Hudson Bay

This, however, has turned out a more exhausting business than Stemaw expected; so he determines to encamp and rest for a few hours. Selecting a large pine, whose spreading branches cover a patch of ground free from underwood, he scrapes away the snow with his snow-shoe. Silently but busily he labours for a quarter of an hour; and then, having cleared a space seven or eight feet in diameter, and nearly four feet deep, he cuts down a number of small branches, which he strews at the bottom of the hollow, till all the snow is covered. This done, he fells two or three of the nearest trees, cuts them up into lengths of about five feet long, and piles them at the root of the tree. A light is soon applied to the pile, and up glances the ruddy flame, crackling among the branches overhead, and sending thousands of bright sparks into the air. No one who has not seen it can have the least idea of the change that takes place in the appearance of the woods at night when a large fire is suddenly lighted. Before, all was cold, silent, chilling, gloomy, and desolate, and the pale snow looked unearthly in the dark. Now, a bright ruddy glow falls upon the thick stems of the trees, and penetrates through the branches overhead, tipping those nearest the fire with a ruby tinge, the mere sight of which warms one. The white snow changes to a beautiful pink, whilst the stems of the trees, bright and clearly visible near at hand, become more and more indistinct in the distance, till they are lost in the black background. The darkness, however, need not be seen from the encampment; for, when the Indian lies down, he will be surrounded by the snow walls, which sparkle in the firelight as if set with diamonds. These do not melt, as might be expected. The frost is much too intense for that, and nothing melts except the snow quite close to the fire. Stemaw has now concluded his arrangements: a small piece of dried deer’s meat warms before the blaze; and, meanwhile, he spreads his green blanket on the ground, and fills a stone calumet (or pipe with a wooden stem) with tobacco, mixed with a kind of weed prepared by himself. The white smoke from this soon mingles with the thicker volumes from the fire, which curl up through the branches into the sky, now shrouding him in their wreaths, and then, as the bright flame obtains the mastery, leaving his dark face and coal-black eyes shining in the warm light. No one enjoys a pipe more than an Indian; and Stemaw’s tranquil visage, wreathed in tobacco smoke, as he reclines at full length under the spreading branches of the pine, and allows the white vapour to pass slowly out of his mouth and nose, certainly gives one an excellent idea of savage enjoyment.

Leaving him here, then, to solace himself with a pipe preparatory to resting his wearied limbs for the night, we will change the hour, and conduct the reader to a different scene.

It is now day. The upper edge of the sun has just risen, red and frosty-looking, in the east, and countless myriads of icy particles glitter on every tree and bush in its red rays; while the white tops of the snow-drifts, which dot the surface of the small lake at which we have just arrived, are tipped with the same rosy hue. The lake is of considerable breadth, and the woods on its opposite shore are barely visible. An unbroken coat of pure white snow covers its entire surface, whilst here and there a small islet, covered with luxuriant evergreens, attracts the eye, and breaks the sameness of the scene. At the extreme left of the lake, where the points of a few bulrushes and sedgy plants appear above the snow, are seen a number of small earthy mounds, in the immediate vicinity of which the trees and bushes are cut and barked in many places, while some of them are nearly cut down. This is a colony of beavers. In the warm months of summer and autumn, this spot is a lively, stirring place, as the beavers are then employed nibbling down trees and bushes, for the purpose of repairing their dams, and supplying their storehouses with food. The bark of willows is their chief food, and all the bushes in the vicinity are more or less cut through by these persevering little animals. Their dams, however (which are made for the purpose of securing to themselves a constant sufficiency of water), are made with large trees; and stumps will be found, if you choose to look for them, as thick as a man’s leg, which the beavers have entirely nibbled through, and dragged by their united efforts many yards from where they grew.

