ; little dream- ing, doubtless, as they did so, that in after- time, between dulness upon one side and du- plicity on the other, the fruits of their labour and their sufferings would pass to hostile hands. From its earliest days, the fur trade of the North had been carried on from bases which moved north with the tide of exploration. The first French adventurers had made Ta- dousac, at the mouth of the rock-shadowed Saguenay, the base of their operations ; later on, Montreal had been their point of distribu- tion ; then Mackenaw, between Lakes Michi- gan and Huron. With the fall of French 189 THE WILD NORTH LAND. dominion in 17(>2 the trade passed to English hands, and Fort William on Lake Superior, and Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca, be- came in time centres of fur trade. It was from the latter place that Macken- zie and his successors pushed their explora- tions to the distant shores of Arctic and Pacilic Oceans, Among the earlier posts which these men established in the Great Wilderness was this fort, called Dunvegan, on the Peace River. A McLeod, of Skye, founded the post, and named it after the wild, storm-swept fortalice which the chief of his race in bygone times had reared upon the Atlantic verge. As Dunvegan was then, so it is to-day ; half a dozen little houses roofed with pine-bark; in front, the broad river in its deep-cut gorge ; behind, an abrupt ridge 700 feet in height, at the top of which a rolling table-land spreads out into endless distance. Unlike the prairies of the Saskatchewan, this plateau is thickly interspersed with woods and thickets of pine and poplar. Its many lakes are free from alkali, and the varied growth of willows which they sustain, yield ample sustenance to the herds of moose which still roam the land. The deep trough through which the river flows increases with singular regularity as the traveller ascends the stream. Thus at Vermilion the banks 190 i THE WILD NORTH LAND. ave seareely tliirty feet above low-watev level ; L'OO miles higlier up they rise to oHO feet; at Diiuvegaii tliey are 720; and H)0 miles still further west they attain an elevation of 900 and 1,000 feet. Onee upon tlie summit, however, no indication of ruggedness meets the eye. The country spreads into a succes- sion of prairies, lakes, and copses, through which the traveller can ride with ease, safe from the badger-holes which form such an objectionable feature in more southern prairies. At times the river-bed fills up the entire bottom of the deep valley through which it runs ; but more frequently a wooded terrace lies between the foot of the ridge and the brink of the water, or the land rises to the upper level in a series of rounded and less abrupt ascents. The soil is a dark sandy loam, the rocks are chiefly lime and sand- stone, and the numerous slides and huge landslips along the lofty shores, render visible strata upon strata of many-coloured earths and layers of rock and shingle, lignite and banded clays in rich succession. A black, bituminous earth in many places forces its way through rock or shingle, and runs in long, dark streaks down the steep descent. Such is the present aspect of the Peace River, as lonely and silent it holds its long course, deep furrowed below the unmeasured wilderness. April had come; already the sun shone 191 THE AVILD XORTII LAND. warmly in the midday hoars; already the .streams were beginning to fnrrow the grey overhanging hills, from whose sonthern sides the snow had vanished, save where in ravine or hollow it lay deep, drifted by the Avinter winds ; but the river was not to be thus easily ronsed from the sleep into which the Arctic cold had cast it. Solid under its Aveight of ice, four feet in thickness, it would yet lie for days in motionless torpor. Snow might fly from sky and hill-top, prairie and forest might yield to the soft coming spring; but like a skilful general grim winter only drew off his forces from outlying points to make his last stand in the intrenchments of the frozen river. From the summit of the steep hill, whose scarped front looks down upon the little huts of Dunvegan, the eye travels over many a mile of wilderness, but no hill top darkens the far horizon ; and the traveller, whose steps for months have followed the western sun, feels half inclined to doubt the reality of the mountain barrier he has so long looked in vain for. So it seemed to me, as I scanned one evening the long line of the western sky from this lofty ridge. Nineteen hundred miles behind me lay that ]\Iusk Rat Creek, by whose banks on that now distant day in October, I had bidden civiliza- tion a long good-bye. 193 THE WILD NOKTII LAND. Pniirie and lakelet, broad river, vast for- est, dim spreading lake, silent ridge and waste of wilderness — all lay deep sunken again in that slumber from which my lonely passage had for a moment roused them. Different faces had at times accompanied me ; various dogs had toiled and tugged at the oaken sled, or lain at niglit around the wintry camp-fires ; and yet, still remote lay that giant range, for whose defiles my steps had so long been bound. But amid all changes of time and place and persons, two companions still remained with me. Cerf- vola the Untiring, Spanker the Suspicious, still trotted as briskly as when they had quitted their Dakotan home. If I should feel inclined to doubt their strength and vigour, I had only to look down the hill- side to read a reassurance — a couple of hundred feet beneath where I stood. There Spanker the suspicious might have been observed in company with two other savages, doing his utmost to terminate the career of a yearling calf, which early spring had tempted to the hill-top. It was consolatory to notice that Cerf-vola the untiring took no part in this nefarious transaction. He stood apart, watch- ing it with a countenance expressive of emo- tions which might be read, either in the light of condemnation of cruelty, or commendation of coming veal cutlets. 13 193 THE WILD NORTH LAND. About midiiiglit on the 3r(I of April I quitted Duuvegan, and turned oiice more along tlie frozen river. The moon, verging to its first quarter, shone above the southern shore, lighting half the river, while the re- mainder lay wrapped in darkness. A half-breed named Kalder accompanied me — my former servitor having elected to remain at Dun vegan. He had probably heard strange stories of life beyond the mountains. " Miners were fond of shooting ; to keep their hand and eye in practice they would shoot him as soon as they caught sight of him," so it would perhaps be wiser to stay on the eastern slope. He remained behind, and William Kalder, a Scotch half-breed, who spoke French in addition to his Indian tongue, reigned in his stead. Above Dunvegan, the Peace is a rapid river. We decided to travel by moonlight only, and in the morning, as many places had already become unsound ; a great quan- tity of water lay on the surface of the ice, and wet moccasins and heavy snow-shoes be- came our constant companions. By daybreak, however, all water would be frozen solid, and except for the effect of the sharp ice on the dogs' feet, the travelling was excellent at that hour. At daybreak on the fourth we heard ahead a noise of barking, and presently from the 194 THE WILD NOlITir LAND. wooded slicre a moose broke forth upon the river. The crusted snow broke beneath his weight, and lie turned at bay near the south- ern shore. We were yet a long way off, and we hurried on as fast as dogs could run. "When we had reached within a couple of hundred yards of where he stood butting the dogs, a shot rang sharply from the woods; the unshapely animal still kept his head lowered to his enemies, but the shot had struck, for as we came panting up, he rolled heavily amidst his baying enemies, who closed around him while the blood bubbled fast over the pure frosted snow. Above, on the wooded banks, under a giant pine, sat a young Indian quietly regarding his quarry. Not a move of limb or countenance betokened excitement ; his face was flushed by a long quick chase down the rugged hill-side ; but now, though his game lay stretched beneath him, he made no outward sign of satisfac- tion. He sat unmoved on the rock above, his long gun balanced above his knee — the fitting background to a picture of wild sport in the wilderness. It was now the time when the Indians leave their winter hunting- grounds and make a journej-to the forts with the produce of their season's toil. They come, a motley throng; men, women and children ; dogs, sleds and hand-toboggans, bearing the precious freight of fur to the trad- 193 THE WILD NORTH LAND. ing-post, bringing in tbe harvest of marten- skins from the vast field of the desert wilds. O'l this morning, ere we reached our camj:)- ing place, a long cavalcade passed us. A couple of braves in front, too proud and lazy to carry anything but their guns ; then old women and young ones, bending under their loads, or driving dogs, or hauling hand- sleds laden with meat, furs, moose-skins, and infants. The puj^py-dog and the infant never fail in cabin or cortefje. Sometimes one may see the two packed together on the back of a woman, who carries besides a load of meat or skins. I believe the term " encum- brance" has sometimes been applied to the human j)ortion of such a load, in circles so elevated that even the humanity of mater- nity would appear to have been successfully eliminated by civilization. If ever the term carried truth with it, it is here in this wild northern land, where yon Avretched woman bears man's burthen of toil as well as her own. Here the child is veritably an encum- brance; yet in some instincts the savage mother might teach her civilized sister a lesson of womanity. Perhaps here, while this motley cavalcade passes along, we may step aside a moment from the track, and tell the story of a marten. A couple of cotton kerchiefs, which my lady's-maid would disdain to be the owner 196 THE WILD NORTH LAND. of, and a couple of ten-pound bank-notes from my lady's purse, mark the two extremes between which lies the history of a marten. We will endeavour to bring together these widely-severed ends. When the winter is at its coldest, but when the days are beginning to lengtlien out a lit- tle over the dim pine-woods of the North the Indian builds a small circular fence of wood, some fourteen inches high. Upon one side this circle is left open, b\it across the aperture a thick limb or thin trunk of tree is laid with one end resting on the ground. Inside the circle a forked stick holds a small bit of fish or meat as a bait. This forked stick is set so as to support another small piece of wood, upon which in turn rests the half-uplifted log. Pull the baited stick, and you let slip the small sup- porting one, which in turn lets fall the large horizontal log. Thus runs the sequence. It is a guillotine, with a tree instead of a sharp knife; it is called a " dead fall." Numbers of them are erected in the woods, where martens' tracks are plentiful in the snow. Well, then, the line of " dead falls " being made and set, the Indian departs, and silence reigns in the forest. But once a week he starts forth to visit this line of " dead falls," which may be ten or fifteen miles in length. Every now and again he finds one of his 197 THE WILD NORTH LAND. guillotines down, and underneath it lies a small, thick-furred animal, in size something larger than a ferret, something smaller than a cat. It is needless to describe the colour of the animal; from childhood upwards it is familiar to us. Most persons can recall the figure of maiden aunt or stately visitor, muffed, cuffed, boa'd and pelissed, in all the splendour of her sables. Our little friend under the dead fall is none other than the sable — the marten of North America, the sable of Siberia. A hundred miles away from the nearest fort this marten has been captured. When the snow and ice begin to show symptoms of softening, the Indian packs his furs together, and sets out, as we have seen, for the fort. There are, perhaps, five or six families to- gether ; the squaws and dogs are heavy laden, and the march is slow and toilsome. All the household gods have to be carried along. The leather tent, the battered copper kettle, the axe, the papoose strapped in the moss bag, the two puppy-dogs, yet unable to shift for themselves, the snoAv-shoes for hunting, the tattered blanket, the dry meat ; it makes a big load, all told; and squaw and dog toil along with dilficulty under it. The brave of course goes before, deigning only to carry his gun, and not always doing even that; the wife is but as a dog to him. THE WILD NORTH LAND. Well, day by day the party moves along till the fort is reached. Then comes the trade. The fifty or a hundred marten-skins are lianded over: the debt of the past year is cancelled, partly or wliolly; and advances are taken for the coming season. The wild man's first thought is for the lit- tle one, — the child's white capote, strouds or blanketing for tiny backs, a gaudy handker- chief for some toddling papoose. After that the shot and powder, the flints and ball for his own use ; and lastly, the poor wife gets something for her share. She has managed to keej) a couple of deer-skins for her own perquisite, and with these she derives a little pin-money. It would be too long to follow the marten skin through its many vicissitudes — how it changes from hand to hand, each time more than doubling its price, until at length some stately dowager spends more guineas upon it than its original captor realized pence for it. Many a time have I met these long pro- cessions, sometimes when I have been alone on the march, and at others when my fol- lowers were around me ; each time there was the inevitable hand-shaking, the good-hu- moured laughing, the magic word " the ; " a few matches, and a plug or two of tobacco given, and we separated. How easily they were made happy! And now and again 199 THE WILD XORTII LAND. among them would be seen a poor crippled Indian, maimed by fall from horse or shot from, gun, hobbling along with the women in the rear of the straggling cortege, looking for all the world like a wild bird with a broken wing. The spring was now rapidly approaching, and each day made some change in the state of the ice. The northern bank was quite clear of snow ; the Avater on the river grew daily deeper, and at night the ice cracked and groaned as we walked upon it, as though the sleeping giant had begun to stir and stretch himself previous to his final waking. On the morning of the 7th of April we passed the site of an old fort on the northern shore. I turned aside to examine it. Rank weeds and grass covered a few mounds, and faint traces of a fireplace could be still dis- cerned. Moose-tracks were numerous around. Just fifty years earlier, this old spot had been the scene of a murderous attack. In the grey of the morning, a small band of Beaver Indians approached the fort, and shot its master and four men ; a few others escaped in a canoe, leaving Fort St. John's to its fate. It was immediately burned down, and the forest has long since claimed it as its own. In the phraseology of the period, this attack was said to have been made by the Indians in revenge for a series of " wife- 200 THE WILD NORTH LAND. lifting " which had been carried on against them by the denizens of the fort. History saith no more, but it is more than ])rol)able that this dangerous method of levying " black female " was thereafter discontinued by the Highland fur-traders. We camped not far from the ruined fort, and next night drew near our destination. It was full time. The ice was rapidly going, and already in places dark, treacherous holes showed grimly through to the rushing water beneath. The dogs were all lame, and Cerf-vola had to be regularly put in boots previous to start- ing. Still, lame or sound, he always trav- elled just the same. When his feet were very sore, he would look around now and again for assistance ; but if none was forth- coming he bent himself resolutely to the task, and with down-bent head toiled at his collar. Others might tire, others might give out, but he might truly say, — - " Dogs may come, aud dogs may go, But I go on for ever. Ever, ever, I go on for ever." Before daybreak on the 8th we stopped for the usual cup of tea and bite of pemmican. The night was dark and overcast, l^eside us a huge pile of driftwood lay heaped above the ice. We fired it in many places before starting, and then set out for our last dog- 201 THE WILD NORTH LAND. march. The flames rose high through the dry timber, and a long line of light glowed and quivered upon the ice. We were soon far away from it. Day broke ; a thick rain began to fall ; dogs and men sunk deep in the slushy snow. "Go on, good old Cerf-vola! A little more, and your weary journey will be over; a little more, and the last mile of this 1,400 will have been run ; a little more, and the collar will be taken from your worn shoulders for the last long time I " At the bend of the Peace River, where a lofty ridge runs out from the southern side, and the hills along the northern shore rise to nearly 1,000 feet above the water, stands the little fort of St. John. It is a remote spot, in a land which is itself remote. From out the plain to the west, forty or fifty miles away, great snowy peaks rise up against the sky. To the north and south and east all is endless Avilderness — wilderness of pine and prairie, of lake and stream — of all the vast inanity of that moaning waste Avhich sleeps betweeen the Bay of Hudson and the Rocky Mountains. So far have we journeyed through that land; here we shall rest awhile. The time of winter travel has drawn to its close ; the ice-road has done its work ; the dogs may lie down and rest; for those great snowy peaks are the Rocky Mountains. 