Transcriber’s Note

Cover image created by Transcriber, using an illustration from the original book, and placed into the Public Domain.

To see larger, higher-resolution images, click “(Larger)” below the images. The two maps may be seen in a third, intermediate size by stretching them or right-clicking and opening in a new tab or window.

[(Larger)]

OUR PARTY ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS.

(From a Photograph.)

THE
NORTH-WEST PASSAGE
BY LAND.

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

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

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

Ros. Well, this is the Forest of Arden.

Touch. Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content.

As You Like It.

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

[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.]

TO
THE COUNTESS FITZWILLIAM
AND
MRS. CHEADLE,

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

THE AUTHORS.

4, Grosvenor Square,
1st June, 1865.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PREFACE.

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

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

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

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

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

4, Grosvenor Square,
June 1st, 1865.

[(Larger)]

The Western Portion of
BRITISH NORTH AMERICA.
Showing the Route followed by
Lord Milton & D^r. Cheadle.
from the Saskatchewan to British Columbia
1863–4.

THE
NORTH-WEST PASSAGE BY LAND.

CHAPTER I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER II.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER III.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[(Larger)]

OUR NIGHT CAMP ON EAGLE RIVER.—EXPECTING THE CREES.

(See [page 68].)

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

CHAPTER V.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[(Larger)]

OUR WINTER HUT.—LA BELLE PRAIRIE.

(See [page 76].)

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Old wishes, ghosts of broken plans,

And phantom hopes assemble;”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VII.

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

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

[(Larger)]

A MARTEN TRAP.

(See [page 102].)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VIII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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