Now, however, no sign of animal life is to be seen, as the beavers keep within doors all winter; yet I venture to state that there are many now asleep under the snow before us. It is not, reader, merely for the purpose of showing you the outside of a beaver-lodge that I have brought you such a distance from human habitations. Be patient, and you shall soon see more. Do you observe that small black speck moving over the white surface of the lake, far away on the horizon? It looks like a crow, but the forward motion is much too steady and constant for that. As it approaches, it assumes the form of a man; and at last the figure of Stemaw, dragging his empty sleigh behind him (for he has left his wolf and foxes in the last night’s encampment, to be taken up when returning home), becomes clearly distinguishable through the dreamy haze of the cold wintry morning. He arrives at the beaver-lodges, and, I warrant, will soon play havoc among the inmates.

His first proceeding is to cut down several stakes, which he points at the ends. These are driven, after he has cut away a good deal of ice from around the beaver-lodge, into the ground between it and the shore. This is to prevent the beaver from running along the passage they always have from their lodges to the shore, where their storehouse is kept, which would make it necessary to excavate the whole passage. The beaver, if there are any, being thus imprisoned in the lodge, the hunter next stakes up the opening into the storehouse on shore, and so imprisons those that may have fled there for shelter on hearing the noise of his axe at the other house. Things being thus arranged to his entire satisfaction, he takes an instrument called an ice-chisel—which is a bit of steel about a foot long by one inch broad, fastened to the end of a stout pole—wherewith he proceeds to dig through the lodge. This is by no means an easy operation; and although he covers the snow around him with great quantities of frozen mud and sticks, yet his work is not half finished. At last, however, the interior of the hut is laid bare; and the Indian, stooping down, gives a great pull, when out comes a large, fat, sleepy beaver, which he flings sprawling on the snow. Being thus unceremoniously awakened from its winter nap, the shivering animal looks languidly around, and even goes the length of grinning at Stemaw, by way of showing its teeth, for which it is rewarded with a blow on the head from the pole of the ice-chisel, which puts an end to it. In this way several more are killed, and packed on the sleigh. Stemaw then turns his face towards his encampment, where he collects the game left there; and away he goes at a tremendous pace, dashing the snow in clouds from his snow-shoes, as he hurries over the trackless wilderness to his forest home.

Near his tent, he makes a détour to visit a marten trap; where, however, he finds nothing. This trap is of the simplest construction, being composed of two logs, the one of which is supported over the other by means of a small stick, in such a manner that when the marten creeps between the two and pulls the bait, the support is removed, and the upper log falls on and crushes it to death.

In half an hour the Indian arrives at his tent, where the dark eyes of his wife are seen gazing through a chink in the covering, with an expression that denotes immense joy at the prospect of gorging for many days on fat beaver, and having wherewithal to purchase beads and a variety of ornaments from the white men, upon the occasion of her husband and herself visiting the posts of the fur-traders in the following spring.

But some of the tribes have a more sociable as well as a more productive way of conducting business, at least as regards venison; for they catch the deer in a “pound.”

“Their mode of accomplishing this is to select a well-frequented deer-path, and enclose with a strong fence of twisted trees and brushwood a space about a mile in circumference, and sometimes more. The entrance of the pound is not larger than a common gate, and its inside is crowded with innumerable small hedges, in the openings of which are fixed snares of strong well-twisted thongs. One end is generally fastened to a growing tree; and as all the wood and jungle within the enclosure is left standing, its interior forms a complete labyrinth. On each side of the door a line of small trees, stuck up in the snow fifteen or twenty yards apart, form two sides of an acute angle, widening gradually from the entrance, from which they sometimes extend two or three miles. Between these rows of brushwood runs the path frequented by the deer. When all things are prepared, the Indians take their station on some eminence commanding a prospect of this path, and the moment any deer are seen going that way, the whole encampment—men, women, and children—steal under cover of the woods till they get behind them. They then show themselves in the open ground, and, drawing up in the form of a crescent, advance with shouts. The deer finding themselves pursued, and at the same time imagining the rows of brushy poles to be people stationed to prevent their passing on either side, run straight forward till they get into the pound. The Indians instantly close in, block up the entrance, and whilst the women and children run round the outside to prevent them from breaking or leaping the fence, the men enter with their spears and bows, and speedily dispatch such as are caught in the snares or are running loose.”

“McLean, a gentleman who spent twenty-five years in the Hudson Bay territories, assures us that on one occasion he and a party of men entrapped and slaughtered in this way a herd of three hundred deer in two hours.”