803 CHAPTER XVIII. TlieWild Animals of the Peace River — Indian Meth- od of Hunting the Moose — Twa-poos — The Bea- ver— Tlie Bear — Bear's Butter — A Bear's Hug and How it Ended— Fort St. John — The River Awakes — A Rose without a Tliorn — Nigger Dan — A Tlireatening Letter — I Issue a Judicial Memorandum — Its Effect is All that could be Desired — Working up the Peace River. Three animals have made their homes on the shores of the Peace River and its tribu- taries. They are the bear, the moose, and the beaver. All are valuable to the Indian for their flesh, fur, or skin ; all come to as great perfection here as in any part of the American continent. The first and last named go to sleep in the long winter months, but the moose still roams the woods and willow baanks, feeding with his flesh the forts and the Indians along the entire river. About 100 full- grown moose had been consumed during the winter months at the four posts we have lately passed, in fresh meat alone. He is a huge animal; his carcase will weigh from. 303 THE WILD NORTH LAND. three to six hundred pounds ; yet an ordinary half-bi'eed will devour him in little more than a month. Between four and five hundred moose are annually eaten at the forts of the Peace E.iver ; four times that number are consumed by the Indians, but the range of the animal is vast, the hunters are comparatively few, and to-day there are probably as many moose in Peace Piver as there Avere fifty years ago. Athabasca trades to-day the skins of nearly 2,000 moose in a single year. Few ani- mals are more unshapely than this giant deer. His neck slojies down from the shoulder, ending in a head as large as a horse — a head which ends in a nose curled like a camel's — - a nose delicious to the taste, but hideous to the eye. The ears are of enormous length. Yet, ugly as are the nose and ears of the moose, they are his chief means of protection against his eneiiiy, and in that great ungainly head there lurks a brain of marvellous cun- ning. It is tlirough nose and ears that this cunning brain is duly prompted to escape danger. No man save f/ie Indian, or the half-In- dian, can hunt the moose with chance of suc- cess. I am aware that a host of Englishmen and Canadians will exclaim against this, but 304 THE WILD NOT^TII LAND. nevertheless it is perfectly true. Hunting the luoose in summer and winter is one thing — killing him in a snow-yard, or running him down in deep snow is another. The two methods are as widely different as killing a salmon which another man has hooked for you is different from rising, hooking, play- ing, and gaffing one j^ourself. To hunt the moose requires years of study. Here is the little game which his instinct teaches him. When the early morning has come, he begins to think of lying down for the day. He has been feeding on the grey and golden willow-tops as he walked lei- surely along. His track is marked in the snow or soft clay ; he carefully retraces his footsteps, and, breaking off suddenly to the leeward side, lies down a gunshot from his feeding-track. He knows he must get the wind of any one following his trail. In the morning "Twa-poos," or the Three Thumbs, sets forth to look for a moose ; he hits the trail and follows it; every now and again he examines the broken willow-tops or the hoof-marks, when experience tells him that the moose has been feeding here during the early night. Twa-poos quits the trail, bending in a deep circle to leeward; stealth- ily he returns to the trail, and as stealthily bends away again from it. He makes as it were the semicircles of the letter B, suppos- 205 THE WILD NORTH LAND. ing the perpendicular line to indicate the trail of the moose ; at each return to it he examines attentively the Avillows, and judges his proximity to the game. At last he is so near that he knows for an absolute certainty that the moose is lying in a thicket a little distance ahead. Now comes the moment of caution. He divests himself of every article of clothing which might cause the slightest noise in the forest ; even his moccasins are laid aside ; and then, on a pointed toe which a ballet-girl might envy, he goes forward for the last stalk. Every bush is now scrutinized, every thicket exam- ined. See ! he stops all at once ! You who follow him look, and look in vain ; you can see nothing. He laughs to himself, and points to yon willow covert. No, there is nothing there. He noiselessly cocks his gun. You look again and again, but can see nothing; then Twa-poos suddenly stretches out his hand and breaks a little dry twig from an overhanging branch. In an instant, right in front, thirty or forty yards away, an immense dark-haired animal rises up from the willows. He gives one look in your direction, and that look is his last. Twa- poos has fired, and the moose is either dead in his thicket or within a few hundred yards of it. One Avord now abovit this sense of hearing 206 THE WILD NORTH LAND. possessed by tlie inoose. The most favoura- ble day for hunting is in wild windy weather, when the dry branches of the forest crack in the gale. Nevertheless, Indians have as- sured me that, on such days, when they have sighted a moose, thej^ have broken a dry stick; and although many branches were waving and cracking in the woods, the ani- mal started at the sound — distinguishing it from the natural noises of the forest. But although the moose are still as numer- ous on Peace River as they were in days far removed from the present, there is another animal which has almost wholly disappeared. The giant form of the wood-buffalo no longer darkens the steep lofty shores. When first Mackenzie beheld the long reaches of the river, the " gentle laAvns " which alter- nated with " abrupt precipices " were " en- livened" by vast herds of buffaloes. This was in 1793. Thirty-three years later, Sir George Simpson also ascended the river with his matchless Iroquois crew. Yet no buffalo darkened the lofty shores. What destroyed them in that short in- terval? The answer is not difficult to seek — deep snow. The buffalo grazes on the grass, the moose browses on the tall willows. During one winter of exceptionally deep snow, eighty buffaloes were killed in a single day in the vicinity of Dun vegan. The In- 207 THE WILD NORTH LAND. dians ran them into the snowdrifts, and then despatched them with knives. It is still a matter of dispute whether the wood-bulfalo is the same species as his namesake of the southern plains ; but it is generally believed by the Indians that he is of a kindred race. He is nevertheless larger, darker, and wilder ; and although the north- ern land, in which he is still found, abounds in open prairies and small plains, he never- theless seeks in preference the thickest woods. Whether he be of the plain race or not, one thing is certain — his habits vary much from his southern cousin. The range of the wood- buffalo is much farther north than is gener- ally believed. There are scattered herds even now on the banks of the Liard River as far as sixty-one degrees of north latitude. The earth had never elsewhere such an ac- cumulation of animal life as this northern continent must have exhibited some live or six centuries ago, when, from the Great Slave Lake to the Gulf of Florida, millions upon millions of bisons roamed the wilderness. Have we said enough of animals, or can we spare a few words to the bears and the bea- vers? Of all the animals which the New World gave to man the beaver was the most extraordinary. His cunning surpassed that of the fox ; his skill was greater than that of the honey-bee; his patience was more en- 208 THE WJLI) NOHTIl J.ANl). (luring than the spidev's; liis labour could turn the waters of a mighty river and change the face of an entire country, lie couhl cut down forests, and build bridges; lie dwelt in a house with rooms, a common hall and a neat doorway in it. He could fell a forest tree in any direction he pleased, or carry it on his back when his sharp teeth had lopped its branches. He worked in companies, with a master beaver at the head of each — com- panies from whose ranks an itlle or a lazy beaver was ignominiously expelled. He dwelt along the shores of quiet lakes, or by the margins of rushing streams, and silent majestic rivers, far in the heart of the soli- tude. But there came a time when men deemed his soft, dark skin a fitting covering for their heads; and Avild men hunted him out in liis lonely home. They traj^ped him from Texas to the Great Bear Lake; they hunted him in the wildest recesses of the Rocky Mountains; rival companies went in pursuit of him. In endeavouring to cover the heads of others, hundreds of trappers lost their own head- covering ; the beaver brought many a white man's scalp to the red man's lodge-pole; and many a red man's life went out with the beaver's. In the West he became well-nigh extinct, in the nearer North he became scarce; yet here in Peace River he held his 1-1 209 THE WILD NORTH LAND. own against all comers. Nigh 30,000 l)ea- vers die annually along its shores, and when spring opens its waters the night is ever broken l)y the dull plunge of countless beavers in the pools and eddies of the great river. Along the lofty shores of the Peace Eiver the Saskootum berry grows in vast quanti- ties. In August its fruit is ripe, and the bears come forth to enjoy it; black, brown, and grizzly, stalk along the shores and hill- sides browsing on this luscious berry. On such food Bruin grows fat and unwieldy; he becomes " sleek-headed " and " sleeps of nights," thus falling an easy prey to his hunter. While he was alive he loved the " poire " berries, and now when he is dead the red man continues the connexion, and his dain- tiest morsel is the bear's fat and Saskootum berries mixed with powdered moose-meat. It is the dessert of a Peace River feast ; the fat, white as cream, is eaten in large quan- tities, and although at first a little of it suffices, yet after a while one learns to like it, and the dried Saskootum and "bear's butter " becomes a luxury. But fat or lean, the grizzly bear is a for- midable antagonist. Few Indians will fol- low him alone to his lair; his strength is enormous, he can kill and carry a buffalo- 210 THE AVILI) NOUTII LAM). bull ; were he as active as lie is strong it is probable that he would stand as the most dangerous animal on the earth. lint his movements are comparatively slow, and his huge form is upraised upon its hind legs be- fore he grapples his adversary. Woe to that adversary should those great fore-paws ever encircle him. Once only have I known a man live to tell the tale of that embrace : his story was a queer one. He had been at- tacked from behind, he had only time to tire his gun into the bear's chest when the mon- ster grasped him. The Indian never lost his power of tliought ; he plunged his left arm into the brute's throat, and caught firm hold on the tongue ; with his right hand he drove his hunting-knife into ribs and side ; his arm and hand were mangled, his sides were gashed and torn, but the grizzly lay dead be- fore him. The fort of St. John, on the Upper Peace River, is a very tumble-down old place; it stands on the south shore of the river, some thirty feet above high-water level; close be- hind its ruined buildings the ridges rise 1,000 feet, steep and pine-clad; on the opposite shore bare grassy hills lift their thicket- fringed faces nearly to the same elevation ; the river, in fact, runs at the bottom of a very large V-shaped trough 900 feet below the prairie-plateau. Between the base of the 211 THE WILD NORTH LAND. hill and the bank of the river lies a tract of wooded and sheltered land, from whose groves of birch, poplar, and i)ines the loud " drumming " of innumerable }tartiidges now gave token of the coming spring. Yes, we had travelled into the spring — our steps and these never-tiring dogs had carried us farther and quicker than time. It was only the sec- ond week in April, and already the earth began to soften; the forest smelt of last year's leaves and of this year's buds; the rills spoke, and the wild duck winged along the river channels. During the whole of the second week of April the days were soft and Avarm ; rain fell in occasional showers; at daybreak my thermometer showed only 3° or 4° of frost, and in the afternoon stood at 50° to 60° in the shade. From the 15th to the 20th the river, which had hitherto held aloof from all advances of the spring, began to show many symptoms of yielding to her soft entreaties. Big tears rose at times upon his iron face and flowed down his frosted cheeks; his great heart seemed to swell within him, and ominous groans broke from his long-silent bosom. At night he recovered himself a little, and looked grim and rigid in the early morning; but, at last, spring, and shower, and sun, and stream were too much for him — all his children were already awake, and prattling, and purling, and pulling at 213 THE WILD NORTH LAND. him, and shaking him to open his long-ch)Sf>(l eyelids, to look once more at the bhie and golden summer. It was the 20th of April. ]^ut the rose of spring had its thorn too (what rose has not?), and with bud, and sun, and shower came the first mosquito on this same 20th of April. He was a feeble insect, and hummed around in a mournful sort of manner, not at all in keeping with the glow- ing prospect before him. He had a wliole long summer of stinging in prospective; " the winter of his discontent " was over, and yet there was nothing hilarious in his hum. 1 have made a slight error in rei)eating the old saying, that "'no rose is without its thorn," for there is just one — it is the prim- rose. Bui; there were other thorns than mos- quitoes in store for the denizens of this isolated spot, called St. John's, in the wilder- ness. On the north shore of the river, directly facing the tumble-down fort, a new log- house was in course of erection by the Hud- son's Bay Company. Work moves slowly in the North, and his log-house lay long unlin- ished. One fine day a canoe came floating down the lonely river; it held a solitary negro — pioneer, cook, trapper, vagrant, idler, or squatter, as chance suited him. Tliis time the black paddler determined to squat by the half -finished log-house of the Com- ply THE WILD NORTH LAND. pany. Four yeais eariiev lie had dwelt for a season on this same spot. There were dark rumours afloat about him ; he had killed his man it Avas averred; nay, he had repeated the pastime, and killed two men. He had robbed several mining shanties, and had to shift his residence more than once beyond the mountains on account of his mode of life. Altogether Nigger Dan, as he was called, bore an indifferent reputation among the soli- tary white man and his half-breed helpers at the post of St. John's. By the Indians he was regarded as something between a beaver and an American bear, and, had his head been tradeable as a matter of fur, I believe they would have trapped him to a certainty. But despite the hostile feelings of the entire community, Nigger Dan held stout possession of his shanty, and claimed, in addition to his hut, all the land adjoining it, as well as the Hudson's Bay Fort in course of erection. From his lair he issued manifestoes of a very violent nature. He planted stakes in the ground along the river-bank, upon which he painted in red ochre hieroglyphics of a men- acing character. At night he could be heard across the silent river indulging in loud and uncalled-for curses, and at times he varied this employment by reciting ])ortions of the Bible in a pitch of voice and accent peculiar to gentlemen of colour. On the 814 THE WILD ^OKTII LAND. 12tli of Ajiiil, four days after my arrival at St. John's, my young host was the recipient (jf the following ultimatum, I copy it verba- tim : — April 12. Kenedy I licar by VVorne you that Com and Gett your persuol property if eny you have Got of my prmeeis In 24 hours And then keep a\vay from me because I slial Not betrubbld Nor trod on only by her most Noble Majesty Government (Sgd) I). T. Williams. On the back appeared, — I have wated longe A-day for an ancer from that Notis you toer Down and now It is my turn to tore down Although the spirit of loyalty which breathed througli the latter portion of this do(!ument was n o-;t admirable, it is neverthe- less matter for regret that Dan's views of the subject of " persnol property " were not those of a law-abiding citizen ; unfortunately for me, both the Hudson's Bay claimant and the pegro occupant appealed to me in support of ^heir rival rights. What was to be done? It is true that by virtue of a commission con- ferred upon me some years earlier I had been plevated to the lofty title of justice of the peace for Kupert's Laud and the North- West Te;- 815 THE WILD NORTH LAND. ritories, my brother justices consisting, I be- lieve, of two Hudson Bay officials and three half-breed buffalo runners, whose collective wisdom was deemed am])ly sufficient to dis- pense justice over something like two million sqiiare miles. !N"evertlieles.s, it occurred to me that this matter of disputed ownership was one outside even the wide limits of my jurisdiction. To admit such want of juris- diction would never have answered. " Ru- pert's Land and the North-West" carried with tliem a sense of vast indehnite power, that if it were once shaken by an admission of non-competency, two million square miles, containing a })opulation of one twenty-fourth of a wild man to each square mile, might have instantly become a prey to chaotic prime. Feeling the inutility of my lofty office to deal with the matters in question, I decided upon adopting a middle course, one which I have every reason to believe upheld the full majesty of the law in the eyes of the eight representatives of the Canadian, African, and American races of man, now assembled around me. I therefore issued a document which ran thus : — Judicial ISIemorandum. Various circumstances having occurred in tlie neighbourhood of the Hudson's Bay Fort, known as St. John's, on t}\e Peace River, of a nature to lead to the assumptipn that », breach of the pea/fif/riirs. On the 29th of April the ice in the upper part of the river broke up, and came pouring down with great violence for some hours; blocks of ice many feet in thickness, and weighing several tons, came down the broad river, crushing against each other, and lining the shore with huge crystal masses. The river rose rapidly, and long after dark the grating of the ice-blocks in the broad channel below told us that the break-up must be a general one ; the current before our hut was running six miles an hour, and the ice had begun to run early in the afternoon. All next day the ice continued to run at intervals, but towards evening it grew less, and at nightfall it had nearly ceased. 245 THE WILD XORTII LAND. During the day I set out to explore the Canon. Making my way along the edge of what was, in ages past, the shore of a vast lake, I gained the summit of a ridge which hung directly over the Canon. Through a mass of wrack and tangled forest I held on, guided by the dull roar of waters until I reached an open space, where a ledge of rock dipped suddenly into the abyss : on the outer edge of this rock a few spruce-trees sprung from cleft and fissure, and from beneath, deep down in the dark chasm, a roar of water floated up into the day above. Advancing cautiously to the smooth edge of the chasm, I took hold of a spruce-tree and looked over. Below lay one of those grim glimpses which the earth holds hidden, save from the eagle and the mid-day sun. Caught in a dark prison of stupendous cliffs (cliffs which hol- lowed out beneath, so that the topmost ledge literally hung over the boiling abyss of waters), the river foamed and lashed against rock and precipice, nine hundred feet below me. Like some caged beast that finds escape impossible on one side, it flew as madly and as vainly against the other; and then fell back in foam and roar and raging whirlpool. The rocks at the base held the record of its wrath in great trunks of trees, and blocks of ice lying piled and smashed in shapeless ruin. Looking clown the Canon towards the 246 THE AVILD NORTH LAND. soutli, a great gleu opeurd from tlie west; and the sun, now getting low in the heavens, jjoured through this valley a flood of light on red and grey walls of rugged rock; while half the pine-clad hills lay dark in shade, and half glowed golden hi this level light; and far away, beyond the shadowy chasm and the sun-lit glen, one great mountain-peak lifted his dazzling crest of snow high into the blue air of the evening. There are many indications above the mouth of the Caiion, that the valley in which our hut stood was once a large lake. The beaches and terrace levels are distinctly marked, but the barrier fall was worn down into a rapid, and the Cailoji became a slant of water for some thirty miles. At the en- trance the rock is worn smooth and flat in many places, and huge cisterns have been hollowed in its surface — "kettles," as the voyageAiv calls them — perfectly round, and holding still the granite boulder which had chiselled them, worn to the size and round- ness of a cannon-ball from ages of revolution. Some of these kettles are tiny as a tea-cup ; pthers are huge as the tun of Heidelberg, When I got back to the hut, night had fallen. At the end of the long river-reach a new moon hung in the orange-tinted west; the river was almost clear of ice, and it was i-esolved to start on the morrow. 