I must crave the reader’s pardon for this long digression, and beg him to recollect that at the end of the second chapter I left myself awaiting orders to depart for Red River, to which settlement we will now proceed.

Chapter Five.
Voyage from York Factory to Red River—Voyage begun—Our manner of travelling—Encamping in the woods—Portaging and shooting wildfowl—Whisky-jacks—A storm—Lake Winnipeg—Arrival at Red River Settlement

Somewhere about the beginning of September, Mr Carles, Mr and Mrs Gowley, Mr Rob, and myself set out with the Portage La Loche brigade, for the distant colony of Red River. The Portage la Loche brigade usually numbers six or seven boats, adapted for inland travelling where the navigation is obstructed by rapids, waterfalls, and cataracts, to surmount which, boats and cargo are carried overland by the crews. These carrying places are called portages; and between York Factory and Red River there are upwards of thirty-six, of various lengths. Besides these, there are innumerable rapids, up which the boats have to be pushed inch by inch with poles, for miles together; so that we had to look forward to a long and tedious voyage.

The brigade with which we left York Factory usually leaves Red River about the end of May, and proceeds to Norway House, where it receives Athabasca and Mackenzie River outfits. It then sets out for the interior; and upon arriving at Portage la Loche, the different boats land their cargoes, while the Mackenzie River boats, which came to meet them, exchange their furs for the outfits. The brigade then begins to retrace its way, and returns to Norway House, whence it proceeds to York Factory, where it arrives about the commencement of September, lands the furs, and receives part of the Red River outfit, with which it sets out for that place as soon as possible.

With this brigade, then, we started from York Factory, with a cheering song from the men in full chorus. They were in good spirits, being about to finish the long voyage, and return to their families at Red River, after an absence of nearly five months, during which time they had encountered and overcome difficulties that would have cooled the most sanguine temperament; but these hardy Canadians and half-breeds are accustomed to such voyages from the age of fifteen or sixteen, and think no more of them than other men do of ordinary work.

Mr Carles and I travelled together in the guide’s boat; Mr and Mrs Gowley in another; and Mr Rob in a third by himself. We took the lead, and the others followed as they best could. Such was the order of march in which we commenced the ascent of Hayes River.

It may not be uninteresting here to describe the matériel of our voyage.

Our boat, which was the counterpart of the rest, was long, broad, and shallow, capable of carrying forty hundredweight, and nine men, besides three or four passengers, with provisions for themselves and the crew. It did not, I suppose, draw more than three feet of water when loaded, perhaps less, and was, moreover, very light for its size. The cargo consisted of bales, being the goods intended for the Red River sale-room and trading-shop. A rude mast and tattered sail lay along the seats, ready for use, should a favourable breeze spring up; but this seldom occurred, the oars being our chief dependence during the greater part of the voyage.

The provisions of the men consisted of pemmican and flour; while the passengers revelled in the enjoyment of a ham, several cured buffalo-tongues, tea, sugar, butter, and biscuit, and a little brandy and wine, wherewith to warm us in cold weather, and to cheer the crew with a dram after a day of unusual exertion. All our provisions were snugly packed in a case and basket, made expressly for the purpose.

Pemmican being a kind of food with which people in the civilised world are not generally acquainted, I may as well describe it here.

It is made by the buffalo-hunters of the Red River, Swan River, and Saskatchewan prairies; more particularly by those of Red River, where many of the colonists spend a great part of the year in pursuit of the buffalo. They make it thus: Having shot a buffalo (or bison), they cut off lumps of his flesh, and slitting it up into flakes or layers, hang it up in the sun to dry. In this state it is often made up into packs, and sent about the country to be consumed as dried meat; but when pemmican is wanted, it has to go through another process. When dry, the meat is pounded between two stones till it is broken into small pieces; these are put into a bag made of the animal’s hide, with the hair on the outside, and well mixed with melted grease; the top of the bag is then sewn up, and the pemmican allowed to cool. In this state it may be eaten uncooked; but the voyageurs, who subsist on it when travelling, mix it with a little flour and water, and then boil it; in which state it is known throughout the country by the elegant name of robbiboo. Pemmican is good wholesome food, will keep fresh for a great length of time, and were it not for its unprepossessing appearance, and a good many buffalo hairs mixed with it, through the carelessness of the hunters, would be very palatable. After a time, however, one becomes accustomed to those little peculiarities.