247 THE WILD NORTH I, AND. There was a certaiu amount of vagueness in the programme before me. For seventy miles the course was perfectly clear — there was, in fact, only one road to follow — but at the end of that distance two paths lay open, and circumstances could only determine the future route at that point. If the reader will imagine an immense let- ter Y laid longitudinally from west to east, he will have a fair idea of the Peace lliver above the Cafion. The tail of the Y will be the seventy miles of river running directly through the main range of the Rocky Moun- tains; the right arm will be the Findlay, having its source 300 miles higher up in that wilderness of mountains known as the Stic- keen ; the left arm will be the Parsnip River, sometimes called by mistake the Peace River, having its source 260 miles to the south near the waters of the upper Frazer. Countless lesser streams (some of them, nevertheless, having their 200 miles of life) roll down into these main systems; and it would seem as though the main cliannel had, like a skilful general, luiited all its widely-scattered forces at the forks, seventy miles above us, before entering on the gigantic task of piercing the vast barrier of the central montains. Standing on the high ground at the back of the hut in which we awaited the opening of the great river, and looking westward at THE WILD NOUTfl LAND. the mountains piled together in endless masses, it was difficult to imagine bj- Avhat process a mighty river had cloven asunder this wilderness of rock, — giving us the singu- lar spectacle of a wide, deep, tranquil stream flowing through the principal mountain range of the American continent. May-day broke in soft showers of rain ; the mountains were shrouded in mist; the breeze was not strong enough to lift the gauze-like vapour from the tree-tops on the south shore. By nine o'clock the mists began to drift along the hillsides; stray peaks came forth through rifts, then shvit themselves up again ; until finally the sun drew off the vapours, and clad mountain and valley in blue ami gold. We loaded the canoe, closed the door of the old shanty, and shoved off upon our western way. There were four of us and one dog — two miners, my half-breed Kalder, my- self, and Cerf-vola. I had arranged with Jacques to travel together, and I made him captain of the boat. None knew better the secrets of the Upper Peace Kiver; for ten years he had delved its waters with his pad- dle, and its sand-bars with his miner's shovel. Little Jacques — he was a curious specimen of humanity, and well worth some study too. I have already said that he was small, but that does not convey any idea of his real size. 2i\i THE WILD NORTH LAND. I think he was the smallest man I ever saw — of course I mean a man, and not a dwarf; Jacques had nothing of the dwarf about him — nay, he was a very giant in skill and craft of paddle, and pluck and daring. He had lived long u^jon his own resources, and had found them equal to most emergencies. He could set his sails to every shift of for- tune, and make some headway in every wind. In summer he hunted gold; in winter he hunted furs. He had the largest head of thick bushy hair I ever saw. He had drawn 3,000 dollars' worth of pure gold out of a sand-pit on the Ominica Eiver during the pre- ceding summer ; he had now a hundred fine marten-skins, the jiroduce of his winter's trapping. Jacques was rich, but all the same, Jacques must work. As I have said, Jacques was a native of Belfort. Belfort had proved a tough nut for Kaiser William's legions ; and many a time as I watched this little giant in times of peril, I thought that with 200,000 little Jacqueses one could fight big Bismarck's beery battalions as often as they pleased. Of course Jacques had a pair of miner's boots. A miner without a pair of miner's boots would be like Hamlet with Hamlet left out. When Jacques donned these boots, and swung himself out on a huge forest trunk prostrate in a rapid, and hewed away at the giant to give our cauoe a pas- 2oQ THE WILD NORTH LAND. sage, lie looked for all the world like his prototype the giant-killer, and the boots be- came the seven-leagued friends of our early days. How the big axe flew about his little head, until crash went the monster, and Jacques sprang back to rock or boat as lively as a squirrel. He had many queer stories of early days, and could recount with pride the history of the stirring times he had seen. What miner's heart does not soften at the recollection, in these degenerate days, of how the Vigilants hanged six roughs one morning in the market- place of Frisco, just two-and-twenty years ago? We poled and paddled along the shore of the river ; now on one side, now on the other, dodging the heavy floes of ice Avhich still came at intervals along the current. In the evening we had gained a spot some twelve miles from the hut, and we made our camp on a wooded flat set in a wide amphi- theatre of hills. The next morning broke wet and stormy, and we lay in camp during the early part of the day. Towards mid-day the silence was broken by the discharge of a gun at the opposite side of the river. We at once answered it, and soon another report replied to ours. There were Indians in the vicinity, so we iiiight expect a visit. About THE WILD NORTH LAXD. an hour later a most wretched group appeared at our cainp. It consisted of two lialf-clad women, one of whom carried a baby on her back; a wikl-looking boy, apparently about twelve or fourteen years of age, led the way, carrying an old gun ; two dogs brought up the rear. A glance at the dogs showed that food, at least, was plentiful in the Indian camp — they were fat and sleek. If an In- dian has a fat dog, 3'ou may know that game is abundant ; if the dog is thin, food is scarce ; if there be no dog at all, the Indian is starv- ing, and the dog has been killed and eaten by his master. But to proceed : — In a network of tattered blankets and drij)- ping rags, these three wretched creatures stalked into our camp; they were as wet as if they had come underneath the river in- stead of across it; but that seemed to give them little thought. Jacques undei'stood a few words of what they said, and the rest was made out by signs; — all the men were sick, and had been sick for months. This boy and another were alone able to hunt; but moose were plenty, and starvation liad not come to supplement sickness ; the women were "packing" the men. Reader, what do you imagine that means? I will soon tell you. It means that when the camp moves — whicli it does every few days, as the game gets hunted away fioni 252 THE WILD NORTH LAND. one locality — the women carried the men on their backs in addition to tlu' houseludd gods. Literally these poor womni carried oJi their bent backs the house, the clothes, the food, the baby, and the baby's father. What was the disease? They could not tell. My slender stock of drugs Avas long since exhausted; I had nothing left but the pain- killer. I gave them half of my last bottle, and had it been the golden wealth of the sand-bars of this Peace Kiver itself, it could not have been more thought of. To add to their misfortunes, the baby had come to grief about a week previously— it had tumbled head foremost into the fire. It was now un- slung from its mother's back for my inspec- tion. Poor little Beaver! its face and head had got a dreadful burning; but, thanks to mountain air and Indian hardiness, it was getting all right. Had I anything to rub on it? A little of the Mai de Raquette i)orpoise-oil and pain- killer yet remained, and with such an anti- dote the youthful Beaver might henceforth live in the camp-fire. I know some excellent Christians at home who occasionally bestow a shilling or a half- crown upon a poor man at a church-door or a street-crossing, not for the humanity of the act, but just to purchase that amount of 253 THE WILD NORTH LAXD. heaven iu the next world. I believe they could tell you to a farthing liow much of Paradise they had purchased last week or the week before. I am not sure that they are quite clear as to whether the quantity of heaven thus purchased, is regulated by the value set on the gift by the beggar or by the rich man ; but if it be by the value placed on it by him who gets it, think, my Christian friends, think what a field for investment does not this wilderness present to you. Your shilling spent here amongst these In- dians will be rated by them at more than its weight in gold ; and a pennyworth of pain- killer might purchase you a perpetuity of Paradise. Jacques, an adept in Indian trade, got a large measure of dried moose meat in ex- change for a few plugs of tobacco; and the Indians went away wet, but happy. One word more about Indians — and I mean to make it a long word and a strong word, and perhaps my reader will add, a wrong word ; but never mind, it is meant the other way. This portion of the Beaver tribe trade to Hudson's Hope, the fort we have but lately quitted. Here is the story of a trade made last sum- mer by " the moose that walks. " " The moose that walks " arrived at Hud- 2rA TTTE WILD NOKTII LAND. son's Hoi)e early in the s[)iiiig. Tie was sorely in want of gunpowder and shot, i'or it was the season when the beaver Icaxe their winter houses, and when it is easy to shoot them. So he earried his thirty niartenskins to the fort, to barter them for shot, powdei-, and tobacco. There was no person at the Hope. The dwelling-house was closed, the store shut up, the man in charge had not yet come up from St. John's; now what was to be done? In- side that wooden house lay piles and piles of all that the walking moose most needed; there was a whole keg of powder ; there were bags of shot and tobacco — there was as much as the moose could smoke in his whole life. Through a rent in the parchment window the moose looked at all these wonderful things, and at the red flannel shirts, and at the four flint guns, and the spotted cotton handkerchiefs, each worth a sable skin at one end of the fur trade, half a sixjience at the other. There was tea, too — tea, that magic medicine before which life's cares vanished like snow in spring sunshine. The moose sat down to think about all these things, but thinking only made matters worse. He was short of ammunition, there- fore he had no food, and to think of food when one is very hungry is an unsatisfactoiy business. It is true that "the moose that 255 THE WILD NOIJTIT LAND. ■walks " had only to walk in through that pavc'hmeiit window, and help himself till he was tired. But no, that would not do. "Ah!" my Christian friend will exclaim, "Ah! yes, the poor Indian had known the good missionary, and had learnt the lesson of honesty and respect for liis neighbour's property." Yes ; he had learnt the lesson of honesty, but his teacher, my friend, had been other than human. The good missionary had never reached the Hope of Hudson, nor improved the morals of " the moose that walks." But let us go on. After waiting two days he determined to set off for St. John, two full days' travel. He set out, but his heart failed him, and he turned back again. At last, on the fourth day he entered the parchment window, leaving outside his com- rade, to whom he jealously denied admit- tance. Then he took from the cask of pow- der three skins' worth, from the tobacco four skins' worth, from the shot the same; and sticking the requisite number of martens in the powder-barrel and the shot-bag and the tobacco-case, he hung up his remaining skins on a nail to the credit of his account, and de- parted from this El Dorado, this Bank of England of the Red man in the wilderness, this Hunt and Roskell of Peace River. 256 THE WILD NORTH LAND. And when it was all over he went his wa}', thinking he had done a very reprehensible act, and one by no means to l)e jiroiid of. Poor " moose that walks ! " in this trade for skins 3'ou are but a small item ! Society muffles itself in your toil- won sables in distant cities, while you starve and die out in the wilderness. The credit of your twenty skins, hung to i^he rafter of Hudson's Hope, is not a large one ; but surely there is a Hope somewhere else, where your account is kept in golden letters, even though nothing but the clouds had baptized you, no missionary had cast water on your head, and God only knows who taught you to be honest. Let me not be misunderstood in this mat- ter. I believe, gentlemen missionaries, you mean well by this Indian. I will go further; you form, I think, almost the only class who would deal fairly by him, but you go to work in a wrong direction ; your mode of proceed- ing is a mistake. If you would only be a little more human, and a little less divine — if you would study the necessities of the sav- age races amidst whom you have cast your lot — what good might ye not effect? This Cree, this Blackfoot, this Chipewyan, this Beaver — -what odds is it, in the name of all goodness, whether he fully understands the numbered or unnumbered things you tell 17 257 THE WILD NORTH LAND. hiiii. Teach him the simple creed whicli you woukl teach a cliikl. He is starving, and the feast you give him is of delicate and subtle food, long since compounded from the brain of schoolman and classicist. He is naked, and you would clothe him in mysteri- ous raiment and fine tissue, which time has woven out of the webs of doubt and inquiry. All this will not warm him from the terrible blast of winter, or shelter him from the drenching rains of early siimmer. He has many faults, some virtues, innumerable wants. Begin with these. Preach against the first ; cultivate the second ; relieve as much as possible the third. Make him a good man before you attempt to make him an indifferent Christian. In a word, do more for his body ; and after a bit, when you have taught him to help his wife in toil and trou- ble — to build a house and to live in it — to plant a few potatoes when the ground thaws, and to hoe them out ere it hardens again — when you have loosed the bands of starva- tion, nakedness, and hardship from the grasp in which they now hold him, then will come the moment for your books and your higher teaching. And in his hut, with a well-filled stomach, he will have time to sift truth from falsehood, amidst all the isms and arians under the guise of which you come to teach him. But just now he is only a proletarian 258 THE WILD NORTH LAND. and an open-arian, and not mncli cvcmi of these. Meantime I know tliat yon wish well by him. You are ready to teach him — to tell him about a host of good, and some very indifferent, persons; but lo! in the middle of your homilies he falls asleep, and his sleep is the sleep of death. He starves and dies out before you. Of course I know the old old answer : " He is hopeless ; we have tried everything ; we can do nothing." How often have I not been told, " He is hopeless ; we can do nothing for this Red nian ! " But will any person dare to say that men such as this Indian at Hudson's Hope are beyond the cure of man? If they be, then your creed must be a poor weak thing. 259 CHAPTER XXII. Still "Westward — The Dangers of the Ice — We Enter the Main Range — In the Mountains — A Grizzly — The Death of the Moose — Peace River Pass — Pete Toy— The Ominica—" Travellers " at Home. We held our way up the river, fighting many a battle with the current. Round the points the stream ran strong, and our canoe was a big, lumbering affair, hollowed out of a single cotton-wood tree by Jacques, years before on the Fraser River, and ill-adapted to the ice, which was our most dangerous enemy. Many a near shave we had of being crushed under its heavy floes as we coasted along beneath their imj^ending masses. When the river breaks up, portions of it stronger than the rest remain still frozen. At the back of these the floating ice jams, and the river rises rapidly behind the barrier thus flung across it. Then the pack gives way, and the pent-up waters rapidly lower. But along the shore, on either side, the huge blocks of ice lie stranded, heaped one upon another, and the water, still falling, brushes off from beneath the projecting pieces, leav- 260 THE WILD NORTH LAND. ing a steep wall of ice, sometimes twenty and thirty feet, brightly rising above the water. Along these impending masses we had to steer our canoe, and hazardous vv'ork it was, for every now and again some huge fragment, many tons in weight, Avould slide from its high resting-place, and crash into the river with a roar of thunder, drivirg tlie billows before it half-way across the wide river, and making our hearts jump half as much again. At one point where the river ran with un- usual velocity we battled long beneath a very high ice-wall. Once or twice the current carried us against its sides. We dared not touch it with our poles, for it hung by a thread, so far did its summit project over our heads. Gently we stole our way up from beneath it, and were still within thirty yards of it when the great boulder, looming high, crashed into the river. On the fourth day we got clear of this shore ice, and drew near the main range of the mountains. But there was one impor- tant question which experience soon told me there was no cause for anxiety about — it was the question of food. Game was abundant; the lower hills were thickly stocked with blue grouse — a noble bird, weighing between thi-ee and four pounds. 361 THE WILD NORTH LAND. The bays of the river held beaver, swim- ming through the driftwood, and ere we had reached the mountain gate a moose had fallen to my trusty smooth-bore, in one of the grassy glens between the river and the snowy range. It was literally a hunter's paradise. This was the worst time of the year, except for beaver, but necessity knows no game law, and the wilderness at all times must feed its wanderers. We usually camped a couple of hours be- fore sundown, for in this northern land the daylight was more than long enough to stiffen our shoulders, and make our arms ache from pole or paddle. Then came the time to stretch one's legs over these great grassy up- lands, so steep, yet so free of rock ; so full of projecting point and lofty proinontory, be- neath which the river lay in long silvery reaches, while around on every side the moun- tains in masses of rock and snoAv, lay like giant sentinels, guarding the great road which Nature had hewn through their midst. At the entrance to the main range, the val- ley of the river is about two miles wide. The river itself preserves its general width of 250 to 300 yards with singular uniformity. The reaches are from one to three miles in length, the banks are dry, the lower beaches are level and well wooded, and the current be- comes deeper and less rapid. 263 THE "WILD NORTH LAND. On the 8th of May we readied, early in the morning, the entrance to the main range. A short rapid marks it, a rapid easy to run at all stages of water, and up which we towed our canoe, carrying the more perishable arti- cles to save them from the spray — a precau- tion Avhich was, however, not necessary, as no water was shij^ped. We Avere now in the mountains. From the low terrace along the shore they rose in stupendous masses ; their lower ridges clothed in forests of huge spruce, poplar, and birch ; their middle heights covered in dense thickets of spruce alone; their summits cut into a thousand varied peaks, bare of all vegetation, but bearing aloft into the sunshine 8,000 feet above us the glittering crowns of snow which, when evening stilled the breezes, shone re- flected in the quiet waters, vast and motion- less. Wonderful things to look at are these white peaks, perched up so high above our world. They belong to us, yet they are not of us. The eagle links them to the earth; the cloud carries to them the message of the sky; the ocean sends them her tempest; the air rolls her thunders beneath their brows, and launches her lightnings from their sides ; the sun sends them his first greeting, and leaves them his latest kiss. Yet motionless they keep their crowns of snow, their glacier 263 THE WILD NORTH LAND. crests of jewels, and dwell among tlie stars heedless of time or tempest. For two days we journeyed through this vast valley, along a wide, beautiful river, tranquil as a lake, and bearing on its bosom, at intervals, small isles of green forest. Kow and again a beaver rippled the placid surface, or a bear appeared upon a rocky point for a moment, looked at the strange lonely craft, stretched out his long snout to sniff the gale, and then vanished in the forest shore. For the rest all was stillness; forest, isle, river and mountain — all seemed to sleep in unend- ing loneliness ; and our poles grating against the rocky shore, or a shot at some quick-div- ing beaver, alone broke the silence; while the echo, dying away in the vast mountain canons, made the relapsing silence seem more intense. Thus we journeyed on. On the evening of the 8th of May we emerged from the pass, and saw beyond the extremity of a long reach of river a mountain range running north and south, distant about thirty miles from us. To the right and left the Rocky Mountains opened out, leaving the river to follow its course through a long forest valley of con- siderable width. We had passed the Eocky Mountains, and the range before us was the central mountain system of North British Columbia. 264 THE WILD NORTH LAND. It was a very beautiful evening ; the tops of the birch-trees were already showing their light green leaves amidst the dark foliage of the spruce and firs. Along the shore, where we landed, the tracks of a very large grizzly bear were im- printed freshly in the sand. I put a couple of bullets into my gun and started up the river, with Cerf-vola for a companion. I had got about a mile from the camp when, a few hundred yards ahead, a large dark animal emerged from the forest, and made his way through some lower brushwood towards the river. Could it be the grizzly? I lay down on the sand-bank, and pulled the dog down beside me. The large black animal walked out upon the sand-bar two or three hundred yards above me. He proved to be a moose on his way to swim the river to the south shore. I lay still until he had got so far on his way that return to the forest would have been impracticable ; then I sprang to my feet and ran towards him. What a spring he gave across the sand and down into the water ! Making an allowance for the force of the cur- rent, I ran towards the shore. It was a couple of hundred yards from me, and when I gained it the moose was already three-parts across the river, almost abreast where I stood, swimming for his very life, with his huge unshapen head thrust out along the sur- 365 THE WILD NORTH LAND. face, the ears thrown forward, while the large ripples rolled from before his chest as he clove his way through the water. It was a long shot for a rifle, doubly so for a smooth-bore ; but old experience in many lands, where the smooth-bore liolds its own despite all other weapons, had told me that when you do get a gun to throw a bullet well, you may rely upon it for distances supposed to be far beyond the possibilities of such a weapon; so, in a tenth of the time it has taken me to say all this, I gave the moose the right barrel, aiming just about his long ears. There was a single plunge in the water; the giant head went down, and all was quiet. And now to secure the quarry. Away down stream he floated, showing only one small black speck above the surface; he was near the far side, too. Running down shore I came within calling-distance of the camp, from which the smoke of Kalder's lire was already curling above the tree-tops. Out came Kalder, Jacques, and A . Of course it was a grizzly, and all tlie broken flint-guns of the party were suddenly called into requisition. If it had been a grizzly, and that I had been retiring before him in skirmishing order, gods! what a support I was falling back upon! A 's gun is already familiar to the reader; Kalder's beaver-gun went off about one shot in three; 366 THE WILD NUKTII LAND. and Jacques possessed a weapon (it had been discarded by aa Indian, and Jacques had resuscitated it out of the store of all trades which he possessed an inkling of) the most extraordinary I had ever seen. Jacques always spoke of it in the feminine gender. " She was a good gun, except that a trifle too much of the powder came out the wrong way. He would back her to shoot 'plum' if she would only go off after a reasonable lapse of time, but it was tiring to him to keep her to the shoulder for a couple of minutes after he had pulled her trigger, and then to have her go off when he was thinking of pulling the gun-coat over her again." When she was put away in the canoe, it was always a mat- ter of some moment to place her so that in the event of any sudden explosion of her pent-up wrath, she might discharge herself harmlessly along the river, and on this ac- count she generally lay like a stern-chaser projecting from behind Jacques, and endan- gering only his paddle. All these maimed and mutilated weapons were now brought forth, and such a loading and priming and hammering began, that, had it really been a grizzly, he must have been utterly scared out of all semblance of attack. Kalder now mastered the position of affairs, and like an arrow he and Jacques were into the canoe, and out after the dead moose. 867 THE WILD NORTH LAND. They soon overhauled him, and, slipping a line over the young antlers, towed him to the shore. AVe were unable to lift him altogether out of the water, so we cut him wp as he lay, stranded like a whale. Directly opposite a huge cone mountain rose up some eight or nine thousand feet above us, and just ere evening fell over the scene, his topmost peak, glowing white in the sunlight, became mirror'd in most faith- ful semblance in the clear quiet river, while the life-stream of tlie moose flowed out over the tranquil surface, dyeing the nearer waters into brilliant crimson. If some painter in the exuberance of his genius had put upon canvas such a strange contrast of colours, j^eople would have said it is not true to nature ; but nature has many truths, and it takes many a long day, and not a few years' toil, to catch a tenth of them. And, my dear friend with the eye-glass — you who know all about nature in a gallery and Avith a catalogue — you may take my word for it. And now, ere quitting, probably for ever, this grand Peace River Pass — this immense valley which receives in its bosom so many other valleys, into whose depths I only caught a moment's glimpse as we floated by their outlets — let me say one other word about it. Since I left the Wild North Land, it has 368 THE WILD NORTH LAND. been my lot to visit the chief points of inter- est ill Oregon, California, the Vale of Shasta, and the Yoseuiite. Shasta is a loftier moun- tain than any that fcown above the Peace River Pass, Yosemite can boast its half- dozen waterfalls, trickling down their thou- sand feet of rock ; but for wild beauty, for the singular spectacle of a great river flowing tranquilly through a stupendous mountain range, — these mountains presenting at every reach a hundred varied aspects, — not the dizzy glory of Shasta nor the rampart preci- pices of Yosemite can vie with that lonely gorge far away on the great Unchagah. On the 9th of May we reached the Forks of the river, where the two main streams of the Parsnip and the Findlay came together. A couple of miles from their junction a sec- ond small rapid occurs; but, like the first one, it can be run without difficulty. Around the point of junction the country is low and marshy, and when we turned into the Findlay, it was easy to perceive from the colour of the water that the river was rising rapidly. Some miles above the Forks there is a soli- tary hut on the south bank of the river. In this hut dwelt Pete Toy, a miner of vast re- pute in the northern mining country. Some ten years ago Pete had paddled his canoe into these lonely waters. As he went, 209 THE WILD NORTH LAND. he i)i'Ospected the various Lars Su(hleiily he struck one of surpassing richness. It yielded one dollar to the bucket, or one hun- dred dollars a day to a man's work. Pete was astonished; he laid up his canoe, built this hut, and claimed the bar as his property. For a long time it j'ielded a steady return ; but even gold has a limit — the bar became exhausted. Where had all his gold come from? Ah, that is the question! Even to-day, though the bank has been washed year after year, " it is still rich in colour ; " but the " pay-dirt " lies too far from the water's edge, hence the labour is too great. Well, Pete, the Cornish miner, built his hut and took out his gold; but th^^t did not satisfy him. What miner ever yet was satis- fied? Pete went in for fifty things; he traded with the Indians, he trapped, he took an In- dian wife; yet, through all, he maintained a character for being as honest and as straight- forward a miner as ever found " a colour " from Mexico to Cariboo. My little friend Jacques expected to meet his old brother miner Pete at his hut, but, as we came within five miles of it, a beaver swam across the river. We all fired at him, and when the smoke had vanished, I heard Jacques mutter, "Pete's not hereabouts, or that fellow wouldn't be there." He was 370 THE WILD NOKTII LAND. right, for, when we readied the Imt an hour later, we found a notice on the door, saying that Pete and two friends had departed for the Ominica just six days earlier, being to- tally out of all food, and having only their guns to rely upon. Now this fact of Pete's absence rendered necessary new arrange- ments, for here the two courses I have already allud d to lay open — either to turn south, along tlie Parsnip; or north and west, along the Findlay and Ominica. The current of the Parsnip is regular ; that of the Ominica is wild and rapid. But the Parsnip was already rising, and at its spring level it is almost an impossibility ^o ascend it, owing to its great depth ; while the Omi- nica, th( ugh difficult and dangerous in its canons, is nevertheless possible of ascent, even in its worst stage of water. I talked the matter over with Jacques, as we sat camped on the gold-bar opposite Pete Toy's house. Fortunately we had ample supplies of meat ; but some luxuries, such as tea and sugar, were getting dangerously low, and flour was almost exhausted. I decided upon trying the Ominica. About noon, on the 10th of May, we set out for the Ominica, with high hopes of find- ing the ri"er still low enough to allow us to ascend it. Ten miles above Toy's hut the Ominica 271 THE WILD NORTfl LAND. enters the Peace River from the south-westr. We reached its mouth on the morning of tlie 11th, and found it liigli and rai)id. There was hard work in store for us, and the diffi- culties of passing the Great Caiion loomed ominously big. We pushed on, however, and that night reached a spot where the river issued from a large gap in a liigh wall ,f dark rock. Above, on the summit of this rock, pine-trees projected over the river. We were at the door of the Ominica caiion. The warm weather of last week had done its Avork, and the Avater rushed from the gate of the canon in a wild and impetuous torrent. We looked a moment at the grim gate which we had to storm on the morrow, and then puc in to the north shore, where, under broad and lofty pines, we made our beds for the night. The Findlay River, as it is called, after the fur-trader, Avho first ascended it, has many large tributaries. It is something like a huge right hand spread out over the coun- try, of which the middle finger would be the main river, and the thumb the Ominica. There is the North Fork, which closely hugs the main Rocky Mountain range. There is the Findlay itself, a magnificent river, flow- ing from a vast labyrinth of mountains, and being unchanged in size or apparent volume, 120 miles above the Forks we had lately left. 273 THE WILD NOKTII LAND. At tliat distance it issnes from a cafion simi- lar to that at whose mouth we are now cam[)e(l; and there is the second So-utli Fork, a river something smaller than tlie Ominica, from whose mouth it is distant about a hun- dred miles. Of these rivers nothing is known. These few items are the result of chance informa- tion i^icked up from the solitary miner who penetrated to this canou's month, and from the reports which a wandering band of Sicka- nies give of the vast unknown interior of the region of the Stickeen. And yet it is all British territory. It abounds with game ; its scenery is as wild as mountain peak and gloomy cafion can make it; it is free from fever or malaria. In it Nature has locked lip some of her richest treasures— treasures which are open to any strong, stout heart who will venture to grasp them. I know not how it is, but sometimes it seems to me that this England of ours is liv- ing on a bygone reputation ; the sinew is there without the soul ! It is so easy to be a traveller in an easy- chair — to lay out a map and run one's finger over it and say, "This river is the true source of the Hunkydorum, and that lake finds its outlet in the Rumtif oozle ; " and it is equally easy, particularly after our comfortable din- ner at the club, to stroll over to the meeting 18 273 THE WILD NORTH LAND. of the Society for the Preservation of Stic- klebacks in Tahitian Seas, and to prove to the fashionable audience there assembled, that a stickleback was the original progenitor of the human race. Our modern Briton can be a traveller with- out any trouble. He is a member of "the Club," and on the strength of his member- ship he can criticize " that fellow Burton," or " that queer fish Palgrave," and prove to you how, if that " poor devil " Hay ward had tried the Chittral Pass instead of the Palmirsteppe, "he would never have come to grief, you know." I know one or tv/o excellent idiots, who fancy they are wits because they belong to the Garrick. It is quite as easy to be a trav- eller by simply belonging to a Travellers' Club. Now all this would be a very harmless pastime, if something more serious did not lie behind it; just as the mania to dress our- selves in uniform and carry a rifle through the streets, would also be a very harmless, if a very useless, pastime, if a graver ques- tion did not again lie hidden beneath " our noble Volunteers ; " but the club traveller and the club soldier are not content Avith the role of lounging mediocrity for which nature destined them. They must needs stand be- tween the spirit of England's better genius, 274 THE WILT) NORTH LAND. and England's real toilers of the wilds. They must supervise and criticize and cate- chize, and generally play the part of Fuzbuz to the detriment of everything whicli re- dounds to the true spirit of England's honour in the fair field of travel and discovery. Let there be no mistake in this matter. To those veterans who still stand above the waves of time, living monuments of Eng- land's heroism, in Arctic ice or Africa's sun, we owe all honour and love and veneration. They are the old soldiers of an army passed from the world, and when Time sums up the record of their service here below, it will be but to hand up the roll to the Tribunal of the Future. But it is of the younger race of whom we would speak — that race who buy with gold the right to determine what England shall do, and shall not do, in the wide field of geographical research; who are responsible for the wretched exploratory failures of the past few years; who have allowed the palm of discovery and enterprise to pass away to other nations, or to alien sons. But if we were to say all we think about this matter, we might only tire the reader, and stop until doomsday at the mouth of this Black Canon of the Ominica. 