It was late in the afternoon when we left York Factory; and after travelling a few miles up Hayes River, put ashore for the night.

We encamped upon a rough, gravelly piece of ground, as there was no better in the neighbourhood; so that my first night in the woods did not hold out the prospect of being a very agreeable one. The huge log fires, however, soon blazed cheerily up, casting a ruddy glow upon the surrounding foliage and the wild uncouth figures of the voyageurs, who, with their long dark hair hanging in luxuriant masses over their bronzed faces, sat or reclined round the fires, smoking their pipes, and chatting with as much carelessness and good-humour as if the long and arduous journey before them never once entered their minds. The tents were pitched on the most convenient spot we could find; and when supper was spread out, and a candle lighted (which, by the way, the strong blaze of our camp-fire rendered quite unnecessary), and Mr Carles, seating himself upon a pile of cloaks, blankets, and cushions, looked up with a broad grin on his cheerful, good-humoured countenance, and called me to supper, I began to think that if all travelling in Hudson Bay were like this, a voyage of discovery to the North Pole would be a mere pleasure trip! Alas! in after-years I found it was not always thus.

Supper was soon disposed of, and having warmed ourselves at the fire, and ventured a few rash prophecies on the probable weather of the morrow, we spread our blankets over an oiled cloth, and lay lovingly down together; Mr Carles to snore vociferously, and I to dream of home.

At the first blush of day I was awakened by the loud halloo of the guide, who, with a voice of a Stentor, gave vent to a “Lève! Lève! lève!” that roused the whole camp in less than two minutes. Five minutes more sufficed to finish our toilet (for, be it known, Mr Carles and I had only taken off our coats), tie up our blankets, and embark. In ten minutes we were once more pulling slowly up the current of Hayes River.

The missionaries turned out to be capital travellers, and never delayed the boats a moment; which is saying a good deal for them, considering the short space of time allowed for dressing. As for the hardy voyageurs, they slept in the same clothes in which they had wrought during the day, each with a single blanket round him, in the most convenient spot he could find. A few slept in pairs, but all reposed under the wide canopy of heaven.

Early morning is always the most disagreeable part of the traveller’s day. The cold dews of the past night render the air chilly, and the gloom of departing night tends greatly to depress the spirits. As I became acquainted with this mode of travelling, I became more knowing; and, when there was not much probability of being interrupted by portages, I used to spread out my blanket in the stern of the boat, and snooze till breakfast-time. The hour for breakfast used to vary, according as we arrived late or early at an eligible spot. It was seldom earlier than seven, or later than nine o’clock.

Upon the occasion of our first breakfast in the woods, we were fortunate. The sun shone brightly on the surrounding trees and bushes; the fires blazed and crackled; pots boiled, and cooks worked busily on a green spot, at the side of a small bay or creek, in which the boats quietly floated, scarce rippling the surface of the limpid water. A little apart from the men, two white napkins marked our breakfast-place, and the busy appearance of our cook gave hopes that our fast was nearly over. The whole scene was indescribably romantic and picturesque, and worthy of delineation by a more experienced pencil than mine. Breakfast was a repetition of the supper of the preceding night; the only difference being, that we ate it by daylight, in the open air, instead of by candlelight, under the folds of our canvas tent. After it was over, we again embarked, and proceeded on our way.

The men used to row for a space of time denominated a pipe; so called from the circumstance of their taking a smoke at the end of it. Each spell lasted for nearly two hours, during which time they rowed without intermission. The smoke usually occupied five or ten minutes, after which they pulled again for two hours more; and so on. While travelling in boats, it is only allowable to put ashore for breakfast; so, about noon, we had a cold dinner in the boat: and, with appetites sharpened by exposure to the fresh air, we enjoyed it pretty well.