375 CHAPTER XXIII. The Black Canon — An Ugly Prospect — The Vanished Boat — We Struggle on — A Forlorn Hope — We Fail Again — An Unhoped-for Meeting and a Feast of Joy — The Black Cafion Conquered. Casting off from camp, on the morning of the 12th, we pushed right into the mouth of the canon. At once our troubles began. The steep walls of smooth rock rose directly out of the water — sometimes washed by a torrent, at others beaten by a baekwhirl and foaming eddy. In the centre ran a rush of water that nothing could stem. Poling, pad- dling, clinging with hands and nails to the rock; often beaten back and always edging up again, we crept slowly along under the overhanging cliff, which leaned out two hun- dred feet above us to hold nj^on its dizzy verge some clinging pine-tree. In the centre of the chasm, about half a mile from its mouth, a wild cataract of foam forbade our passage ; but after a Avhole morning's labour we succeeded in bringing the canoe safely to the foot of this rapid, and moored her in a quiet eddy behind a sheltering rock. Here we unloaded, and, clambering up a cleft in 276 THE WILD NORTH LAND. the canon wall two hundred feet above us, passed along the top of the cliff, and bore our loads to the upper or western end of the canon, fully a mile from the boat. The day was hot and sweltering, and it was hard work. In one of these many migrations between camp and canoe, it chanced one evening that, missing the trail, my footsteps led me to the base of a small knoll, the sides and summit of which were destitute of trees. Climbing to the top of this hill I beheld a view of ex- traordinary beauty. Over the sea of forest, from the dark green and light green ocean of tree-tops, the solid mountain mass lay piled against the east. Below my stand-point the lirst long reach of the canon opened out ; a grim fissure in the forest, in the depths of which the waters caught the reflection of the sun-lit skies above, glowing brightly between the walls of gloomy rock deep hidden be- neath the level rays of the setting sun. I stood high above the canon, high above the vast forest which stretched between me and the mountains ; and the eye, as it wandered over the tranquil ocean upon whose waves the isles of light green shade lay gold-crested in the sunset, seemed to rest upon fresh in- tervals of beauty, until the solid ramparts rent and pinnacled, silent and impassive, caught and rivetted its glance ; as their snow- 877 THE WILD NORTH LAND. white, iiiutionless liugevs, carved in charac- ters tliat ever last, the story of earth's loveli- ness upon the great blue dome of heaven. We pushed througli the dense underwood, loaded doAvn with all the paraphernalia of our travel, and even Cerf-vola carried his load of boots and moose-meat. Wlien we had finished carrying our loads, it was time for dinner; and that over, we set to work at once for the stiffer labour of hauling the canoe up the rajtid of the cailon ; for, remem- berj there was no hope of lifting her, for she was too heavy, and tlie rocky walls were far too steep to allow of it. Up along shore, through rapid and eddy we dragged our craft, for here the north side had along its l)ase ledges of rock and bits of shore, and taking advantage of these, sometimes in the canoe and sometimes out of it in the water, we reached at length the last edge or cliff round which it was possible to proceed at the north shore. For a long time we examined the spot, and the surrounding canon. Jacques and I climbed up to the top above, and then down on hands and knees to a ledge from whicli we could look over into the chasm, and scan its ugly features, I)eyond a doubt it was ugly — the rock on which we lay hollowed down beneath us until it roofed the shore of the canon with a half cavern, against which a 278 THE WILD NOKTH LAND. wild wliii'lpool boiled up now and Jigaiii, sinking suddenly into stillness. Even if we c.uuld stretch a ling from above the rock to where our canoe lay below it, she must have been knocked to atoms in the whirlpool in her passage beneath the cavern ; l)ut the dis- tance was too great to stretch a line across. The next and only course was to make a l)old crossing from below the rock, and gain the other shore, up which it was possible to drag our canoe. Once over, the thing would be easy enough for at least a couple of hundred yards more. AVe climbed back to the canoe and im- parted the result of our investigation to the other two men. From the level of the l)oat the proposed crossing looked very nasty. It was across a wild rush of water, in the centre of the caiion, and if we failed to make a small eddy at the farther shore we must drive full upon the precipice of rock where, below us, boiled and seethed the worst rapid in the canon — a mass of wave, and foam, and mad- dened surge. Once out of the sheltering eddy in which we lay watching this Avild 6cene, we would be in the midst of the rush plose above the rapid. There was no time to get headway on the canoe. It would phoot from shelter into furious curi'ent, and then, if it missed yon little eddy, look (^)Ut; and if you have any good angels away 27y THE WILD NORTH LAND. at home, pray that they uiay be praying for you — for down that white fall of water you must go broadside or stern on. The more we looked at it, the less we liked it; but it Avas the sole means of passing the caiion, and retreat came not yet into our heads. We took our places — Kalder at the bow, Jacques at the stern, A and I in the middle ; then Ave hugged the rock for the last time, and shoved out into the swirl of Avaters. There Avas no time to think ; Ave rose and fell ; Ave dipped our paddles in the rushing waA-es Avith those Avild quick strokes Avhich men use Avhen life is in the blow; and then the canon SAViing and rocked for a sec- ond, and with a Avild yell of Indian Avar- Avhoop from Kalder, Avhich rose above the rush of the Avater, Ave Avere in the eddy at the farther shore. It Avas Avell done. On again up the canon Avith line from rock to rock, bit by bit, until, as the sun began to slope Ioav upon the forest, we reached the foot of the last fall — the stiffest Ave had yet breasted. AboA^e it lies our cami> upon the north shore ; aboA^e it Avill be easy Avork — Ave Avill have passed the worst of the Ominica River. Made bold by former victory Ave passed our line round the rock, and bent our shoul- ders to haul the canoe up the slant of Avater. Kalder with a long pole held the frail craft 380 THE WILD XOKTII LAND. out from the rock. A and I were on the line, and Jacques was running up to assist us, when suddenly there came upon the rope a fierce strain ; all at once the canoe seemed to have the strength of half a dozen runaway horses. It spun us round, we threw all our strength against it, and snap Avent the rope midway over the water; the boat liad suddenly sheered, and all was over. We had a second line fastened to the bow ; this line was held by Kalder at the moment of the accident, but it was in loose coils about him, and of no service to stay the downward rush. Worse than all, the canoe, now going like an arrow down the rapid, tightened the tangled coils around Kalder' s legs, and I saw Avith horror that he ran every chance of being dragged feet foremost from the smooth rock on which he stood, into the boiling torrent beneath. Quicker than thought he realized his peril ; he sprang from the treacherous folds, and dragged with all his strength the quick-run- ning rope clear of his body; and tlien, like the Indian he was, threw all his weight to stay the canoe. It was useless ; his line snapped like ours had done, and away went the canoe down the surge of water — down the lip of the fall — away, away — bearing with her our sole means of travel through the trackless wilder- iibl THE WILD NORTit LAND. iiess! We ci'ouched together on the high rock, which commanded, a long view down the Black Canon, and gazed wistfully after our vanishing boat. In one instant we were reduced to a most wretched state. Our canoe was gone; but that was not half our loss— our meat and tent had also gone with her ; and we were left on the south shore of the river, while a deep, wide and rapid stream rolled between us and our cam}), and we had no axe wherewith to cut trees for a raft — no line to lash them to- gether. Night was coming on ; we were without food, shipwrecked in the wilderness. AVhen the canoe had vanished, we took stock of all these things, and then deter- mined on a course. It was to go back along the upper edge of the canon to the entrance opposite our camping-place of the last night, there to make a raft from some logs which had been collected for a cache in the previous yeai', then to put together whatever line or piece of string we possessed, and, making a raft, endeavour to cross to the north shore, and thus gain our camp above the caiion. It was a long piece of Avork, and we were already tired with the day's toil, but it was the sole means by which we could ho[)e to get back to our camp and to food again. After that we would deliberate upon further movements. 2ya THE WII>1) ^'OKTM LAN[). When men come heavily to grief in any enterprise, the full gravity of the disaster does not break all at once upon their minds ; nay, I have generally found that the first view of the situation is the ludicrous one. One is often inclined to laugh over some plight, which means anything but a laughing matter in reality. AVe made our way to the mouth of the cailon, and again held a council. Jacques did not like the idea of the raft; he would go down through the Beaver swamps along the south shore and, it might be, find the canoe stranded on some beach lower down. Anyhow he would search, and next morning he would come up again along the river and hail us across the water in our camp with tidings of his success : so we parted. We at once set to woik to make our raft. We upset the logs of the old cache, floated them in the water, and lashed them together as best we could, with all the bits of line we could fasten together; then we got three rough poles, took our places on the rickety raft, and put out into the turbid river. Our raft sank deep into the water; down, down we went; no bottom for the poles, which we used as paddles in the current At last we reached the shore of a large island, and our raft was thrown violently amidst a pile of (U'iftwood We scrambled ou shore, broke THE WILD NORTH LAND. our way through drift and thicket to the upper end of the island, and found a wide channel of water separating us still from the north shore. Wading up to our middles across a shallow part of this channel, we finally reached the north shore and our camp of the previous night ; from thence we worked through the forest, and just at dusk we struck our camp of the morning. Thus, after many vicissitudes and much toil, we had got safely back to our camp; and though the outlook was dreary enough — for three large rivers and seventy miles of trackless forest lay be- tween us and the mining camp to which we were tending, while all hope of assistance seemed cut off from us — still, after a hearty supper, we lay down to sleep, ready to meet on the morrow whatever it might bring forth. Early next morning the voice of little Jacques sounded from the other side. He had had a rough time of it; he had gone through slough and swamp and thicket, and finally he had found the canoe stranded on an island four miles below the caiion, half full of water, but otherwise not much the worse for her trip. " Let us make a raft and go down, and we would all pull her u]3 again, and everything would yet be right." So, taking axes and line with us, we set off once more for the mouth of the canon, and built a 2^ THE WILD NOHTFI LAND. ])ig raft of dry logs, and puslied it out into the current. Jacques was on the opposite shore, so we took hiui on our raft, and away we went down current at the rate of seven miles an hour. We reached the island where our cast- away canoe lay, and once more found our- selves the owners of a boat. Then Ave poled up to the caiion again, and, Avorking hard, succeeded in landing the canoe safely behind the rock from Avhich we had made our cele- brated crossing on the previous day. The day was hot and fine, the leaves of the cotton- Avood Avere green, the straAv berries Avere in blossom, and in the morning a humming-bird had fluttered into the camp, carrying the glittering colours which he had gathered in the tropics. But these proofs of summer boded ill for us, for all around the glittering hills Avere sending down their foaming tor- rents to flood the Ominica. On the niglit of the 13th the river, already high, rose nearly tAvo feet. The morning of the 14th came, and, as soon as breakfast Avas over, we set out to make a last attempt to force the caiion. The programme Avas to be the same as that of tAvo days ago ; to cross above the rapid, and then Avith double-tAvisted line to drag the canoe up the fatal fall ! We reached the canoe and took our places the same as before. This time, however, there 285 THE WILD NORTH LAND. was a vague feeling of uneasiness in every one's mind; it may have been because we went at the work coldly, unwarmed by i)ie- vious exercise; but despite the former suc- cessful attempt, we felt the presage of dis- aster ere we left the sheltering rock. Once more the word was given, and we shot into the boiluig flood. There was a moment's wild struggle, during which we worked with all the strength of despair. A second of suspense, and then we are borne backwards — slowly, faster, yet faster — until with a rush as of wings, and amid a roar of mad- dened water, we go downwards towards the cailon's wall. " The rock ! the rock ! — keep her from the rock!" roared Jacques. We might as well have tried' to stop an express train. We struck, but it was the high bow, and the blow split us to the centre; another foot and we must have been shivered to atoms. And now, ere there was time for thought, we were rushing, stern foremost, to the edge of the great rapid. There was no escaj^e ; we were as helpless as if we had been chained in that black canon. "Put steerway on her!" shouted Jacques, and his paddle dipped a moment in the surge and spray. Another instant and we were in it; there was a plunge — a dash of water on every side of us ; the waves hissed around and above us, seeming 286 THE WILT) NORTH LAND. to say, " Now we liave got you ; for two (lays you have been edging along us, flank- Nig us, and tooling us; but now it is (mr turn ! " The shock with Avhich we struck into the mass of breakers seemed but the prelude to total wreck, and the first sensation 1 experi- enced was one of surprise that the canoe was still under us. But after the first plunge she rose well, and amidst the surge and spray we could see the black walls of the canon fiit-. ting by us as we glanced through the boiling flood. All this was but the work of a mo- ment, and lo ! breathless and dripping, with canoe half filled, we lay safe in quiet eddies where, below the fall, the water rested after its strife. Behind the rock we lay for a few minutes silent, while the flooded canoe rose and fell upon the swell of the eddy. If, after this escape, we felt loth to try the old road again, to venture a third time upon that crossing above the rapid, let no man hold our courage light. We deliberated long upon what was best to be done. Retreat seemed inevitable ; Kal- der was strongly opposed to another attempt; the canoe was already broken, and with another such blow she must go to pieces. At last, and reluctantly, we determined to carry all our baggage back from the camp, to 287 THE WILD NORTH LAND. load up the boat, and, ahandoning the Black Canon and the Oniinica altogether, seek through the Tarsnip River an outlet towards the South. It was our only resource, and it Avas a poor one. ^^'earily we dragged our baggage back to the canoe, and loaded her again. Then, casting out into the current, we ran swiftly doAvn the remainder of the caiion, and shot from beneath the shadows of its sombre walls. As we emerged from the mouth into the broader river, the sheen of coloured blankets struck our sight on the south shore. In the solitudes of the North one is sur- prised at the rapidity with which the eye per- ceives the first indication of human or animal existence, but the general absence of life in tlie wilderness makes its chance presence easily detected. We put to shore. There was a camp close to the spot where we had built our first raft on tlie night of the disaster; blankets, three fresh beavers, a bundle of tra]>s, a bag of flour, and a pair of miner's boots. The last item engaged Jacques's attention. He looked at the soles, and at once declared them to be- long to no less an individual than Pete Toy, the Cornish miner; but where, meantime, was Pete? A further inspection solved that question too. Pete was " portaging " his load from the upper to the lower end of the 288 THE WILD NORTH [.AND. caiion — lie evidently dreaded tlie (looded chasm too luucli to attem])t its descent with a loaded canoe. In a little wliile ap[)eared the missing Pete, carrying on his back a huge load. It was as we had anticipated — his canoe lay above the rapids, ours was here below. Happy coincidence ! We would ex- change crafts ; Pete would load his goods in our boat, Ave would once again carry our bag- gage to the upper end of the caiion, and there, taking his canoe, pursue our western way. It was indeed a most remarkable meeting to us. Here were we, after long days of use- less struggle, after many dangers and hair- breadth escapes amid the whirlpools and rapids of the Black Chasm, about to abandon the Ominica River altogether, and to seek by another route, well known to be almost im- passable at high water, a last chance of escape from the difficulties that beset us; and now, as moody and discouraged, we turned our faces to begin the hopeless task, our first glance was greeted, on eanerging from the dismal prison, by a most unlooked- for means of solving all our difficulties. Lit- tle wonder if we were in high spirits, and if Pete, the Cornish miner, seemed a friend in need. But before anything could be done to carry into effect this new arrangement, Pete insisted upon our having a royal feast. He had 19 289 THE WILD NORTH LAND. brought Avitli liiiu fiom tlie iniiiiiig oanip many luxuries; he had bacon, and beans, and dried ajjples, and sugar, and flour, and we poor toilers had only moose meat and frozen potatoes and sugarless tea in our les- sening larders. So Pete set vigorously to work ; he baked and fried, and cut and sliced, and talked all the time, and in less than half an hour laid out his feast upon the ground. I have often meditated over that repast in after-time, and wondered if Pete really pos- sessed the magic power of transmuting the baser victuals known to us as pork, beans, and molasses into golden comestibles, or had scarcity and the wilderness anything to say to it? It was getting late when we broke up from the feast of Toy, and, loading once more all our movables upon our backs, set out to stagger for the last time to the west end of the portage. There the canoe of the Cornish miner stood ready for our service; but the sun was by this time below the ridges of the Ominica Mountains, and we pitched our camp for the night beneath the spruce- trees of the southern shore. At break of day next morning we held our way to the west. It was a fresh, fair dawn, soft with the odours of earth and air; be- hind us lay the l^lack Cafion, conquered at last; and as its sullen roar died away in dis- tance, and before our canoe rose the snow- 290 THE WILD NORTH LAND. covered peaks of the Central Coluiuhiaii range, now looming but a few miles distant, I drew a deep breath of satisfaction — the revulsion of long, anxious hours. 291 CHAPTER XXIV. The Untiring Over-estimates his Powers — He is not Particular as to the Nature of liis Dinner — Toil and Temper — Farewell to the Ominica — Ger- mansen — The Mining Camp — Celebrities. In the struggle which it was our daily work to wage with Nature, whose dead weight seemed to be bent on holding us back, the Avear and tear of the things of life had been considerable. Clothes we will say noth- ing of — it is their function to go — but our rough life had told heavily against less per- ishable articles. My aneroid was useless; my watch and revolvers slept somewhere be- neath the Peace River ; ammunition was re- duced to a few rounds, to be used only upon state occasions ; but to make up for every loss, and to counterbalance each misfortune, Cerf- vola had passed in safety through rapid, wreck, and canon. On several occasions he had had narrow escapes. A fixed idea per- vaded his mind that he was a good hunting- dog ; it was an utterly erroneous impression upon his part, but he still clung to it with the tenacity I have not unfrequently seen evinced by certain sporting individuals who 292 THE WILD NORTH LAND. fancy themselves sportsmen ; and as tlie im- pression sometimes leads its human holders into strange situations, so also was Cerf-vola beti-ayed into dangers by this unfortunate be- lief in his sporting propensities. A very keen sense of smell enabled him to detect the l^resence of bird ol" beast on shore or forest, but absence from the canoe usually obliged him to swim the swollen river — a feat which resulted in his being carried down sometimes out of sight on the impetuous torrent. He swam slowly, but strongly, and his bushy tail seemed incapable of submersion, remain- ing always upon the surface of the water. But about this time an event occurred which by every rule of science sliould have proved fatal to him. One evening, it was the 16th of May, our larder being low, we camped early at the mouth of a river called the Ozalinca. Beaver were plentiful, fish were numerous; and while I went in quest of the former with my gun, Jacques got ready a few large cod-hooks, with bait and line. I pushed my way up the Ozalinca, and soon reached a beaver-dam. Stealing cautiously to the edge, I saw one old veteran busily engaged in the performance of his evening swim ; every now and again he disappeared beneath the crystal water, rising again to the surface to look around him with evident satisfaction; presently a younger ?93 THE WILD NORTH LAND. beaver appeared, and began to nibble some green willows beneatb the water. They were a little too far to afford a certain shot, so I waited, watching the antics of this strangest denizen of American rivers. All at once the old veteran caught sight of me ; his tail flogged loudly on the water, and down he went out of sight. I waited a long time, but he never reappeared, and I Avas obliged to content myself with a couple of ducks ere night closed over the pond. When I reached the camp on the Ominica River my three companions wore long faces : the cause Avas soon told. Jacques had baited his hooks with moose-meat; in an evil mo- ment he had laid one of these upon the shore ere casting it into the water; Cerf-vola had swallowed bait, hook, and line in a single mouthful; the hook was no mere salmon hook, but one fully two inches in length, and of proportionate thickness — a full-sized cod- hook. I turned to the dog ; he lay close to my outspread buffalo robe, Avatching the preparation of su^jper ; he looked as unmoved as though he had recently swallowed a bit of pemmican. One niight have fancied from his self-satisfied appearance that large fish- hooks had ever formed a favourite article of food with him. I gave him the greater por- tion of my supper, and he went to sleep as usual at my head. I have merely to add 394 TlIK WILD NOKTII LAND. tliat from tliat day to tliis he lias bern in most excellent health. I can only attiibnte this fact to the quantity of fish he had con- sumed in his career; a moderate computation would allow him many thousand white fish and pike in the course of his life and as he only made one mouthful of a large white iish, the addition of a fish-hook in the matter was of no consequence. Passing the mouths of the ]\Iesalinca and the Ozalinca — two Avild, swollen torrents flowing through a labyrinth of mountain peaks from the north-west — we entered, on the third day after leavhig tlie canon, the great central snowy range of Xorth-British Columbia. The Ominica was here only a slant of Avater, 100 yards in breadth ; it poured down a raging flood with a velcjcity difficult to picture. We worked slowly on, now holding by the bushes that hung out from the fprest shore, now passing ropes round rocks and tree- stumps, and dragging, poling, pushing, as best we could. The unusual toil brought out the worst characteristics of my crew. Kalder worked like a horse with a savage temjjcr, and was in a chronic state of laying violent hands upon the English miner, who, i)oor fellow, worked his best, but failed to satisfj'^ the expectations of the more athletic Indian. It was no easy matter to keep the peace be- 395 THE WILD NORTH LAND. tween them, and once, midway in a rapid, my Indian leaped past me in the canoe, seized the unoffending miner, and hurled him to the bottom of the boat. This was too much. I caught hold of a paddle and quickly informed my red servitor that if he did not instantly loosen his hold, my paddle would descend upon his ]iot-tempered head; he cooled a little, and we resumed our upward way. ]^>ut for all this Kalder was a splendid fel- low. In toil, in difficulty, in danger, alone he was worth two ordinary men ; and in camp no better wild man lived to cut, to carry, or to cook ; to pitch a tent, or portage a load — no, not from Yukon to wild Hud- son's Bay. On the night of the 19th of May we reached the mouth of the Wolverine Creek, and camped at last by quiet water. We were worn and tired from continuous toil. The ice-cold water in which we so frequently waded, and which made the pole-handles like lumps of ice to the touch, had begun to tell on hands and joints. Nevertheless, when at night the fire dried our dripping clothes and warmed us again, the plate of pemmican and cup of tea were relished, and we slept that sleep which is only known when the pine-trees rock the tired wanderer into forgetfulness. 396 THE AVILI) NORTH LAND. The last rapid was passed, and now before us lay a broad and gentle current, lying in long serpentine bends amid lofty mountains. So, on the morning of the 20th, we paddled up towards the mining camp with easy strokes. Around us lay misty mountains, showing coldly through cloud-rift and billowy vapour. The Jiigh altitude, to which by such incessant labour we had worked our way, was plainly visible in the backward vegetation. We were nearing the snow-line once more, but still the sheltered valleys were bursting forth into green, and spring was piercing the inmost fastness of these far-north hills. And now I parted with the Ominica. It lay before us, far stretching to the westward, amid cloud-capped cliffs and snowy peaks: known to the gold-seeker for seventy miles yet higher and deeper into the land of moun- tains, and found there to be still a large, strong river, flowing from an unknown west. And yet it is but one of that score of rivers which, 2,o00 miles from these mountains, seek the Arctic Sea, through the mighty gate- way of the Mackenzie. Late on the evening of the 20th of May I reached the mining camp of Germansen, three miles south of the Ominica Eiver. A queer place was this mining camp of Germansen, the most northern and remote of all the mines on the American continent, 397 THE WILD NORTH LAND. Deep in the bottom of a valley, from whose steep sides the forest had been cleared or burned off, stood some dozen or twenty well- built wooden houses ; a few figures moved in the dreary valley, ditches and drains ran along the hillsides, and liere and there men were at work with pick and shovel in the va- ried toil of gold-mining. The history of Germansen Creek had been the history of a thousand other creeks on the Avesteru continent. A roving miner had struck the glittering pebbles ; the news had spread. From Montana, from Idaho, from California, Oregon, and Cariboo, men had flocked to this new find in the far north. In 1871, 1,200 miners had forced their way through almost incredible hardships to the new field; provisions reached a fabulous price ; flour and pork sold at six and seven shillings a pound ! The innumerable sharks that prey upon the miner flocked in to reap the harvest; some struck the golden dust, but the majority lost everything, and for about the twentieth time in their lives became " dead broke ; " little was known of the se- verity of the season, and many protracted the time of their departure for more southern winter quarters. Suddenly, on their return march, the winter broke; horses and mules perished miserably along the forest trail. At length the Frazer Kiver was reached, a few 298 THE WILD NORTH LAND. canoes Avere obtained, but the ice was fast filling in the river. The men crowded into the canoes till they were filled to the edge ; three wretched miners could find no room; they were left on the shore to their fate ; their comrades pushed away. Two or three days later the three castaways were found frozen stiff on the inhospitable shore. The next summer saw fewer miners at the Camp, and this summer saw fewer still ; but if to-morrow another strike were t© be made 500 miles to the north of this remote Camp, hundreds would rush to it, caring little whether their bones were left to mark the long forest trail. The miner has ever got his dream of an El Dorado fresh and sanguine. No disaster, no repeated failure will discour- age him. His golden paradise is always " away up " in some half-inaccessible spot in a wilderness of mountains. Nothing daunts him in this wild search of his. Mountains, rivers, cafions are the enemies he is constantly wrestling with Nature has locked her treas- ures of gold and silver in deep mountain caverns, as though she would keep them from the daring men who strive to rob her. But she cannot save them. When one sees this wonderful labour, this delving into the bowels of rock and shingle, this turning and twist- ing of river channel, and sluicing and dredg- ing and blasting, going on in these strange 299 THE WILD NORTH LAND. out-of-the-way places, the thought occurs, if but the tenth part of this toil were expended by these men in the ordinary avocations of life, they would all be rich or comfortable. The miner cannot settle down — at least for a long time — the life has a strange fascination for him ; he Avill tell you that for one haul he has drawn twenty blanks; he Avill tell you that he has lost more money in one night at "faro," or "poker," than would suffice to have kept him decently for five years; he will tell you that he has frequently to put two dollars into the ground in order to dig one dollar out of it, and yet he cannot give up the wild, free life. He is emphatically a queer genius ; and no matter what his coun- try, his characteristics are the same. It would be impossible to discipline him, yet I think that, Avere he amenable to even a sem- blance of restraint and command, 40,000 miners might conquer a continent. His knowledge of words is peculiar; he has a thousand phrases of his own which it would be needless to follow him into. "Don't pre- varicate, sir ! " thundered a British Colum- bian judge to a witness from the mines, "don't prevaricate, sir!" "Can't help it, judge," answered the miner. "Ever since I got a kick in the mouth from a mule that knocked my teeth out, I prevaricate a good deal." 300 THE WILD NORTH LAND. In the bottom of the valley, between the wooden houses and the rushing creek of Ger- mansen, I pitched my tent for a short time, and in the course of a few days had the hon- our of becoming acquainted, either personally or by reputation, with Doe English, Dancing Bill, Black Jack, Dirty-faced Pete, 'Ned Walsh, Rufus Sylvester, and several others among the leading "boys" of the northern mining country. I found them men who under the rough garb of mountain miners had a large and varied experience in wild life and adventure — generous, free-hearted fellows too, who in the race for gold had not thrown off as dead weight, half as much of human kindness as many of their brothers, who, on a more civilized course, start for the same race too. 801 CHAPTER XXY. Mr. Eufus Sylvester — The Uutiiing Developes a New Sphere of Usefulness — jMauseu — A Last Landmark. Ox the evening of my arrival at Germansen Mr. Rufus Sylvester appeared from the south, carrying the mail for the camp. Eleven days earlier he had started from Quesnelle on the Erazer River; the trail was, he said, in a very bad state ; snow yet lay five feet deep on the Bald, and Nation River Mountains; the rivers and streams were running bank- high ; he had swum his horses eleven times, and finally left them on the south side of the Bald Mountains, coming on on foot to his destination. The distance to Quesnelle was about 330 miles. Such was a summary of his report. The prospect was not encouraging; but where movement is desired, if people wait until prospects become encouraging, they will be likely to rest stationary a long time. My plan of movement to the south was this : I would dispense with everything save those articles absolutely necessary to travel ; food and clotliing would be brought to the lowest 302 THE WILD NOHTir T.AXD. limits, and then, witli our t^oods on our shoul- ders, and with Cerf-vola carrying on his hack a load of diy moat sutfit-ieut to till his stomach during ten days, we would set out on foot to cross the Bald Mountains. Thirty miles from the mining Camp, at the south side o.f the mountain range, Rufus Sylvester had left a horse and a mule ; we would recover them again, and, packing our goods upon them, make our way to Fort St. James on the wild shores of Stuart's Lake — midway on our journey to where, on the bend of the Frazer River, the first vestige of civilization woiM greet us at the city called Quesnelle. It was the 25th of May when, having loaded my goods upon the back of a Hydah Indian from the coast, and giving Kalder a lighter load to carry, I set off with Cerf-vola for the south. Idleness during the past three weeks had produced a considerable change in the person of the Untiring. He had grown fat and round, and it was no easy matter to strap his bag of dry meat upon his back so as to prevent it performing the feat known, in the case of a saddle on a horse's back, by the term "turning." It appeared to be a matter of perfect indifference to the Untiring whether the meat destined for his stomach was carried beneath that portion of his body or above his back; he pursued the even tenour of his way in either case, but a 808 THE WILD NORTH LAND. disposition on liis part to " squat " in every pool of water or patch of mud along the trail, perfectly regardless of the position of his ten days' rations, had the effect of quickly changing its nature, when it was underneath liim, from dry meat to very wet meat, and making the bag which held it a kind of water- cart for the drier portions of the trail. Twelve miles from Germansen Creek stood the other mining camp of Hansen. More ditches, more drains, more miners, more drinking; two or three larger saloons; more sixes and sevens of diamonds and debilitated looking kings and queens of spades littering the dusty street ; the wrecks of " faro " and " poker " and " seven up " and " three-card monte ; " more Chinamen and Hydah squaws than Germansen could boast of; and Hansen lay the same miserable-looking place that its older rival had already appeared to me. Yet every person was kind and obliging. Hr. Grahame, postmaster, dealer in gold- dust, and general merchant, cooked with his own hands a most excellent repast, the dis- cussion of which was followed by further in- troductions to mining celebrities. Prominent among many Joes and Davises and Petes and Bills, I recollect one well-known name ; it Avas the name of Smith. We have all known, I presume, some person of that name. We liave also known innumerable prefixes to it, 304 THE WILD NORTH LAND. such as Sydney, Washington, Ihickingham, &('., Sic, but liere at jMansen dwelt a com- pletely new Sniitli. No hero of ancient or modern times had been called on to supply a prefix or a second name, but in the person of Mr. Peace Kiver Smith I recognized a new title for the old and familiar family. Mr. Stirling's saloon at Mansen was a very fair representation of what, in this country, we would call a "public house," but in some respects the saloon and the public differ widely. The American saloon is eminently patriotic. Western America, and indeed America generally, takes its " cocktails " in the presence of soul-stirring mementoes; from above the lemons, the coloured wine- glass, the bunch of mint, and the many alco- holic mixtures which stand behind the bar — General Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and President Grant look placidly n-pon the tip- pling miner ; but though Mr. Stirling's saloon could boast its card-tables, its patriotic pic- tures, and its many " sHngs " and "juleps," in one important respect it fell far short of the ideal mining paradise. It was not a hnrdy- house ; music and dancing were both wanting. It Avas a serious drawback, but it was ex- plained to me that Mansen had become too much " ])layed out " to afford to pay the piper, and hurdies had never penetrated to the fast- nesses of the Peace River mines. 20 305 THE WILD XORTII LAND. AVhen the last mining hero had departed, I lay down in Mr. Grahame's sanctum, to snatch a few hours' sleep ere the first dawn would call us to the march. I lay on the postmaster's bed while that functionary got together his little bags of gold-dust, his few letters and mail matters for my companion, Rufus Sylvester the express man. Tliiswork occupied him until shortly before dawn, when he abandoned it to again resume the duties of cook in preparing my breakfast. Day was just breaking over the pine-clad hills as we bade adieu to this kind host, and with rapid strides set out through the sleeping camp. Kalder, theHydah Indian, and the Untiring, had preceded us on the previous evening, and I was alone with the express man, Mv. Rufus Sylvester. He carried on his back a small, compact, but heavy load, some GOO ounces of gold-dust being the weightiest item ; but, nevertheless, he crossed with vapid steps over the frozen ground. We carried in our hands snow-shoes for the mountain range still lying some eight miles away. The trail led o'er hill and through valley, gradually ascending for the first six miles, until through breaks in the pines I could discern the snowy ridges towards which we Avere tending. Soon the white patches lay around us in the for- est, but the frost was severe, and the surface was hard under our moccasins. Finding the 306 THE WILD NOHTII LAND. snow-cnist was sufficient to bear our weiglit, we niched the snow-shoes and held our course up the mountain. Deeper grew tliesnow; thinner and smaller became the ])ines — dwarf things that hung Avisps of blue-grey moss from their shrunken limbs. At last they ceased to be around us, and the summit- ridges of the Bald IMountain spread out under the low-hung clouds. The big white ptarmigan bleated like sheep in the thin frosty air. We crossed the topmost ridge, where snow ever dwells, and saw beneath a far-stretching valley. I turned to take a last look to the north ; the clouds had lifted, the sun had risen some time ; away over an ocean of peaks lay the lofty ridge 1 had named Galty More a fortnight earlier, Avhen emerging from the Black Canon. He rose above us then the monarch of the range ; now he lay far behind, one of the last land- marks of the Wild North Land. We began to descend; again the sparse trees were around us; the snow gradually lessened ; and after five hours of incessant and rapid walking we reached a patch of dry grass, where Kalder, the English miner, and the Indians with the horses were await- ing us. 307 CHAPTER XXVI. Britisli Columbia— Boundaries Again— Juan de Fu^a — Carver — The Shining Mountains — Jacob As- tor — The Monarch of Sahnon — Oregon — "Rid- ing and Tying " — Nation Lake — The Pacific. We have been a long time now in that portion of the American continent which is known as British Columbia, and yet we have said but little of its early life, or how it came into the limits of a defined colony. Sometime about that evening when we lay camped (noAV a long way back) upon the hill where the grim face of Chimeroo looked blankly out upon the darkening wilderness, we entered for the first time the territory which bears the name of British Columbia. Nature, who, whether she forms a flower or a nation, never makes a mistake, had drawn on the northern continent of America her own boundaries. She had put the Rocky Mountains to mark the two great divisions of East and West America, But the theory of natural boundaries appears never to have elicited from us much support, and in the instance now under consideration we seem to 308 THE WILD NORTH LAND. have gone not a little out of our way to evince our disai^probation of Nature's doings. It was the business of the Imperial Gov- ernment a few years ago to define the bound- aries of the new province to which they were giving a Constitution. The old North-West Fur Company had rested satisfied with the Rocky Mountain frontier, but in the new document the East- ern line was defined as follows: "And to the east, from the boundary of the United States northwards to the Rocky Mountains, and the one hundred and twentieth meridian of West Lonrjitu.de.'" Unfortunately, although the one hundred and twentieth meridian is situated for a portion of its course in the main range of the mountains, it does not lie altogether Avithin them. The Rocky Mountains do not run north and south, but trend considerably to the west; and the 120th meridian passes out into the prairie country of the Peace River. In looking at this strangely unmeaning frontier, where nature had already given such an ex- cellent " divide,''' and one which had always been adopted by the early geographer, it seems only rational to suppose that the framers of the new line lay under the impres- sion that mountain and meridian were in one and the same line. Nor supposing such to be the case, would it be, by any means, the 309 tup: wild north land. first time tliat such an error had been made by tliose whose work it was to frame our Colonial destiny. Well, let us disregard this rectification of boundary, and look at British Columbia as Nature had made it. When, some seventy years ago, the Fur Company determined to push their trade into the most remote recesses of the unknown territory lying before them, a few advent- urers following this same course which I have lately taken, found themselves sud- denly in a labyrintli of mountain. These men named the mountain land "New Cale- donia," for they had been nurtured in far Highland homes, and the grim pine-clad steeps of this wild region, and the blue lakes lying lapped amid the mountains, recalled the Lochs and Bens of boyhood's hours. 