In a couple of days we branched off into Steel River, and began its ascent. The current here was more rapid than in Hayes River; so rapid, indeed, that, our oars being useless, we were obliged to send the men ashore with the tracking-line. Tracking, as it is called, is dreadfully harassing work. Half of the crew go ashore, and drag the boat slowly along, while the other half go to sleep. After an hour’s walk, the others then take their turn; and so on, alternately, during the whole day.

The banks of the river were high, and very precipitous; so that the poor fellows had to scramble along, sometimes close to the water’s edge, and sometimes high up the bank, on ledges so narrow that they could scarcely find a footing, and where they looked like flies on a wall. The banks, too, being composed of clay or mud, were very soft, rendering the work disagreeable and tiresome; but the light-hearted voyageurs seemed to be quite in their element, and laughed and joked while they toiled along, playing tricks with each other, and plunging occasionally up to the middle in mud, or to the neck in water, with as much nonchalance as if they were jumping into bed.

On the fifth day after leaving York Factory, we arrived at the Rock Portage. This is the first on the route, and it is a very short one. A perpendicular waterfall, eight or ten feet high, forms an effectual barrier to the upward progress of the boats by water; so that the only way to overcome the difficulty is to carry everything across the flat rock, from which the portage derives its name, and reload at the upper end.

Upon arriving, a novel and animating scene took place. Some of the men, jumping ashore, ran briskly to and fro with enormous burdens on their backs; whilst others hauled and pulled the heavy boats slowly up the cataract, hallooing and shouting all the time, as if they wished to drown the thundering noise of the water, which boiled and hissed furiously around the rocks on which we stood. In about an hour our boat, and one or two others, had passed the falls; and we proceeded merrily on our way, with spirits elevated in proportion to the elevation of our bodies.

It was here that I killed my first duck; and well do I remember the feeling of pride with which I contemplated the achievement. That I had shot her sitting about five yards from the muzzle of my gun, which was loaded with an enormous charge of shot, is undeniable; but this did not lessen my exultation a whit. The sparrows I used to kill in days of yore, with inexpressible delight, grew “small by degrees” and comically less before the plump inhabitant of the marshes, till they dwindled into nothing; and the joy and fuss with which I hailed the destruction of the unfortunate bird can only be compared to, and equalled by, the crowing and flurry with which a hen is accustomed to announce the production of her first egg.

During the voyage, we often disturbed large flocks of geese, and sometimes shot a few. When we chanced to come within sight of them before they saw us, the boats all put ashore; and L’Esperance, our guide, went round through the bushes, to the place where they were, and seldom failed in rendering at least one of the flock hors de combat. At first I would as soon have volunteered to shoot a lion in Africa, with a Bushman beside me, as have presumed to attempt to kill geese while L’Esperance was present—so poor an opinion had I of my skill as a marksman; but, as I became more accustomed to seeing them killed, I waxed bolder; and at last, one day, having come in sight of a flock, I begged to be allowed to try my hand. The request was granted; L’Esperance lent me his gun, and away I went cautiously through the bushes. After a short walk, I came close to where they were swimming about in the water; and cocking my gun, I rushed furiously down the bank, breaking everything before me, and tumbling over half a dozen fallen trees in my haste, till I cleared the bushes; and then, scarcely taking time to raise the gun to my shoulder, banged right into the middle of the flock, just as they were taking wing. All rose; but they had not gone far when one began to waver a little, and finally sat down in the water again—a sure sign of being badly wounded. Before the boats came up, however, he had swam to the opposite bank, and hid himself among the bushes; so that, much to my disappointment, I had not the pleasure of handling this new trophy of my prowess.

Upon one occasion, while sauntering along the banks of the river in search of ducks and geese, while the boats were slowly ascending against the strong current, I happened to cast my eyes across the stream, and there, to my amazement, beheld a large black bear bounding over the rocks with the ease and agility of a cat. He was not within shot, however, and I was obliged to content myself with seeing him run before me for a quarter of a mile, and then turn off into the forest.