'Twas long before they could make much of this new dominion. Mountains rose on every side ; white giants bald with age, wrapt in cloud, and cloaked with pines. Cragged and scarped, and towering above valleys filled with boulders, as though in bygone ages, when the old peaks had been youngsters they had ])elted each other with Titanic stones; wliich, falling short, had filled the deep ravines that lay between them. ])ut if the mountains in thei]- vast irregu- larity (lefiecl the early explorers, the rivers 5510 THE WILD NORTH LAND. were even still more perplexing. Moun- tains have a right to behave in an irregular kind of way, but rivers are usually sup- posed to conduct themselves on more peace- ful principles. In New Caledonia they had apparently forgotten this rule; they played all manner of tricks. They turned and twisted behind the backs of hills, and came out just the very way they shouldn't have come out. They rose often close to tlie sea, and then ran directly away from it. They pierced through mountain I'anges in caiions and chasms ; and the mountains threw down stones at them, but that only made them laugh all the louder, as they raced away from canon to caiion. Sometimes they grew wicked, and, turned viciously and bit, and worried the bases of the hills, and ate trees and rocks and landslips; and then, over all their feuds and bickerings, came Time at last, as he always does, and threw a veil over the conflict ; a veil of pine-trees. But in one respect both mountain and river seemed in perfect accord; they would keep the land to themselves and their child, the wild Indian; but the white man, the child of civilization, must be kept out. Nevertheless the white man came in, and he named the rivers after his own names, tliough they still laughed him to scorn, and were useless to his commerce. Gradually this white fur- yil THE WILD NORTH LAND. huntt'i' s[)re;ul himself thvougli the land ; lie passed the Frazer, reached the Columbia, and gained its mouth; and here a strange rival presented himself. "We must go back a little. Once upon a time a Greek sailor was cast away on the shore, where the north-most Mexican coast merged into unknown lands. He remained for years a wanderer; but when finally fate threw him again upon Adriatic coasts, he was the narrator of strange stories, and the projector of far distant en- terprises. North of California's shore, there was, he said, a large island. Between this island and the mainland lay a gulf which led to those other gulfs, which, on the Atlantic verge, Cartier and Hudson had made known to Europe. In these days kings and viceroys gladly listened to a wanderer's story. The Greek was sent back to the coasts he had discov- ered, commissioned to fortify the Straits he called Annian, against English ships seeking through this outlet the northern passage to Cathay. Over the rest time has drawn a cloud. It is said that the Greek sailor failed and died. His story became matter of doubt. More than oOO years passed away ; Cook sought in vain for the strait, and the gulf beyond it. . Auotlier English sailor Avas more fortuu- 55 13 THE WILD XOKTII LAND. ate ; and iu 1756 a lonely ship })as.se(l be- tween the island and the mainland, and the long, doubtful channel was named "Juan de Fuqa," after the nickname of the forgot- ten Greek. To fortify the Straits of Annian was deemed the dream of an enthusiast ; yet by a strange coincidence, we see to-day its realization, and the Island of San Juan, our latest loss, has now upon its shores a hostile garrison, bent upon closing the Straits of Fuca against the ships of England. North of California, and south of British Columbia, there lies a vast region. Rich in forest, prairie, snow-clad peak, alluvial mead- ow, hill pasture, and rolling table-land. It has all that nature can give a nation ; its cli- mate is that of England; its peaks are as lofty as Mont Blanc; its meadows as rich as the vales of Somerset. The Spaniard knew it by repute, and named it Oregon, after the river which we call the Columbia. Oregon was at that time the entire west of the Rocky JNIountains, to the north of California. Oregon had long been a mystic land, a realm of fable. Carver the indefatigable, had striven to reach the great river of the west, whose source lay near that of the Mississippi. The Indians had told him that where the IMississippi had its birth in the shining mountains, another vast •dVi THE AVI LI) NORTH LAN'D. river also rose, and flowed v/est into the shoreless sea. Carver failed to reach the shining nionntains ; his dream remained to him. "Probably," he writes, "in future ages they (the mountains) may be found to contain more rielies in their bowels than those of Indostan or Malabar, or that are produced on the golden Gulf of Guinea, nor will I except even the Peruvian mines." To- day that dream comes true, and from the caverns of the shining mountains men draw forth more gold and silver than all these golden realms enumerated by the baffled Carver ever produced. But the road which Carver had pointed out was soon to be fol- lowed. In the first years of the new century men penetrated the gorges of the shining moun- tain, and reached the great river of the west; but they hunted for furs, and not for gold ; and fur-hunters keep to themselves the knowl- edge of their discoveries. Before long the great Republic born upon the Atlantic shores began to stretch its infant arms towaids the dim Pacific. In 1782, a Boston ship entered the mouth of the Oregon liver. The charts carried by the vessel sliowed no river upon the coast-line, and the captain named tlie breaker-tossed estuary after his ship "the Columbia" He thought he had THE WILD NOHTH LAND. discovered a new river; in reality, he had but found again the ohier known Oregon. It is more than probable that this new named river would again have found its ancient des- ignation, had not an enterprising German now appeared upon the scene. One Jacob Astor, a vendor of small furs and hats, in New York, turned his eyes to the west. He wished to plant upon the Pacific the germs of American fur trade. The story of liis enterprise has been sketched by a cunning hand ; but under the brilliant colouring which a great artist has thrown around his tale of Astoria, the strong bias of the partisan is too plainly apparent. Yet it is easy to de- tect the imperfect argument by which Wash- ington Irving endeavours to prove the right of the United States to the disputed territory of Oregon. The question is one of "Who was first upon the ground? " Irving claims, that Astor, in 1810, was the first trader who erected a station on the banks of the Columbia. But in order to form his fort, Astor had to induce several of the emploi/efs of the North- West Fur Company to desert their service. And Irving innocently tells us, that when the overland expedition under Hunt reached the Columbia, they found the Indians well supplied with European articles, which they had obtaii^ed from white traders already THE WILD NORTH LAND. domiciled west of the Rocky Mountains. He records the fact while he misses its meaning. British fur traders had reached Oregon long before Jacob Astor had planted his people on the estuary of the Columbia. Astor' s factory had but a short life. The war of 1813 broke out. A British ship appeared off the bar of the Columbia River, and the North- West Company moving down the river became the owners of Astoria. But with their usual astuteness the Government of the United States claimed, at the conclusion of the war, the possession of Oregon, on the ground that it had been theirs prior to the struggle. That it had not been so, is evident to any person who will carefully inquire into the history of the discovery of the North- West Coast, and the regions lying west of the mountains. But no one cares to ask about such things, and no one cared to do so, even when the question was one of greater moment than it is at present. So, with the usual supineness which has let drift from us so many fair realms won by the toil and dar- ing of forgotten sons, we parted at last with this magnificent region of Oregon, and signed it over to our voracious cousins. It was the old story so frequently repeated. The coiintry was useless ; a pine-forest, a wilderness, a hopeless blank upou the face of nature. 316 I THE WILD NOKTII LAND. To-day, Oregon is to my mind tJic fniirsf State in the Aiiierican Union. There is a story widely told tlirougliout British Columbia, whicli ajitly illustrates the past policy of Great Britain, in relation to her vast Wild Lands. Stories widely told are not necessarily true ones ; but this story has about it the ring of probability. It is said that once upon a time a certain British nobleman anchored his ship-of-war in the deep waters of Puget Sound. It was at a time when discussion was ripe upon the question of disputed ownership in Oregon, and this ship was sent out for the protection of British interests on the shores of the North Pacific. She bore an ill-fated name for British diplomacy. She was called the " America. " The commander of the "America" was fond of salmon fishing; the waters of the Oregon were said to be stocked with salmon : the fishing would be excellent. The mighty "Ekewan," monarch of salmon, would fall a victim to flies, long famous on waters of Tweed or Tay. Alas! for the perverseness of Pacific salmon. No cunningly twisted hackle, no deftly turned wing of mallard, summer duck, or jungle cock, would tempt the blue and silver monsters of the Columbia or the Cowlitz Rivers. In despair, his lord- 317 THE WILD XOKTII LAND. ship reeled up liis line, took to pieces his rod, and wrote in disgust to his l)rother (a prominent statesman of the day) that the whole country was a huge mistake ; that even the salmon in its waters was a fish of no principle, refusing to bite, to nibble, or to rise. In line, that the territory of Oregon, was not Avorthy of a second thought. So the story runs. If it be not true, it has its birth in that too true insularity which would be sublime, if it did not cost us something like a kingdom every decade of years. Such has been the past of Oregon. It still retains a few associations of its former own- ers. From its mass of forest, from its long- reaching rivers, and above its ever green prairies, immense spire-shaped single peaks rise up 14,000 feet above the Pacific level. Far over the blue waters they greet the sailor's eye, while yet the lower shore lies deep sunken beneath the ocean sky-line. They are literally the " shining mountains " of Carver, and seamen say that at night, far out at sea, the Pacific waves glow brightly 'neath the reflected lustre of their eternal snows. These solitary peaks bear English titles, and early fur-hunter, or sailor-discoverer, have written their now forgotten names in snow-white letters upon the blue skies of Oregon. 318 THE WILD NORTH LAND. But perhaps one of these days our cousins will change all that. JVIeantime, 1 have wandered far south I idiii my lofty standpoint on the snowy ridges of the Bald mountains in Northern New Cale- donia. Descending with rapid strides the moun- tain trail, we heard a faint signal-call from the valley before us. It Avas from the party sent on the previous evening, to await our arrival at the spot where Rufus had left his worn-out horses a week before. A few miles more brought us within sight of the blue smoke which promised breakfast — a welcome prospect after six hours forced marching over the steep ridges of the Bald Mountains. Two Indians, two miners, two thin horses, and one fat dog now formed the cam}) before the fire, at which we rested with feelings of keen delight. Tom, the "carrier" Indian, and Kalder, my trusty henchman, had break- fast veady; and beans and bacon, to say nothing of jam and white bread, were still sufficient novelties to a winter traveller, long nourished upon the sole luxury of moose pem- mican, to make eighteen miles of mountain exercise a needless prelude to a hearty break- fast. The meal over we made preparations for our march to the south. In round num- bers I was 300 miles from Quesnelle. Moun- tain, forest, swamp, river, and lake, lay be- 319 THE WILT) NORTH LAND. tween me and that valley where the first vestige of civilized travel would greet me on the rapid waters of the Frazer Kiver. Through all tliis land of wilderness a nar- row trail held its way ; now, luider the shad- ow of lofty pine forest; now, skirting the shores of lonely lakes; now, climbing the mountain ranges of the Nation River, where yet the snow lay deep amid those valleys whose waters seek upon one side the Pacific, upon the other the Arctic Ocean. Between me and the frontier " city " of Quesnelle lay the Hudson's Bay Fort of St. James, on the south-east shore of the lake called Stuart's. Here my companion Rufus counted upon obtaining fresh horses ; but until Ave could reach this half-way house, our own good legs must carry us, for the steeds now gathered into the camp Avere as poor and weak as the fast travel and long fasting of the previous journey could make them. They were liter- ally but skin and bone, and it was still a matter of doubt whether they would be able to carry our small stock of food and blank- ets, in addition to their own bodies, over the long trail before us. Packing our goods upon the backs of the skeleton steeds, we set out for the south. Before proceeding far a third horse was cap- tured. He proved to be in better condition than his comrades. A saddle was therefore 320 THE WILT) Noirrir f^and. I)la{'e(l on liis buck, and lie was liandcd (i\x'r to me liy Rufus in onk-r that we sliould " ride and tie " during tlie remainder of tlie day. In tlieory this arrangement was admir- able ; in practice it was painfully defective. The horse seemed to enter fully into the "tying" part of it, but the "riding" was al- together another matter. I think nothing but the direst starvation would have indticed that " cayoose " to deviate in any way from his part of the tying. No amount of stick or whip or spur would make him a party to the riding. At last he rolled heavily against a prostrate tree, bruising me not a little by the performance. He appeared to have se- rious ideas of fancying himself " tied " when in this reclining position, and it was no easy matter to disentangle oneself from his ruins. After this I dissolved partnership with Ru- fus, and found that walking was a much less fatiguing, and less hazardous performance, if a little less exciting. We held our way through a wild land of hill and vale and swamp for some fifteen or sixteen miles, and camped on the edge of a little meadow, where the old grass of the previous year promised the tired horses a scanty meal. It was but a poor pasturage, and next morning one horse proved so weak that we left him to his fate, and held on with two horses towards the Nation River. Be- 21 .321 THE WILD NORTH LAND. tween us aud this Nation River lay a steen inountain, still deep in snow. We began its ascent while the morning was yet young. Since daylight it had snowed incessantly; and in a dense driving snow-storm we made the passage of the mountain. The winter's snow lay four feet deep upon the trail, and our horses sunk to their girths at every step. Slowly we plodded on, each horse stepping in the old footprints of the last journey, and pausing often to take breath in the toilsome ascent. At length the summit was reached ; but a thick cloud hung over peak and vallej'. Then the trail wound slowly downwards, and by noon we reached the shore of a dim lake, across whose bosom the snow-storm swept as though the time had been mid-November instead of the end of May. We passed the outlet of the Nation Lake (a sheet of water some thirty-five miles in length, lying nearly east and west), and held our way for some miles along its southern shore. In the evening we had reached a green meadow, on the banks of a swollen stream . While Rufus and I were taking the packs off the tired horses, preparatory to making them swim the stream ; a huge grizzly bear came out upon the opposite bank and looked QOO THE WILD NORTH LAND. at us for a iiioiuent. Tlie Iiidiaiis wlio were behind saw him approach us, but tliey were too far from us to make their voices audible, A. tree crossed the stream, and the opposite bank rose steeply from t1 ' water to the level meadow above. Bruin Avas not twenty paces from us, but the bank hid him from our view ; and when I became aware of his prox- imity he had already made up his mind to retire. Grizzlies are seldom met under such favourable circumstances. A high bank in front, a level meadow beyond, I long re- gretted the chance, lost so unwittingly, and our cheerless bivouac that night in the driv- ing sleet would have been but little heeded, had my now rusty double-barrel spoken its mind to our shaggy visitor. But one cannot always be in luck. All night long it rained and sleeted and snowed, and daylight broke upon a white landscape. We got away from camp at four o'clock, and held on with rapid pace until ten. By this hour we had reached the summit of the table-land " divide " between the Arctic and Pacific Oceans. It is almost imperceptible, its only indication being the flow of water south, instead of north-east. The day had cleared, but a violent storm swept the forest, crashing many a tall tree prostrate to the earth ; and when we camped for dinner, it was no easy matter to select a 323 THE MaLD NOKTir LAND. spot safe from the dangers of falling jtine- trees. As I quitted this Arctic watershed, and stood on the height of land between the two oceans, memory could not help running back, over the many scenes which had i)assed, since on that evening after leaving the Long Port- age, I had first entered the river systems of the North. Full 1300 miles away lay the camping- place of that evening; and as the many long hours of varied travel rose up again before me, snow-swept, toil-laden, full at times of wreck and peril and disaster; it was not without reason that, turning away from the cold northern landscape, I saluted with joy the blue pine-tops, through which rolled the broad rivers of the Pacific, 324 THE WILD NORTH LAND. CHAPTER XXVII. The Look-out Mountain— A Gigantic Tree — Tlie Un tiring Retires Before Superior Numbers— Fort St. James — A Strange Sight in the Forest— Lake Noola — Quesneiie — Cerf-vola in Civilized Life — Old Dog, Good-bye! We inarched that day over thirty miles, and halted in a valley of cotton-wood trees, amid green leaves again. "We were yet distant about forty-five miles from the Fort St. James, but my friend Rufus declared that a rapid march on the morrow would take us to the half-way house by sun-down. Rapid marches had long since become famil- iar, and one more or less did not matter much. Daybreak found us in motion; it Avas a fast walk, it was a faster walk, it was a run, and ere the mid-day sun hung over the rich undulating forest-land, we were thirty miles from our camp in the cotton-wood. Before noon, a lofty ridge rose before us; the trail wound up its long ascent. Rufus called it "the Look-out Mountain." The top was bare of forest, the day was bright witli sun- shine ; not a cloud lay over the vast plateau of Middle New Caledonia. 