This was truly the happiest time I ever spent in the Nor’-West. Everything was full of novelty and excitement. Rapid succeeded rapid, and portage followed portage in endless succession—giving me abundance of opportunities to range about in search of ducks and geese, which were very numerous, while the men were dragging the boats, and carrying the goods over the portages. The weather was beautiful, and it was just the season of the year when the slight frost in the mornings and evenings renders the blazing camp-fire agreeable, and destroys those little wretches, the mosquitoes. My friend Mr Carles was a kind and indulgent companion, bearing good-naturedly with my boyish pranks, and cautioning me, of course ineffectually, against running into danger. I had just left home and the restraint of school, and was now entering upon a wild and romantic career. In short, every thing combined to render this a most agreeable and interesting voyage. I have spent many a day of amusement and excitement in the country, but on none can I look back with so much pleasure as on the time spent in this journey to Red River.

The scenery through which we passed was pretty and romantic, but there was nothing grand about it. The country generally was low and swampy; the highest ground being the banks of the river, which sometimes rose to from sixty to seventy feet. Our progress in Hill River was slow and tedious, owing to the number of rapids encountered on the way. The hill from which the river derives its name is a small, insignificant mound, and owes its importance to the flatness of the surrounding country.

Besides the larger wild-fowl, small birds of many kinds were very numerous. The most curious, and at the same time the most impudent, among the latter were the whisky-jacks. They always hovered round us at breakfast, ready to snap up anything that came within their reach—advancing sometimes to within a yard or two of our feet, and looking at us with a very comical expression of countenance. One of the men told me that he had often caught them in his hand, with a piece of pemmican for a bait; so one morning after breakfast I went a little to one side of our camp, and covering my face with leaves, extended my hand with a few crumbs in the open palm. In five minutes a whisky-jack jumped upon a branch over my head, and after reconnoitring a minute or so, lit upon my hand, and began to breakfast forthwith. You may be sure the trap was not long in going off; and the screeching that Mr Jack set up on finding my fingers firmly closed upon his toes was tremendous. I never saw a more passionate little creature in my life: it screamed, struggled, and bit unceasingly, until I let it go; and even then it lighted on a tree close by, and looked at me as impudently as ever. The same day I observed that when the men were ashore the whisky-jacks used to eat out of the pemmican bags left in the boats; so I lay down close to one, under cover of a buffalo-skin, and in three minutes had made prisoner of another of these little inhabitants of the forest. They are of a bluish-grey colour, and nearly the size of a blackbird; but they are such a bundle of feathers that when plucked they do not look much larger than a sparrow. They live apparently on animal food (at least, they are very fond of it), and are not considered very agreeable eating.

We advanced very slowly up Hill River. Sometimes, after a day of the most toilsome exertions, during which the men were constantly pushing the boats up long rapids, with poles, at a very slow pace, we found ourselves only four or five miles ahead of the last night’s encampment. As we ascended higher up the country, however, travelling became more easy. Sometimes small lakes and tranquil rivers allowed us to use the oars—and even the sails, when a puff of fair wind arose. Occasionally we were sweeping rapidly across the placid water; anon buffeting with, and advancing against, the foaming current of a powerful river, whose raging torrent seemed to bid defiance to our further progress: now dragging boats and cargoes over rocks, and through the deep shades of the forest, when a waterfall checked us on our way; and again dashing across a lake with favouring breeze; and sometimes, though rarely, were wind-bound on a small islet or point of land.

Our progress was slow, but full of interest, novelty, and amusement. My fellow-travellers seemed to enjoy the voyage very much; and even Mrs Gowley, to whom hardships were new, liked it exceedingly.

On our way we passed Oxford House—a small outpost of York Factory district. It is built on the brow of a grassy hill, which rises gradually from the margin of Oxford Lake. Like most of the posts in the country, it is composed of a collection of wooden houses, built in the form of a square, and surrounded by tall stockades, pointed at the tops. These, however, are more for ornament than defence. A small flag-staff towers above the buildings; from which, upon the occasion of an arrival, a little red Hudson Bay Company’s flag waves its folds in the gentle current of an evening breeze. There were only two or three men at the place; and not a human being, save one or two wandering Indians, was to be found within hundreds of miles of this desolate spot. After a stay here of about half an hour, we proceeded on our way.