325 THE WILD NORTH LAND. Five hundred snowy peaks rose up along the horizon : the Nation Lake Mountains, the further ranges of the Ominica, the ridges which lie between the many tributaries of the Peace and the countless lakes of the North Frazer. Babine, Tatla, Pinkley, Stuart's, and far off to the Avest the old monarchs of the Rocky Mountians rose up to look a last farewell to the Avanderer, Avho noAV carried away to distant lands a hundred memories of their lonely beauty. On the south slope of the Look-out Mountain, a gigantic pine- tree first attracts the traveller's eye; its seamed trunk is dusky red, its dark and som- bre head is lifted high above all other trees, and the music which the winds make through its branches seems to come from a great dis- tance. It is the Douglas Pine of the Pacific coast, the monarch of Columbian forests, a tree which Turner must have seen in his dreams. A few miles south of the mountain, the country opened out into pleasant prairies fringed with groves of cotton-wood; the grass was growing thick and green, the mead- ows were bright with flowers. Three fat horses were feeding upon one of these mead- ows; they were the property of Rufus. We caught them with some little difficulty, and turned our two poor thin animals adrift in peace and plenty ; then mounting the fresh 32G THE WILD NOirni LAND. steeds, Rufus and I hurried on to Fort 8t. James. The saddle was a pleasant change after the hard marching of the last few days. Mud and dust and stones, alternating with the snow of the mountains, had told heavily against our moccasined feet; but tlie worst was noAV over, and henceforth we would liave horses to Quesnelle. It was yet some time before sun-down when we cantered down the sloping trail which leads to the Fort St. James. Of course the Untiring was at his usual post — well to the front. Be it dog-train, or march on foot, or march with horses, the Untiring led the van, his tail like the plume of Henry of Navarre at Ivry, ever waving his followers to renewed exertions. It would be no easy matter for me to enumerate all the Hudson's Bay forts which the Untiring had entered at the head of his train. Long and varied ex- perience had made him familiar with every description of post, from the imposing array of wooden buildings which marked the resi- dence of a chief factor, down to the little isolated hut wherein some half-breed servant carries on his winter traffic on the shore of a nameless lake. Cerf-vola knew them all. Freed from his harness in the square of a fort — an event which he usually accelerated by dragging his 337 THE WILD XORTH LAND. sled and three other dogs to the doorway of the principal house — he at once made him- self master of the situation, paying particu- lar attention to two objective points. First, the intimidation of resident dogs ; second, the topography of the provision store. Ten minutes after liis entry into a previously un- explored fort, he knew to a nicety where the white fish were kept, and where the dry meat and pemmican lay. But on this occa- sion at Fort St. James a woful disaster awaited him. With the memory of many triumphal en- tries full upon him, he now led the way into the square of the fort, totally forgetting that he was no longer a hauling-dog, but a free lance or a rover on his own account. In an instant four huge haulers espied him, and, charging from every side ere I could force in upon the conflict to balance sides a little, they completely prostrated the hitherto in- vincible Esquimau, and at his last Hudson Bay post, near the close of his 2500 mile march, he experienced his first defeat. We rescued him from his enemies before he had suffered much bodily hurt, but he looked considerably tail-fallen at this unlooked-fcr reception, and passed the remainder of the day in strict seclusion underneath my bed. Stuart's Lake is a very beautiful sheet of water. Tall mountains rise along its Avestern 338 THE WILD NOTH LAND. and northern shores, and forest promontories stretch far into its deep bhie watei'S. It is the favourite home of the salmon, when late in summer he has worked his long, toilsome way up the innumerable rapids of the Frazer, 500 miles from the Pacific. Colossal sturgeon are also found in its waters, sometimes weighing as much as 800 pounds. AVith the exception of rabbits, game is scarce along the shores, but at cer- tain times rabbits are found in incredible numbers ; the Indian women snare them by sacksful, and every one lives on rabbit, for when rabbits are numerous, salmon are scarce. The daily rations of a man in the wide domain of the Ihidson's Bay Company are singularly varied. On the south shores of Hudson's Bay a voijiujeur receives every day one wild goose ; in the Sasaktchewan he gets ten pounds of buffalo-meat; in Athabasca eight pounds of moose-meat; in English River three large white fish ; hi the North, half fish and rein- deer; and here in New Caledonia he receives for his day's food eight rabbits or one sal- mon. Start not, reader, at the last item! The salmon is a dried one, and does not weigh more than a pound and a half in its reduced form. After a day's delay at Fort St. James, we . wooden liouses on the east, lies a gulf wider than a score of valleys. On one side man — on the other the wilderness ; on one side noise of steam and hammer — on the other voice of wild things and the silence of the solitude. It is still many hundred miles ere I can hope to reach anything save a border civiliza- tion. The road which runs from Quesnelle to Victoria is 400 miles in length. Washing- ton territory, Oregon, and California have yet to be traversed ere, 1500 miles from here, the golden gate of San Francisco opens on the sunset of the Pacific Ocean. Many scenes of beauty lie in that long track hidden in the bosom of the Sierras. The Cascades Eanier, Hood, and Shasta will throw their shadows across my path as the Untiring dog and his now tired master, wan- der south towards the grim Yosemite; but to link these things into the story of a winter journey across the yet untamed wilds of the Great North would be an impossible task. One evening I stood in a muddy street of New York. A crowd had gathered before the door of one of those immense buildings which our cousins rear along their city thor- oughfares and call hotels. The door opened and half a dozen dusky men came forth. " Who are they? " I asked. "They are the Sioux chiefs from the Yel- low^stone," answered a bystander; "they're a 335 THE WILD NORTH LAND. taking them to the tlie-a-ter, to see Lester Walliek." Out on tlie Great Prairie I liad often seen the red man in his boundless home ; savage if you will, but still a power in the land, and fitting in every way the wilds in which he dwells. The names of Eed Cloud and his brother chiefs from the Yellowstone were household words to me. It was this same Red Cloud who led liis 500 whooping war- riors on Fetterman's troops, when not one soldier escaped to tell the story of the fight in the foot-hills of the Wyoming Mountains; and here was Red Cloud now in semi-civil- ized dress, but still a giant 'midst the puny rabble that thronged to see him come forth ; with the gaslight falling on his dusky feat- ures and his eyes staring in beAvildered va- cancy at the crowd around him. Captain Jack was right : better, poor hunted savage, thy grave in the lava-beds, than this bur- lesque union of street and wilderness! But there was one denizen of the wilds who fol- lowed my footsteps into southern lands, and of him the reader might ask, " What more? " Well, the Untiring took readily to civiliza- tion ; he looked at Shasta, he sailed on the Columbia River, he climbed the dizzy ledges of the Yosemite, he gazed at the Golden Gate, and saw the sun sink beyond the blue waves of the great Salt Lake, but none of 336 THE WILD NORTH LAND. these scenes seemed to affect liiin in the slightest degree. He journeyed in the boot or on the roof of a stage-coach for more than 800 miles ; he was weighed once as extra baggage, and classified and charged as such; he conducted himself with all possible decorum in the rooms and corridors of the grand hotel at San Fran- cisco ; he crossed the continent in a railway- carriage to Montreal and Boston, as though he had been a first-class passenger since child- hood; he thought no more of the reception- room of Brigliam Young in Utah, than had he been standing on a snow-drift in Athabasca Lake ; he was duly photographed and petted and pampered, but he took it all as a matter of course. There were, however, two facts in civiliza- tion which caused him unutterable astonish- ment — a brass band, and a butcher's stall. He fled from the one ; he howled with delight before the other. I frequently endeavoured to find out the cause of his aversion to music. Although he was popularly supposed to belong to the species of savage beast, music had anything but a soothing effect upon him. Whenever he heard a band, he fled to my hotel ; and once, when they were burying a renowned general of volunteers in San Francisco with full military honours, he caused no small 23 337 THE "WILD XORTIT LAXD. confusion amidst tlie mournful cortege by charging full tilt through the entire crowd. But the l)utclier's stall was something to be long remend)ered. Six or eight sheep, and half as many fat oxen hung up by the heels, apparently all for his benefit, was something that no dog could understand. Planting himself full before it, he howled hilariously for some moments, and when with difficulty I succeeded in conducting him to the seclusion of my room, he took advantage of my absence to remove with the aid of his teeth the obnoxious door-panel which inter- vened between him and this paradise of mut- ton. On the Atlantic shore I bid my old friend a long good-b3'e. It was night; and as the ship sailed away from the land, and I found myself separated for the first time during so many long months from the friend and ser- vant and partner who Thro' every swift vicissitude Of changeful time, unchanged had stood, I strung together these few rhymes, which were not the less true because they were only MORE DOGGEREL. Old dog, good-bye, the parting time has come, Here on the verge of wiUl Atlantic foam; He who would follow, when fast beats the drum. Must have no place of rest, no dog, no home. 338 THE WILD NOl^.TTT LAND. And yot I raniiot loave tlice even lioro, Where toil inul eold in peace and rest sliall end, Poor iait.liful partner of a wild career, Through icy leagues my sole unceasing friend, Without one word to mark our long good-bj'c, Without a line to jiaint that wintry dream. When day by day, old Husky, thou, and I, Toiletl o'er the great Unchagah's frozen stream. For now, wlien it is time to go, strange sights Rise from the ocean of the vanish 'd year, And wail of pines, and sheen of northern lights, Flash o'er the sight and float on mem'rj''s ear. We cross again the lone, dim shrouded lake. Where stunted cedars bend before the blast; Again the camp is made amidst the brake. The pine-log's light upon thy face is cast. We talk together, yes — we often spent An hour in converse, while my bit thou shared. One eye, a friendly one, on me was bent ; The other, on some comrade fiercely glared. Deep slept the night, the owl had ceased his cry, Unbroken stillness o'er the earth was shed; And crouch 'd beside me thou wert sure to lie, Thy rest a watching, snow thy only bed. The miles went on, the tens 'neath twenties lay ; The scores to hundreds slowly, slowly, roll'd; And ere the winter wore itself away, The hundreds turn'd to thousands doubly told. But still thou wert the leader of the band. And still thy step went on thro' toil and pain; Until like giants in the Wild North Land, A thousand glittering peaks frown'd o'er the plain. 339 THE WILD NORTH LAND. And yet we did not part; beside me still AVas seen thy bushy tail, thy well-known face ; Through caSon dark, and by the snow-clad hill, Thou kept unchanged thy old familiar pace. Why tell it all? through fifty scenes we went, Where Shasta's peak its lonely shadows ca.st; Till now for Afric's shore my steps arc bent, And thou and I, old friend, must part at last. Thou wilt not miss me, home and care aie thine. And peace and rest will lull thee to the end ; But still, perchance with low and wistful whine, Thou'lt sometimes scan the landscape for thy friend. Or when the drowsy summer noon is nigh. Or wintry moon upon the white snow shines, From dreamy sleep will rise a muffled cry. For him who led thee through the land of pines. 340 APPENDIX. Nearly twenty years ago we began to talk of building a railroad across the continent of North America to lie wholly within British territory, and we are still talking about it. Meantime our cousins have built their in- ter-oceanic road, and have opened it and run apon it for six years : they are also talk- ing much about their work. But of such things it is, perhaps, better to speak after the work has been accomplished than before it has been begun. The line which thus connects "the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans bears the name of the Union Pacific Railroad. It crosses the con- tinent nearly through the centre of the United States, following, witli slight deviation, the 42nd parallel of latitude. Two other lines have been projected south and one north of this Union Pacific road, all lying within the United States; but all have come to untimely ends, stopping midway in their careers across the sandy plains of the "West. Tliere was the Southern Pacific Railroad to follow the 30th parallel ; there was tlie Kau- m THE WILD NORTH LAND. sas Pacitic line following the Ilepubliean val- ley, and stopping short at the city of Denver in Colorado ; and there was the Northern Pacific Pailroad, the most ambitious of all the later lines, which, starting from the city of Duluth on the western extremity of Lake Superior, traversed the northern half of the State of Minnesota, crossed the sandy wastes of Dakota, and has just now come heavily to grief at the Big Bend of the Missouri River, on the borders of the "Bad Lauds" of the Yellowstone. In an early chapter of this book it has been remarked that the continent of North America, east of the Rocky Mountains, sloped from south to north. This slope, which is observable from Mexico to the Arc- tic Ocean, has an important bearing on the practical working of railroad lines across the continent. The Union Pacific road, taken in connection with the Central Pacific, attains at its maximum elevation an altitude of over 8,000 feet above the sea-level, and runs for over 900 miles at an average height of about 4,500 feet; the Northern Pacific reaches ovc^r 6,000 feet; and fully half its projected course lies through a country- 3,000 to 4,000 feet above ocean-level ; the line of the Kansas Pa- cific is still more elevated, and the great pla- teau of the Colorado River is more than 7,000 feet above the sea. Continuing north- U2 APPENDIX. ward, into Biitisli territory, tlio next pro- jected line is that of the Canadian Tacific Railway, and it is with this road that our business chiefly lies in these few pages of Appendix. The depression, or slope, of the prairie level toward the north continues, with marked regularity, throughout the whole of British America; thus at the 49th parallel (the boundary-line between Canada and the United States), the mean elevation of the plains is about 4,000 feet. Two hundred and fifty miles north, or in the 53rd parallel, it is about 3,000 feet; and 300 miles still farther north, or about the entrance to the Peace Kiver Pass, it has fallen to something like 1,700 feet above the sea-level. But these elevations have reference only to the prairies at the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains. We must now glance at the mountains themselves, which form the real obstacle to interoceanic lines of railroad. It might be inferred from this gradual slope of the plains northward, that the mountain ranges followed the same law, and decreased in a corresponding degree after they passed the 49th parallel, but such is not the case ; so far from it, they only attain their maximum elevation in 52° North latitude, where, from an altitude of 1G,000 feet, the gummits of Mounts Brown and Hooker look y43 'I'lii'; WILD Noirrii i,ani). down (HI lliii CcrlHi' |il;iiiis ;il, ilic. sdiirrcH of tli(! .S;iskai(ilu!\viiii River. As iniiy 1x1 supposed, il, is only liere 1,li;d. t,lie lC()cl i'" ult.il.nde of 10, 000 or lL',000 feet., Miey appear iiisijj;nillc.aid., and l.lie tra\(dler experiences a sense! of disap- poiidnienl, as lie looks at; Ilieir peaks thus sli^iilly (devated above l.lie ])lain. Miit IIioni;li the suniiiiits of the raiii,^' increase in hei;.;ht as we. go nort.li, the levels of Iho val- leys or )>asses de(;rease in a, niosl, nunarkabh^ deL;'ree. Let, us look i'or a inoment, al. these! gaps which Ts'aiiire has foi'iiied through t.liis iiiight.y barrier, 'i'wenty miles north of the boumhiry line the Kootanic Pass traverses the Kocky Mountains. 'I'lie waters of the I'xdly iJi ver upon t.lie east, and those' of t.h(! NVigwani Kiver on t.he west, ha\(' their sources in this valh^y, the liiglu'st point, of wliitdi is more tliaii 0,()(K) feet above sea-levtd. I'^ifty miles north of tiie Kootanic, tlu' Kanauuskiss Fass cuts llie tluve parallel 344 AITKNIUX. r.'ingcH wlii(!li ln-it! form ilic Ror-.ky Moiin- laiiis; tlic li,700 f(;<'l.. 'riiiit.y miles more to tlie iiorili tlir; Vermilion I'.iHH finds its liigliost level at A,'M)'A; tvvftnty niilcts again to tlie north, tlu; Kicking HorK(; Tass icaelies ^,210 feet; then C(jin(i8 the House Pass, 4,500 feet; and, lastly, the piXHH variously known by the names of Jaspei-'s IToiise, Tnt